Yellowstone, I mean Oregon

It turns out Belfair—remember Belfair?—was our last outing for a good while. There were many plans, but then right after that there was real life, which giggles at plans. Okay by us! We will try to seize the day and not worry to much about seizing the month or the year.

So, we have seized a bunch of days, but they’re not real until they’re documented somehow, so let’s handle that. It has been so long that the WordPress user interface has been revamped, and I have no idea what I’m doing here. I think I am able to move forward by nudging WordPress backward—we’ll see. Onward.

Instead of our long-planned adventure to and from Yellowstone, we veered south to meet good friends in southern Oregon. This is a good place to meet them because they live in California’s Central Valley, and southern Oregon is roughly halfway between here and there. However, as we learned last year, Central Oregon in July can be warm and smoky. It didn’t disappoint.

Our first stop: Olde Stone Village RV Park in McMinnville, Oregon.

People come to McMinnville because (a) they’re passing through while traveling between Portland and the Oregon coast, (b) they like to do wine-tasting things and eat foodie foods, (c) they want to visit the Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum, (d) they want their kids to experience the nearby, aviation-themed water park, or (e) some combination. I expect the town has other endearing qualities, but we didn’t learn about them on this trip.

This field backed up to our site (or did our site back up to it?). There were ample opportunities to wander around, looking for birds and bunnies, but the animals were in sort supply. I did manage to capture images of the first American Kestrels I’ve ever seen… but the pix are blurry. Like so many things.

We spent three glorious nights at the park, which is a combination mobile home community and RV park. Very clean. Lovely in every way. Walking distance to the museum. 

Outside the museum. It’s just an empty shell, now—no seats, equipment, people, or anything else.

Inside the museum. Look! It’s a DC-3. When I first rode one of these in the late 1950s I thought it was the largest object in the universe. But I was quite a bit shorter, then.

Yeah, the museum is crawling with flying things—some larger (Spruce Goose!), some smaller (replica of Orville and Wilbur Wright’s first aircraft), some other-worldly (spaceships, even). I had thought it might be fun for photography, but the aircraft are too crowded together to yield really interesting shots (or so it seemed to an amateur).

So I settled for some detail shots.

Another thing about McMinnville: it has a downtown some have called quaint. So because it’s a Thing One Does, we drove to the downtown (10-minute drive in Chief), impressed ourselves by parallel-parking Chief without blamming into anything, and walked up and down the main drag. We were whelmed.

So, enough with McMinnville. It was time to join our friends at the fabulous Seven Feathers Casino, Hotel and RV Resort. Four glorious hours down achingly beautiful I-5 and we were checked in, a day before our friends were to arrive. 

By the way, did I mention Wally and Tyler? No. That’s because they weren’t with us on this trip (we missed them the entire time). Remember, we were supposed to be at Yellowstone? And you will probably know that U.S. National Parks are anti-pet (understandable if inconvenient for us). So we left the boys home with the house-sitter, even though our destination changed, because we had to pay her anyway and this would enable us to Go On Dates, Guilt-free. Or so we thought.

(The guilt was there—for having left the terriers behind. At least they were with our longtime house-sitter, whom they adore.)

Anyway, Seven Feathers. Nice landscaping, handy casino, useful for delivering the smoke part of the July tradition (in this case, inside, where all the slot machines live). Side note: a big fire started about two miles south of the resort, but not until two days after we had departed. Timing.

At Seven Feathers you have a manicured, landscaped experience, sandwiched between a sinful casino and a lively shooting range. (Also, usually, sandwiched between giant rigs that make the Toto, which looms over our driveway at home, look like it needs growth hormones). What’s not to love? In this photo: a portable grill about to inhabit a dumpster.

Much as I’d like to, I won’t share pictures of the casino, because (a) they would be smoky and (b) someone probably would have snatched my camera away if I tried to use it in there. I lost $10. I wonder where it is.

Speaking of loss, I also tossed a perfectly lousy portable grill into the dumpster at the RV park. I probably ought not to have done it, and I’m sorry about that. I hope the $10 covers any added dump costs.

It was good to see our friends, but the Washington coast and the Olympic Peninsula (with one more stop along the way) called to us. We will share details—including our efforts to acquire a new grill—soon.