Over the River and Through the Desert..

This year we’re doing the whole rotating holidays between grandparents thing – last year we spent Thanksgiving here and Christmas with my folks, and this year we’re spending Thanksgiving with my folks and Christmas with Michael’s folks here in town. We’re leaving tomorrow, and I should be getting ready for that trip right now, but…\par
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I always think of that song “Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go” when we go to my mom’s house – only we don’t really go through woods, at least not after we go over the river. By the time we’re over the river we’re well into Eastern Washington which is technically a desert. Not the sand and cactus kind, but the sage-brush and cheat-grass\’c3\’82\’c2\~on pretty good soil kind. I love the area. I love the shadows on the golden hills, and the velvety green of the hills in the spring. The rivers are pretty, if you see them from the right places, and the dry air is welcome to someone raised where stickiness is never an issue.\par
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However, appreciation for the beauty of my desert is something of an acquired taste. People from where I currently live often refer to Eastern Washington as a “barren wasteland.” My husband always describes my beautiful rolling hills as “dead brown hills.” So you see, it’s all a matter of perspective. As I get used to the verdant grown of Western Oregon, however, I have to admit that I start to see his point. Not that I appreciate the view from my parents house overlooking the Yakima river any less, but I do kind of have to change my mental spectacles as we cross over the line where trees stop and endless grass and sagebrush start. Maybe someday Michael will find those spectacles and want to move there? Inconceivable. Oh well, at least we’re close enough to visit!