As those of you who read this blog already know, my Grandmother passed away last week. It is for me the end of an era. My grandparents lived just outside of Lyle, WA. It is arguably one of the most beautiful places on this planet. Perhaps that is why the forest service purchased their property from them some twenty-five years ago in order to make it a natural park with the agreement that my grandparents could occupy their home for the rest of their lives. Grandpa and Grandma's place sat on top of a bluff overlooking the Columbia River. In the middle of the river, just below my grandparent's home is Memaloose Island, an ancient Indian burial site. Across the river is an unobstructed view of Mt Hood.
Major Creek runs through their property and along one side of the creek was the site of an ancient Indian village. The Indians could straddle Major Creek and catch wild salmon with their hands as they made their run to spawn.
Along the bluff, the Indians had built a lookout tower out of the local rocks. From that vantage, they could protect their village from other tribes coming up and down the Columbia. Deer and Eagles were a common site out Grandma's front window. Of course also outside her window was the magical view of the Columbia, with the activity of fishing boats and tugs hauling freight up and down the river, and Mt. Hood.
That will all soon be gone; at least in the way I remember it from my boyhood. Perhaps a park bench will be dedicated in memory of my grandparents where their home once stood. I do not know.
I know I long for the day when I will once again sit with my Grandmother and hear that cheerful voice, always so filled with energy and love of life. Perhaps the Lord will have a spot with such a view where she and I will look out over the wonders of God and in the quiet of the morning, sip coffee, rejoice in the work of God and just be glad to be with one another as we once were.
Major Creek runs through their property and along one side of the creek was the site of an ancient Indian village. The Indians could straddle Major Creek and catch wild salmon with their hands as they made their run to spawn.
Along the bluff, the Indians had built a lookout tower out of the local rocks. From that vantage, they could protect their village from other tribes coming up and down the Columbia. Deer and Eagles were a common site out Grandma's front window. Of course also outside her window was the magical view of the Columbia, with the activity of fishing boats and tugs hauling freight up and down the river, and Mt. Hood.
That will all soon be gone; at least in the way I remember it from my boyhood. Perhaps a park bench will be dedicated in memory of my grandparents where their home once stood. I do not know.
I know I long for the day when I will once again sit with my Grandmother and hear that cheerful voice, always so filled with energy and love of life. Perhaps the Lord will have a spot with such a view where she and I will look out over the wonders of God and in the quiet of the morning, sip coffee, rejoice in the work of God and just be glad to be with one another as we once were.
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