Boston Reunion 2.0

(Note: I've been working on this post for a couple of weeks, writing a little here and a little there. Four days ago, the Boston Marathon was bombed by a yet-to-be-identified piece of scum who mistakenly believes his/their actions can dampen the spirit of the greatest and most indomitable city in America. I felt that since I was in the middle of a blog post about a place and a group of people so precious to me, I had to say a few words about what happened. This tragedy has reminded me of what I already knew: there's no place like Boston. I am so moved by the stories of marathon runners who finished the race and kept on running to Mass General to donate blood. And the stories of kindness and solidarity keep pouring in, stories of people running toward the blast instead of away from it to offer help. People being carried to safety by strangers. Spectators offering their cell phones to runners so that they could contact loved ones. People opening their homes to those who needed a place to stay for the night. The Yankees playing "Sweet Caroline" during their game. And so the take home message for me after these horrific events is--ironically enough--that goodness and human decency are alive and well in America. I love you, Boston. Now more than ever.)

Don't get me started on Boston because I will gush, and you will have to whack me over the head with a crowbar to get me to stop. The years I spent there are the happiest of my life so far, without question. I could rhapsodize for hours about skinny dipping in Walden Pond, eating ice cream by the barrel at Kimball Farms, channelling my inner Kennedy on The Cape, digging for bargains at Filene's Basement, celebrating Apple/Pumpkin/Maple and Chowderfests, leaf peeping in Vermont, and sitting in a little chapel in Harvard Square, feeling so close to God and--although 3,000 miles away from family--completely at home.

Suffice it to say I loved Boston. I miss it so much it hurts. I miss the cannoli, the Red Sox, the Freedom Trail, even the snowstorms. But above all else, I miss the people I met there. There is no Walden Pond without Kamber, Alicia, and Marissa. There's no Red Sox without Timmy. There's no game night at Ronaele Road without Jeni. There's no Chowderfest without Scott. The list of names goes on: Becky, Kelly, Juan Dolor, the Rob(b)s, Christy, Andy, Mikey, Carri, Sylvia, Peggy, Mary, Rachel, and many, many more. These are the people who made my Boston years so special, and I often wonder if I went back, would it be the same?

In 2008, my old Boston roommates and I returned to The Holy Land for the reunion of a lifetime. It was wonderful. The weather was perfect, the cannoli were delicious, and Walden was just as magical as I remembered. In 2013, one Jeni Hendrix Ennis (may her name be praised forevermore) felt like it was time to reunite once again, and she got the ball rolling. She rented an awesome home in Soda Springs, ID large enough to accommodate 5 entire families, and we spent the weekend eating, laughing, reminiscing, playing games, and relaxing in the nearby hot springs.

Soda Springs is a 12-hour drive for Rex and me, so I decided that we would break it up into a two-day trip. The road to Idaho luckily passes through Kennewick, WA, where my best friend of some 25 years, Rebecca, lives with her family. Rebecca generously offered to feed us lunch while we were there, and Rex was grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs. After lunch we hopped in our car, Rebecca hopped into hers, and together we drove to Walla Walla, WA--about a 45-minute drive from Kennewick.

At this point I should probably explain something. You've heard me talk about my friend Carrie on this blog before. Carrie and I have been friends since we were 12 years old, and she accounts for about 90% of my social life here in Kent, WA. Her husband is named Shanon--one of the greatest guys you'll ever meet--and he has gotten me hooked on the National Parks. He inspired me to purchase this little beauty...

... in which you can collect stamps from every National Park, Monument, Recreational Area, and Historic Site in the nation. The stamps themselves are pretty boring:

But there is a lot of thrill in the chase. Every time I travel somewhere, I always go to nps.gov to see if there is a National Park in the area. I have more to say on this new little obsession of mine, but I'll save it for the next post.

Those of you familiar with the drive between Seattle and eastern Idaho know that Walla Walla isn't exactly en route, but I decided that it was worth the extra hour or so to swing by and pick up a stamp for the old passport at the Whitman Mission.

Historical note: Dr. Marcus and Narcissa Whitman settled on Cayuse Indian land and established a mission in 1836. Relations between the missionaries and the Cayuse people were friendly at first. In the 1840s, when the mission became a popular rest stop along the Oregon Trail, tensions started to rise. The Cayuse watched as thousands and thousands of settlers invaded their lands, which made them more than a little nervous. These settlers brought lots of nasty diseases with them, and in 1847, a measles epidemic wiped out about half of the tribe. The Indians suspected that Dr. Whitman was poisoning them, since they suffered so many devastating losses while the white people seemed to recuperate quickly from the disease. On November 29, 1847, a small group of Indians attacked the mission and killed 14 people, including Dr. Whitman and his wife.

Aaaanyway, we made it to the mission site 10 minutes before closing. Phew! Stamping occurred (there was also an Oregon Trail stamp there, but I abstained since I had already gotten one of those at Ft. Vancouver) and then we wandered around, checking the place out:

The "Great Grave" site:

We hiked leisurely walked up a little hill that afforded a nice view of the valley. That perfectly manicured patch of grass is where the mission once stood:

The real-life Oregon Trail:

Rex was a good sport:

We had dinner with Rebecca and her kids after visiting the mission, and then Rex and I stayed the night at a crappy and very smoky La Quinta in Walla Walla. The next morning we got back on the road, which led through the bustling metropolis of Milton-Freewater, OR--a fact that would mean nothing except that it is the final resting place of some dead ancestors of mine on my mom's side. If you know me, you know I have a thing for cemeteries and dead relatives. I had to stop by and pay my respects to my...

great great grandparents, John and Rachel Hodgen:

great great grandparents, John and Margaret McDannald:

and great grandmother, Alice Louisa Hodgen:

It's kind of a dumpy and sad little cemetery (see photo below). These ancestors of mine Oregon Trailed-it from Illinois and Kentucky. I wonder what circumstances led these people to uproot themselves from their homes and make such a difficult journey west to a remote wilderness they had never seen before. My Mormon ancestors' story is so familiar to me, and I understand what propelled them westward. But these people? What was the allure? Land? Wasn't there plenty of that in Kentucky? I looked around and wondered what their first impressions of the area might have been. Were they happy with their decision to move to Oregon? I hope it turned out to be everything they hoped it would be. 

Here's a picture of John McDannald. I love it. I think he's such a cute old man:

But enough about my dead relatives... this is a post about BOSTON! So after several more hours on the road and about an hour and a half sitting on the freeway outside of Boise waiting for a semi truck to finish burning to the ground, we finally made it to Soda Springs, ID. The reunion was joyous, to say the least. It was so wonderful to see my Boston family again! And it was so great to meet all of the new kids who were born in the years we've been apart.

During our weekend of fun, we spent a few blissful hours in the town of Lava Hot Springs where they have, surprise surprise, some hot springs. These were the NICEST hot springs I have ever been to. They were nice and clean and didn't smell like eggy farts like most hot springs do. They were heavenly!

Once again, Rex was a good sport:

And so was Scott, who sat with him and kept him company while the rest of us enjoyed the hot springs.  Seriously, though. God bless Scott Buchanan. He was so good to Rex the whole time we were there--he even fed him his dinner the night we arrived. What a rockstar. Another big thank you to David, Brian, and Mikey who helped me get Rex in/out of the car, up the stairs, and did tons of heavy lifting for me. I just couldn't have made it through the weekend without your help!

The whole weekend went by too quickly. There were so many more games to play, so many more jokes to crack, so many more stories to catch up on... but time kept marching on and before we knew it, Sunday morning had arrived and it was time to pack it all up and say good-bye until next time. It was tough. I miss those idyllic Boston years when I got to see these people every day instead of once every five years. I'll admit a tear might have been shed. Next time, let's make it a one week minimum, OK?