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My husband and I hiked the Trail of Ten Falls near Silverton a few weeks ago. It’s been many years since we did that hike, which was a tiny bit grueling, but also stunning, unspoiled, majestic.
Words like that kept coming out of my mouth as we hiked:
“That waterfall is stunning!”
“What a majestic setting. I feel like I’m on the set for ‘The Last of the Mohicans!’”
“Just look at that grove of trees! Have you ever seen trees like that?”
We weren’t the only ones dishing out superlatives. We overheard hikers from Texas, Arizona and Michigan offering up their own assessment. This kind of beauty cannot be absorbed quietly.
In fact, we passed a woman who turned to her friend and said, “This is the most magical place I’ve ever been in my life.”
My heart nearly burst with pride. I mean, we Oregonians know that our state is beautiful, but to hear other people say it is like having strangers compliment your cute baby in the Target parking lot. You can’t take any credit, except to say, “I know, aren’t I smart to live here?”
Oregon is lovely year-round, but it shines in the summer. The trees, the flowers — it’s a technicolor world. And then there’s the harvest: Grapes fall off the vine, pears come in by the bushel, and even an invasive bush gives us sweet, juicy blackberries.
The hardest part about living in Oregon is the letdown that comes from visiting any other place. A few years ago, we took a summer trip to Maine and Vermont. We saw national parks, historic sites, rolling green hills and farms. They were fine, but it was muggy and very buggy, and our biggest takeaway was that Oregon outshines it all. Vermont had nice cheese, but we have Tillamook! Maine had rugged coastline and lighthouses, but we have Heceta Head, Yaquina Head, the Coquille River!
It’s an embarrassment of riches.
I can step out my front door, hike up to Hendricks Park, and find myself in scenic gardens and forests. I can drop a pin on almost any stretch along the McKenzie or Willamette and discover a wonderland.
We spent a year in England, which itself is green and lush, but when we arrived back in Eugene our jaws collectively dropped at the beauty of the place we called home. A year away, and we had forgotten.
Oregon has ruined me. It’s like once you have tasted crème brulee, you cannot be satisfied with plastic-wrapped caramels.
I’m reminded of a hike I did with my brother a few years ago. It was February, and I wanted to show him Salt Creek Falls off Highway 58. On the way, he told me about a trip he took to New Zealand, and how I must go, because I will never see anything so beautiful.
We began our hike amid towering pines and cascading pools. By the time we reached the falls, which were roaring with winter runoff, the air had filled with flurries, as if we’d been transported inside a gently shaken snow globe. Our faces were wet from the mist off the water, and the moss and ferns encircled us like the Hanging Garden of Babylon.
My brother was quiet for a moment. Then he turned to me and said, “Yeah, you don’t need to go to New Zealand. You have this.”
Do we pay for it with stretches of rain? Yes, we do, but I’m not talking about that right now. I’m talking about how if there was a state beauty contest, all of them lined up, dressed in sparkling gowns and heels, with satin sashes, Oregon would have very little competition. (But who am I kidding? Oregon would be wearing hiking pants and Birkenstocks.)
To be neighborly, I’d allow California a runner-up spot, and Utah gets contender points for all that red rock, but the top three, jostling for the crown, would be Alaska, Hawaii and our very own Oregon. And because Hawaii and Alaska were late additions, they would be disqualified, leaving only the glittering green emerald that is Oregon.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that I’ll never travel elsewhere. Because New Zealand has hobbits. And Hawaii has that warm ocean.
It just means that every time I come home, I will give a queen’s wave, gather a bouquet of flowers from the garden and once again crown my home state first place.
