Sawyer awakened us at what was now 7:00am, now that we were in Pacific time zone. After taking care of the morning bottle ritual (hot water put in thermos the night before, mixed with cool water from our water bottles, mixed with pre-measured formula), we went to Walmart for some groceries and a new atlas. Don’t get me wrong…I hate Walmart, but now that we are on the tightest of tight budgets, prices that end in .88 instead of .99 are right up my alley. Sawyer was already ready for a nap, so we let him lay down on his bed in the extra cab while we had our cereal and got on the phone with Gold’s Gym.
Soon our yelling woke Sawyer up, and we started to head out of town. Luckily I recognized an intersection we were at, or we would have missed…well, I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. I present to you Ruby Street Antiques.
Sawyer was scared of the big bulldog. Every time we tried to get him to ride it, he was sad and wanted to get off. I’ve never seen so much stuff in my life. I especially liked all the fountains. Who wouldn’t want a baby seal in the bathtub?
As we left Spokane, we saw a cute park called Riverside Park, but Sawyer had gone back to sleep, so we didn’t stop. The scenery to the west of Spokane was nothing like the huge forests we had driven through the day before. We saw miles and miles of rolling hills covered with harvested fields of wheat.
We stopped in Wilbur, Washington for a picnic lunch in the city park. While we were there, a large motor home pulled up next to us and three people emerged. A couple in their sixties accompanied an elderly woman who walked with their assistance. The trio walked to the end of the block and back to our picnic spot, where they told Tyson the old woman, age 98, was an original homesteader in Wilbur.
We had chosen the day’s route based on my desire to see Grand Coulee Dam. I have a love of dams and bridges – it must be my dad’s civil engineer influence. When I was a kid, my dad used to take me to see his “dam project” near Vernal, Utah. I still get excited to cross a bridge or see a dam. When I was a kid, I also loved to go to the dump with my dad, but that love has now faded.
We crossed the Colville Indian Reservation where we stopped to let a funeral cortege pass on the highway. The casket was riding in a pick-up truck, with the pallbearers perched around the edges of the truck bed. Leaving the reservation, we entered apple country. Neatly organized orchards dotted the hillsides around us, and the air was scented with apple perfume. Rows of apple trees turned to blankets of evergreens as we climbed into the Okanogan National Forest.
Between two arms of the Okanogan National Forest lies a valley called the Methow Valley, where we saw two picturesque little communities, Twisp and Winthrop. Winthrop was so picturesque, in fact, that we couldn’t tell if it was real or not. As in, did they make it this way, or did it happen this way? The whole town was full of cheerily-painted Old West-style storefronts. It was like being in the town on Little House on the Prairie. After we passed through the Methow Valley, we reentered the forest as the road charged up the steep slopes of the Cascade Range. The sun shone brightly on the craggy peaks, but the air turned chilly. We found a nice place to camp, dressed in our warm clothes, and cooked ourselves some pasta with chicken and peas for dinner. The dressing/cooking/cleaning-up-from-cooking process lasted until dark, so we soon turned in for the night.