Wilsonville Road In The Bleak Midwinter

One of my favorite things to do now that I live in Newberg is drive to Costco.  No longer the hop-skip-jump drive that it once was from our home in Tualatin (a pretty drive south on Boones Ferry past TuHS and winding through undeveloped farmland until you hit the I-5 South onramp), it is now a bit of a trek. But the out-of-the-way aspect of not living near the interstate is richly rewarded by my new drive down Wilsonville Road to get to I-5 north and then another quick jaunt up to Costco from the south.

Wilsonville Road is like driving through a dream.  Winding through farms, forests, orchards, and skirting the Willamette River, the road is both a scenic delight and great practice for "looking through the curve," as I was taught in Motorcycle Class this summer.  The backcountry reminds me a little bit of Ken's home in upstate New York for its hilly landscape and the farmhouses, red painted barns, and stretches of tranquil cow pasture that make me feel like a metropolis is hours away.  The craggy background of fir and pine give away the decidedly Northwestern locale, though, so I know we aren't in Rip Van Winkle territory, though the twisting limbs of oaks and maples arching over the road belie the fact.  My special drive to Costco is a faerie land, and I wish often that I could have taken my best friend and twin sister Megan on a drive down Wilsonville Road when she was visiting in the summer.  In every season, this road beckons with its enchantments and beauty.

Tonight as I was heading home from a Costco errand, I had to bemoan the absence of my best friend once again with particular force, as the sunset was casting a particularly magical glow over Wilsonville Road.  The clouds were a soft purply gray like a kitten's fur and the sky was shot with a fiery peach, a gentle pink, and a robin's egg blue so delicate it was almost green.  As I approached the first turn, I gasped out loud.  A light fog had risen as I was shopping and now filled the hollows and spaces between patches of forest.  I had never seen fog here at sunset before and wished more than ever that Megan could be here to see it, too.  (Utah does not have fog - it has "fug.")

Mist coated the ground in orchards, making the sinewy trees appear like maidens bending and twisting graceful limbs.  I glanced toward the Willamette River on the left and saw the mist rising on the river, meshing with the cold air in a soft pink halo.  As I swooped up the curves of the road, horse farms gave way to forests and back to fields, pearly white in the sunset.  The Scots say that the dead come down with the fog.  Wondering if ancient battlefields look similar to my spooky road, I breathed in deeply and caught a distinct eau de rotty skunk.  Ugh.  Something must have climbed out of the nearest neighbor's septic tank and was now wandering free in the failing light.  Happily, the scent died away as I drove on.  Further afield, the fog had climbed nearly to the telephone poles on one property; on another, the low clouds had not quite covered the expanse of earth and were reaching out with phantom fingers toward the edge of the road.  In some areas, the fog spilled into the road and sight was only clear directly around me.  I wished I could keep driving Wilsonville Road forever.

But I arrived home like I usually do, in plenty of time and looking back wistfully.  Someday maybe we can move.

Here are some pics I took of an orchard and sheep on a hill on Wilsonville Road this year, just to tide you over until I can take more pictures of my favorite place!