Thursday, August 7, 2025

Thursday, August 7, 2025

Tracking back a little. From the Portland airport we took a cab to Red Lion Hotel on Jantzen Beach in Hayden Island, Oregon. The eastern sky threatened with thunderclouds, pouring down with vengeance, while the western sky welcomed us with dazzling sunlight. 

Our hotel balcony overlooked the Columbia River, partly hidden behind pine trees. Was it the same river upon which sailed Louis and Clark with their crew? I couldn’t believe my fortune! The next morning I saw our boat, “American Harmony,” docked right next to the pines!

Under the early morning sunlight the air was fresh. We walked on a trail that ran parallel to the river. Cumulus clouds announced themselves against the bright blue sky with such confidence that I straightened my shoulders. The riverside of the trail was studded with California poppies, yellow daisies, and wild grasses; the landside was lined with picturesque cottages and manicured gardens.

I couldn’t help wondering whether Lewis and Clark had passed these banks, admired the poppies and daisies. How many centuries of historic secrets was the primeval Columbia River concealing? The river shimmered silently.

“Lovely view!” said a woman standing in front of her cottage, hugging a teacup with both her hands as she gazed at the river.

“Isn’t it!” I responded with a smile. Casual conversation revealed the flowers were a recent planting. I felt silly for being disappointed.

We embarked the boat, settled in our room, then climbed to the sundeck to soak in the January sun. Another couple had the same idea. Our talk inevitably moved to Lewis and Clark. “Did you get to read their journals?” I asked excitedly. The woman said she had not gotten past “today it rained… today sun showed itself… we were soaked to the bone… it was cloudy again…” Then looked at her husband and both laughed. He confessed, “To be honest, I read Cliff Notes on the expedition.” My husband chuckled and said, “I think I’ll do the same.”

In that case you’d never know, I thought to myself, how “mortified” the members of the Corps of Discovery were when their clothes were soaking wet and how chill ran through their bones, or when Lewis discovered a new bird species and drew it meticulously in his journal. Or how after their fatigue and hunger pains they enjoyed a meal of elk meat, roasted tubers, and whiskey. I just smiled.

“Mortified” was Lewis’s favorite word. When discomforted, horrified, appalled, annoyed, or ashamed, he always expressed the sentiment as, “I was mortified.” A further aside, Clark’s favorite phrase was “etc., etc., etc.,” written so many times that I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to use the actual words to save the word count.As our boat sailed from Portland toward Astoria, one thought surfaced: Born in India as I was, molded from the clay of a distant motherland, was it possible for my dust to merge with the dust of the land I had chosen to spend the rest of my life and die in? 
(To be continued)