Thursday, April 12, 2007

I'll Make Him an Offer He Can't Refuse...

"Working Boys"
Congratulations, Rachelle!


Go ahead. Try to guess what came home with us in the trunk.


Nope.

Nope again.

As we're driving along the highway, somewhere between John Day and Pendleton, City Boy shouts out, "Hey! I just saw some fur! Should we go back? Could be there are neat bones, too." At this point in the trip I had a throbbing headache, so I pretended not to hear him. I didn't want to go backwards, I just wanted to head to the next hotel where I could unfold myself from the car and take a nice, long bath.


Darling, however, has a sense of adventure. Also, apparently, a need for bones. Before I could protest, the car had made a reverse there in the middle of the highway and we were headed back up the hill in search of fur, and possibly bones.


After about a mile, the fur came into view, and City Boy pulled over onto the shoulder. I opened my door and was greeted by a horse skull, complete with jaw hair and a partial ear. Can we say "Charming"? No, I didn't think so.

Okay, so my City Boy doesn't wear a cowboy hat, boots or spurs. He has no problem, however, putting the head of a dead horse into the trunk of our car to bring home. Whatever...as long as I don't wake up with it in my bed come morning!


A few more Drive By Shootings...



Lake Kachess, on Snoqualmie Pass (this is one that didn't show up the first day.)

Wild? Probably not. But that's what they'd look like!


Plenty of scenery like this along the way.

One of many abandoned homes along the way; this one near Fox, Oregon.

Tomorrow I'll have more photos and the story of the Whitman Mission for you. A very tragic story. The buildings are gone, but the story lives on.

Alice Clarissa Whitman died here, in what used to be a river bed.
She was just two years old, and the first white child born in the region.

View from the Whitman Memorial over the valley.

9 comments:

Dixie said...

The photos are beautiful!!

I'll just say it again. I'm jealous! Wish I were there!

Why do they need a horse skull??

Lady Of Chaos said...

Only you would go to see the wild horses and bring home a horse skull (or at least the rest of the family).

Gorgous pics yet again! I can't wait to see them all when you finally get home and post them.

Thanks for choosing my title suggestion on the pic. :)

Okay I hope you get rid of that headache and have a fun day and that you have totally enjoyed your vacation, and like the rest of your readers... I wish I could have gone to!

Unknown said...

I want that house in Fox!!

Tracey said...

Sue, that house was soooo cute, and I love abandoned homes. But really, inside? Um, it left a little to be desired. Such as windows and a floor. Minor details, don't you think?

dot said...

As always, your pictures are gorgous! An aunt of mine has a collection of animal skulls. When she would find one she wanted to keep she would put it in bleach water to get rid of the bad stuff on them. She doesn't have anything as big as that horse tho. What are you going to do with it?

Anonymous said...

What is it with men and roadkill? At least it was not the entire animal - he might have wanted to stuff it and put it in the house!

BTW, thanks for the gift! You are awesome!

Beemoosie said...

What beautiful pictures!! It looks so warm...sigh...
I just don't think you can call him city boy any more!!!

smilnsigh said...

Yes, the photos are beautiful. Other than the horse skull. Dare I wonder what CB did with it, when you got home??

No, I dare not.

Mari-Nanci

Anonymous said...

My friend and I were recently talking about how modern society has evolved to become so integrated with technology. Reading this post makes me think back to that debate we had, and just how inseparable from electronics we have all become.


I don't mean this in a bad way, of course! Ethical concerns aside... I just hope that as memory becomes less expensive, the possibility of uploading our memories onto a digital medium becomes a true reality. It's a fantasy that I daydream about almost every day.


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