Another beautiful drive yesterday. Wow. California 199 into Grants Pass, Oregon, is truly a site, in daylight. At night, it’s like driving the old Saddle Road on the Big Island (Hawai’i) – twists and turns at a rapid pace with a speed limit of 55 of which one has to wonder who, in their right mind, would actually drive 55 in that area other than reputable NASCAR, Formula 1, or Indy Car drivers.
This giant of a Redwood stretched at least 200 feet into the misty sky.
We drove along the Smith River banks, 10 miles of the pathway was a hard-packed, clay, old mining road called Howland Hill Road – right through an old-growth Redwood forest. And I thought Sequoias were alone impressive.
I even claimed a little exercise riding my bike along a portion of Highway 101 on Tuesday and darn near fell over a few times due to a combination of under-inflated tires and my head careening upwards to view old redwood stumps…yes, looking upward to view redwood stumps. Even the stumps are amazing.
The Smith River, as many rivers in northern CA and southern OR, run azure all year, a quality that comes from the unique minerals in the local area.
While the old-growth areas are beautiful and awe-inspiring, the Smith River is another feature of this drive that makes it worth-while. The color was described to me as being azure, a color I’ve only names out of a crayon box – but it’s spot-on. The Trinity River that runs beside much of Highway 299 is also the same color as is, I’m sure, the Klamath River which we’re going to view later today. There aren’t words to describe the beauty of the color alone. We’ve been to Hawai’i a few times in our short lives and have been in wonder of the deep blue sea that we’ve traversed. This is a much different color, a beauty all its own.
A faster-running section of the Smith River, the azure color pops against the rock bed.
During our drive into Grants Pass to meet a former soccer player for dinner, I was inspired by a few of the smaller, more economically depressed towns we drove through. The undercurrent of the movie Cars was about a small town called Radiator Springs. A place that had been by-passed by the tourniquet of newer freeways, fast-paced byways that cut off the life supply of the smaller towns. While Highway 199 isn’t located nearby a major freeway system (even I-5 is less imposing as a major freeway in some parts of northern CA and southern OR) these small towns have been impacted by a similar phenomena where the younger locals area drawn to more metropolitan areas.
Imposing beasts. And the less imposing beast (me) standing at the base of this monster.
I live in a similar town in northeastern Colorado. Largely agricultural in nature and industry, many of our young folks aren’t carrying on the family farming business with exception to a few dedicated FFA youth who are inspired by their parents – an attribute I find quite virtuous.
I-76 runs right by Fort Morgan, Colorado. It doesn’t drain the life from our small community but aids in its existence as passerby’s participate in our local economy. Yet 199 travelers are going from “point A” to “point B”, form one place to another without batting an eyelash at the smaller local communities and their commerce. I was such an example. Its not that they offer much, I’d have to admit they are limited in their capacity to produce a wide variety of interests. Even the down-and-out are even more down-and-out. We passed a gentleman holding a sign that read ANYTHING HELPS on the corner of 199 and a small-town, impoverished and nearly-bust community grocery store. Um, hey fella, you’re not going to have much luck pan-handling from this location.
From a fallen redwood many years ago, this stump was roughly 10-12 feet in diameter, about 6-7 feet tall.
As I drove by this unfortunate person I began to think, in my own perverse way, that this guy is really in the wrong place. I’d help him, too, perhaps offering a ride to a high-traffic area for greater success if he didn’t also look like a stereotypical axe murderer. I mean, if he were hitchhiking he’d have an even longer wait for assistance.
I began to think of a list of items that could help this guy improve his situation, only a few of which were actually practical, the rest were from my perverse line of thinking. For example…
1. Shave. Look less like a vertically-challenged yeti (Sasquatch is pretty popular in these areas) and more like you play for the New York Yankees.
2. Scent. Deodorant. Even the less-expensive travel size and a single swipe in each armpit may help.
3. Smile. The look of vacant emptiness (I know… that’s a bit repetitively redundant) in those eyes combined with a flat affect of facial expression are less attractive to folk who want to help. Actually, they even frighten a few of us.
And this list goes on… Again, less practical and more useless, really, for a guy like the one on the corner. For me, the above is even less pastoral than my calling suggests. Still, what resources are available to guy like this especially in a near-bust town?
I don’t pretend to have the answers, but there must be one for each community – a niche in which a smaller community could build upon to thrive once again for those residing there. Even if it begins with the thought of the traveller to intentionally stop in and say a kind “hello.” At least that’s a start.
The Journey. Rev. Greg Larsen 