Behind the Douglas fir curtain

An excerpt from my manuscript: "Behind the Douglas Fir Curtain")

(An excerpt from my manuscript: "Behind the Douglas Fir Curtain")

Not So Long Ago In Portland, Oregon

By Stephen Jay Morris

Once upon a time, I thought I would be happy living in an isolated part of the world. I wanted to live in a forest populated with creatures and plants of beauty. That was my idea of paradise. Well, I was wrong. Boy was I wrong! For one thing, the weather in northwest Oregon sucks! Rain! And more rain, along with snowstorms and humidity. And, on those humid days, all sorts of bugs regarded you like a McDonald's meal.

We lived adjacent to the Nehalem River where, on a summer's night, thousands of frogs would croak. Oh, I loved the sounds of nature; but humans make sounds, also. During hunting season, we could hear loud cracks in the distance; hunters shooting at elk. Gunshots are so fucking annoying! Our dogs would cower in fear. In San Pedro, there were Chicano gangs shooting at each other. But here, we had white guys shooting at harmless animals!

You'd think people who live in isolated places are amiable and serene. Not anymore. They looked liked hippies, but they had the mentality of Klansmen. Xenophobia? Fuck yeah! Oregonians, particularly white ones, hate Californians! Why? Nobody I asked could provide a logical reason. "White people are mind readers. They can transmit secrets to one another's brains." That's not true, but it is a funny myth. Since I was not well versed in the laconic arts, I never found out what their bitch with Californians was.

A neighbor invited Pamela and I to join the local church, however, we declined. After that, it seemed we were shunned. I couldn't even get a dishwashing job at the local café. The nearest location where we might hope to get work was 27 miles away; a coastal town called Seaside. We were on some shit list of undesirables. I didn't care.

Our closest neighbor was approximately 60 feet away. Others' houses were located somewhat farther from ours. That was one positive aspect of the area. The biggest problem for us was finding work.

The highway closest to us was Highway 26, also known as "Sunset Highway." It was the main route that ran west to Seaside and east to Portland. On summer weekends, many from Portland would commute over that highway to get to the beach. The long, two-lane highway, which was sometimes just one lane, meandered through mountains and forests. The road we lived on, Elderberry Road, was a small, one lane, dirt road that ran in front of our house. There was no city-run sewer system, so we and our neighbors had individual septic systems. A small company that served a large region in the forest delivered our electricity. It was common to have outages during the frigid winters, so we'd have to use a gas-powered generator to get what little electricity we could. Let me tell you, it was noisy! Our water, which originated from a nearby mountain, was provided by a small, neighborhood, co-op. Sometimes, a leak would be reported or a pipe would burst. They'd shut off our water for hours while looking for the source of, and then repairing the problem. We'd use bottles of water we'd reserved just to flush our toilets. Living in the forest was not accommodating.

Our property was situated on a large lot about 25 feet above a road called "Gronnel Road." This road ran adjacent to the beautiful and sinuous Nehalem River, which we could look out on from our house. Elderberry Road connected to Gronnel, which turned onto Highway 26, about a mile from our house. There was a sign at the intersection of Gronnel and Highway 26 with an arrow pointing east that read, "Portland 51." I wanted to visit Portland every time I saw that sign. About 3/4 of a mile east on Highway 26 was the local General Store. They had almost everything one might need, except Portland's daily newspaper; they only carried the Sunday edition. We were not that isolated in that we got a few radio stations out of Portland. We paid for satellite television from Dish Network, and also got some local stations from Portland. The only value for us from local news was the weather report. Otherwise, it was your typical news about crime and fires. For some reason, Portland always seemed to have fires in homes and warehouses. We did get MSNBC via satellite. That was the nearest thing we got to progressive news.