Falling for Oregon and the Turbulent Stories Behind Her Beauty
(And you better pronounce it like the locals: OR-eh-guhn.)
We were brand-new arrivals to Oregon from Los Angeles and eager to explore the Pacific Northwest. My husband and I were younger and kid-free as we zipped down Highway 84 in our black BMW still sporting its California plates.
Though Oregon isn’t exactly known for its sunny days, we do have them, and they are spectacular. This was one of those days. And we were off to see one of the wonders of our new state — Multnomah Falls.
In the next lane a white pick-up truck was driving parallel to us, not passing, clearly begging us to look at it. I turn to see a cute dog in the back seat:
“Aw look, honey.”
And just as my husband can catch a glimpse from behind the wheel, the driver of the pickup stares us directly in the eyes and puts his hand in the shape of a gun pulling a trigger.
WTF?
Then he speeds along ahead of us.
After taking a moment to get over the shock, it dawned on us. The pickup driver saw us as one of those California invaders, or Californicators. I’m sure the black sports car didn’t help.
