Over the River and Thru the Woods to Aunt Lorrene and Uncle Bud's House

When I was a kid I always looked forward to visits with my Aunt Lorrene and Uncle Bud. They lived 110 miles away, over the mountains in Yakima. A trip to Yakima from my tiny town of Snoqualmie, which is nestled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains of Washington state, was something I would look forward to for weeks at a time. The excitement of the visit always made it hard to sleep on Thursday night. I would toss and turn and think about the trip over the mountains and beyond to Yakima. After school on Friday I would wait impatiently with my little brother, Darryl, out in our tiny front yard along the highway, waiting to catch a glimpse of dad's big blue lumber truck that he often drove home from work. If it happened to be raining we would wait, pacing, in front of the living room window. Mom would dash about finishing the packing of the family station wagon and at the same time taking care of our baby sister, Kathy.

Old Snoqualmie Seafirst Bank Building

Finally, dad would arrive and we would all pile into the car and begin the two hour journey to far away Yakima. Later when we had a station wagon, I always sat in the rumble seat  in the very back of the car and had a panoramic view of everything behind us. Thank goodness no one ever rear ended us, I would have been squashed like a bug, but I don't think the idea ever crossed any ones mind. Nobody even used seat belts in those days. There were no laws about seat belts and many cars did not even have them. But first, before we actually left town, we stopped at the bank, an old brick building that looked like something from a Bonnie and Clyde movie. Dad would deposit his check and get some cash (most people didn't pack five credit and debit cards in their wallets in those days). We would impatiently wait in the car for dad to come out of the bank, there were no drive thru windows yet and people actually had to stand in front of each other to process a bank transaction, In fact people actually knew each others names in our small town of  1000 souls. So dad would go in the bank, fill out a deposit slip, wait in line, go to the window, exchange pleasantries with the teller, deposit his check and actually get cash counted out into his hand. Now to a nine or ten year old boy, this whole process seemed like an eternity (maybe drive thru windows and electronic deposits do have some advantages). After all there were mountain passes to traverse, big bridges to go over and an ancient canyon road to travel. Man we needed to get moving!

At last dad would return and point the station wagon east and soon we would be rolling out of North Bend on Interstate 90. The mountains loomed ahead of us, large, mysterious and beckoning. On we would roll and climb into those mountains. Often capped in snow, with giant cascades of water pouring over huge falls high above us. We would pass by Bandera airfield. Well, calling it an airfield was like calling a row boat an ocean liner. It actually was an emergency airstrip. Built in the days when aircraft would hug the mountain pass making their mountain transit; the strip was a short field of grass. Offering a pilot in a small airplane a tiny point of salvation should he or she have motor problems. I used to imagine biplane pilots desperately searching for this island of grass in clouds. While the air strip was actually built long after the era of by planes, in my mind it was romantic place where desperate pilots sought refuge from the trials of flying ancient aircraft threw the danger filled mountains! Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of a freight train slowly traversing the mountain grade visible from the highway. Always I would watch for one particular high slope with the railroad grade far up it's flank. At the bottom of the slope were the remnants of several smashed up railroad cars. I would wonder in awe at what had happened there and if anyone survived such a disaster. To this day I do not know. The Cascade Mountains were beautiful and at the same time there was a sense of brooding danger in those passes. At that time traffic travelled on a four lane undivided highway that snaked up the side of huge cliffs and passed thru big tunnels as it crested those imposing mountains. Finally; over the top we would go and we would be at the summit of Snoqualmie pass. The ski resorts that later would be such a big part of my young life stood in the distance. Just over the crest of the summit and not far from the ski resorts was Lake Keechelus which was bordered by the Wenatchee National Forest. It is a man made lake that is an irrigation reservoir for the farms of Eastern Washington. The lake bed was filled with the giant stumps of ancient trees that had stood there since time began. Out in the middle of the lake was a small rocky island. From a very young age I learned that my mom lived at this lake in a cabin, that was still there by the road. As a young girl she would cross the lake bed when it was dry in the summer and go out to that island. I always was so impressed with the idea of mom going out there in that rough lake bed and crossing it to get to that treasure island in the distance. In my kid mind I thought she must be some kind of pioneer kid, living in a cabin, way at the snowy summit of a mountain pass, exploring the wilderness. What a mom! I suppose reality was a bit different but in a kids mind......

On we travelled down the eastern slopes of Snoqualmie pass. Descending from the summit we would first pass the tiny town of Easton. Traveling on the highway Darryl and I would look for license plates from different states and keep track of what states we "visited." We also likely would begin a game of Slug Bug, punching each other in the arm each time one of us spotted a Volkswagen first. Eventually someone might get punched too hard and start crying, usually my poor little brother Darryl. This was the scenario that invariably would end with dad looking back over his shoulder and saying, " If I have to pull this car over I am going to take my belt off and beat your butt right here along the road." That would conclude the Slug Bug game!

Cle Elum lay dead ahead and this is where we stopped for hamburgers, french fries and milkshakes! I could not wait to see that, "Giant Burgers" sign! Oh man, oh man were they good. This tiny hamburger stand on the east side of town is where we would stop at and it was a fantastic feast. We would order the food at the stand window and if it was nice enough eat at a picnic table. If not we would eat our hamburgers in the car. I would get a brain freeze from the giant milk shake, that many times I ordered with malt. I  could not resist drinking the freezing drink so fast that soon my forehead felt like it was going to explode! You would think a kid would learn, but I never did. I would gulp with glee until I could not see straight! Those stops for hamburgers were an absolute highlight of the trip over. The old hamburger stand is still there to this day and is called McKean's Drive in. Lenka, my wife, and I stop in there to this day anytime we pass threw town and enjoy a good hamburger and a lot of nostalgia.

After stuffing ourselves to the point of bursting, off we would go. Back out on I-90, I would keep a sharp eye out for convoys of army trucks making their way to and from the Yakima firing range. Whenever I got a chance I would wave to the soldiers riding in, on top of, or in back of those army trucks. The soldiers never, ever failed to wave back. I think of those young men who most likely were soon to be in Vietnam fighting fighting and dying for this country. Rolling past the Yakima river and Ellensburg. On the south side of the Yakima river was the old Ellensburg jail house on the right, imposing even though it was long ago abandoned. Beyond this is Highway 821, the Old Canyon Highway. This is a twisting and turning road that winds it's way from Ellensburg to Yakima. Mom would white knuckle the whole ride. I would marvel at the cliffs and vistas. I would imagine the cowboys and Indians that used to ride in those lonely and tumbleweed covered hills. There was an old story in the family about an army truck full of soldiers who went over the guardrail and crashed in the Yakima river far below in the canyon floor. Maybe mom was onto something when she white knuckled the canyon drive.

It seems to me that it was somewhere near here, in the canyon that the oppressive summer heat in Yakima would really become noticeable. This was in the days before most cars had air conditioners. All the windows would be rolled down and I would put my hand out the window and make an airplane wing. The air passing over my imaginary wing instead of being cool, which is what I was used to back home in Snoqualmie, would be hot! Yakima has completely different weather patterns from the damp cool weather in the Snoqualmie Valley. The seasons in Yakima are markedly different, the seasons swing from bone chilling cold in the winter to blistering heat in the summer. This is one of the things that made Yakima seem so very far away to me.

Finally, we would wind our way down out of the Canyon and go past the giant fruit stand building in Selah. There used to be huge roadside billboard signs advertising cherries, apples, and peaches that could be purchased there. We would then come to the last bridge over the Yakima River and finally into Yakima. By this time I would be so excited to finally get to Uncle Bud and Aunt Lorrene's. I always looked forward to seeing my cousins Kenny, Melvin and Karen. So into Yakima we would go, past the drive in theatre, where on summer nights we would sit out on my Aunt and Uncles porch and watch free movie, even if there was no sound. Threw the pear orchards that were right across the street from my aunt and uncles and finally we would emerge just across the street from their giant house with it's absolutely huge porch. At least it seemed that way to me coming from our tiny two bedroom house by the river in Snoqualmie.

I still have this mental picture in my mind of my Uncle Bud, garden hose in hand, watering the roses or sprinkling the gravel road to. "keep the dust down." We had arrived and I always looked forward to my Uncle calling out to me, "Hey bub, whats up?" Then I would run to my Aunt Lorrene and get a huge hug. I couldn't wait until the evening when we might make home made ice cream and listen to the marvelous stories that my aunt would tell me about her childhood in Oklahoma. They were funny, sometimes sad, occasionally scary and always gripping.

These memories are now just dreams, having come and gone. Just whispers of a past that I sometimes dream about with wonder. Those weekends were magical. Spent in a land that seemed so far away from my little home in Snoqualmie. I think about those times and all of the fun I had there to this day. How sweet the memories are.