There was a certain yin-yang quality to our mini-vacation,
where yin was represented by fabric and yang by brew pubs.
Balance in all things. Sigh.
After the show, we crossed the river and headed east
along a scenic highway. It was a lovely drive,
once we got away from the big rigs and the traffic.
We had reservations in Hood River, but were in no hurry
to get anywhere, which is a simply divine way to travel.
Once in Hood River, we parked the car and started
investigating the local breweries. I can't testify to the beer,but the food was lovely. There is something slightly
wicked about starting with appetizers at 4 at one pub,
having a main course at a second pub, and finishing up
with dessert back at the hotel at 8 pm.
We were at our leisure, and that is a rare and lovely thing.
The next morning featured a slow breakfast in the hotel
restaurant, which was surprisingly good and friendly,
followed by a meander through town to the farmer's market
(where I bought 23 pounds of Mackintosh apples. Score!),
then a quick drive in the car to the local quilt shop,
and a visit to their local history museum,
before checking out the last pub on Big E's list for lunch.
Then it was a slow drive down the length of a second scenic highway back toward home.
I love them, and we have been lucky enough to visit some really well cared for ones.
On this trip, I was particularly interested to learn how early Japanese families had begun to immigrate into the Hood River area. There was a small exhibit about one woman who came to the area from Japan as a bride in 1916. She and her husband owned an orchard that grew apples and pears. It was delightful to see photos from the 20's of local grade school classes that were an integrated mix of faces. Of course all of this makes the interment of Japanese American's in World War II all the more outrageous. The woman in the exhibit had been living in the area for 35 years when she was moved to a camp in 1941.
As a side note, the apples I bought at the farmer's market were from a farm which was founded in 1911, by Japanese immigrants. The same family still owns the farm, but it made me wonder about their experiences during WWII.
There were other interesting exhibits, like one about telephone operators. A very well turned out older woman approached us as we looked at the switchboard, and said, "I used to do that." She told us about her first out of state call (to Arkansas) and about how long distance calls were processed during World War II.