We have arrived. Here. The end of the road. A small wiggle that peters out on every map. What is here? A noisy, churning brook. Vertical mountains that were lit earlier by unexpected, almost out-of-place lightning and thunder for this time of year. A small deck off a cottage where, wrapped in fleece and WiFi, I can inhale a clean drink of fir and pine. This may be some of the best it gets. In addition to nature, we also have the best pizza in Oregon because a New York City transplant (long freaking story with Hollywood money in the mix) landed in this neck of the wood and set up shop. Greasy, gorgeously triangular, flat, cheesy, delicious, every single slice. Are we back in high-calorie heaven yet? Gary and Wide’s blues festival radio show just finished. DJs with good DJ voices? Who knew? It is holiday time here at Wallowa Lake. Tomorrow a few errands and a gathering at Terminal Gravity for food and brews by eve. Before that? Waking, walking, breathing. We are so lucky! As it says on a poster in our Flying Arrow cabin, “If you’re lucky enough to be in the mountains, you’re lucky enough.”
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