cave junction

Erik, Aspen, and I skipped work on Friday for a long weekend road trip to Aspen's hometown of Cave Junction, OR. Erik and I were late getting ready in the morning, of course-- I had stayed out a bit late the night before going for sushi and drinking at the airport with Donna and my brother to see the latter off on his first big international trip.

Our road trip started with breakfast at Junior's and lots of coffee, which translated into quite a few breaks at rest stops. We also stopped briefly in Grants Pass for food and supplies before leaving I-5 for small-town southern Oregon.

First stop: Bardi Gras, a party at Rosie Barty's house. We hung out in the yard with a keg of local beer, lawn games, music, and cool people from Cave Junction. I think we arrived around 3pm and left after 11. I'd never spent eight hours at a party before, but it was par for the Cave Junction course according to Aspen, and I enjoyed it more than most parties for its mellow nature and treed setting. We drove to his dad's house and slept in a tent out front. With a nearby creek, inflated sleeping pads, and a no-door, scenic outhouse, it was a great camping experience.

In the morning I stayed in the tent alone, reading for quite a while. When I joined everyone in the house, we had breakfast with Randal and Naomi, chatting around the table. We hung out for a few hours checking out lizards, gardens, and homemade houses, before going up to the Oregon Caves.

The caves were wonderfully cold and mysterious, although our guide was a bit... stick-to-the-script-ish, if you will. The twists and outcroppings and low ceilings made me enjoy my stature, certainly. But it was after the tour, when we exited the cave and hiked up the mountain that the beauty became overwhelming. Layers of those Oregon blue pine-covered hills on which the sky rests to catch its breath in tiny quick puffs, calling out for miles in the joy of upright tree silhouettes.

Our next stop was Takilma, to hang out and spend the night with the Carnahans. I can't say enough of what an amazing family they are-- all gathered for the summer at the house where the kids grew up and only the mother now lives, enjoying each others' company and caring for one another. They welcomed us with such sincerity that I really felt at home, at peace, hanging out in the cozily organic house built into a clearing into the trees. Caitlin, Lacey, and Sara, the children, made dinner and then breakfast the next day for all of us including friends who dropped by, all the while doting on each other and their parents. I could have spent weeks there, hearing their stories, chatting, drinking in their artistic souls and the simple pleasures of life in rural southern Oregon.

On the drive home I thought about the blessing of growing up in such an environment, especially compared to the depressing rows of Depression-era brick boxes and brown and greyness in which I came of age. It's at the very edge of my ability to believe that such as place as Takilma and such a family as the Carnihans even exist. Certainly life isn't always as beautiful and easy as it was this weekend, and growing up without plumbing doesn't sound like a picnic. But there's something there, in the woods or mountains or water. That density of smart, caring, creative people can't be random. Now that it's past, I wouldn't switch my hometown for the idyllic town Aspen shared with us. I'm just grateful that now I can choose this, Oregon with its wild charms, over the East Coast from whence I came.