Monday, September 20, 2021

Over the Bridge and Back Again



“It is the mark of illiberal regimes that they make free speech more difficult even outside their borders.” Yuval Noah Harari, 21 Lessons for the 21st Century


I have just returned from my annual trip to Oregon to visit my brother. He lives in a working-class neighborhood in Tillamook, one block from the Hampton lumber mill which churns out wood products twenty-four hours a day. We loaded two bikes on his Jeep Cherokee and set out for Washington under blue skies. We crossed the Astoria Bridge, always a thrill for me since I have few opportunities to see a river as wide as the Columbia, and headed for the small town of Ocean Shores. In years past we explored Westport, Grays Harbor, Port Townsend, Tokeland, and Aberdeen. Ocean Shores has a population of around six-thousand souls. Two of its larger hotels were shuttered temporarily, and when we inquired about vacancies at another we were told there were none because of a shortage of housekeeping staff. Help wanted signs were ubiquitous. Despite the labor shortage, we noticed quite a lot of new construction -- houses, condos, and commercial spaces. I wondered if the city mothers and fathers were following a Field of Dreams strategy -- build and they will come. We finally found lodging for the night at a Comfort Inn. The young woman at the front desk told the customer in front of us that due to a shortage of staff she worked seven days a week for most of the summer. 


After an uneventful evening we drove back to Astoria the following morning, crossing the bridge minutes before a maintenance crew set up, which slowed traffic in both directions for several hours. We rode along the bicycle path that parallels the Columbia, watched a couple of big container ships, and saw two Blackhawk helicopters fly under the bridge. We had dinner on Pier 39. The window of our first floor room at the Hampton Inn faced the river, and we could watch the container ships at anchor get turned all the way around by the current. The barking of sea lions went on most of the night.  


Back in Tillamook by midday the following day, we cleaned rain gutters and wiped the bikes down while listening to Mojo Nixon’s show on Sirius XM. I was interested to learn from some of my brother’s friends about Tillamook real estate, which, as in many other unlikely locales in our country, is experiencing price wars, with potential buyers offering thousands of dollars above the asking price. Where the money comes from I have no idea. I wonder if this phenomenon is another example of irrational exuberance that will come crashing to earth sooner or later. 


Whenever I travel I realize how little I know. I can finally distinguish a Douglas fir from a spruce, but there are many other species of tree I can’t name. I don’t know much about fishing, tides, currents, and very little about bow hunting. The older I become the less I seem to know, and much of what I think I know is tinged with doubt. Our world is drowning in information, yet knowledge seems to be in short supply, and wisdom is even more rare. One of my brother’s friends, Larry, immediately struck me as intelligent because he listened more than he spoke, and when he added something to the conversation it was thoughtful. I must learn to listen more. This blog is of course filled with my opinions, notions, biases, prejudices, gripes and inchoate thoughts. The modern world is bewildering, and it very often scares me. What is real, what matters, how can we help? 


I drove from Tillamook to Portland in a steady rain, through the state forest on Highway 6, a twisting road prone to rock slides in spots. I left my brother’s house early so I could take my time. My rental car hydroplaned once or twice. It was early in the morning, dark, and fortunately there was sparse traffic headed east; I kept to a steady 45mph. My night vision is suspect and at times it was hard to see where the road was heading. I alternated between high and low beams, and when a vehicle appeared in my rearview mirror I pulled over to let it pass. No sense pissing off the locals. 


Travel is a luxury, but it’s one of the best ways to learn. 


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