Let’s face it: the news has been unhinging to anyone with human sensibilities lately, and I don’t concede it a failure of faith to acknowledge the perturbation. “O Lord. . .in wrath remember mercy.” (Habakkuk 3:2) (Thank you, Jane, for the reminder of Mark’s wonderful series on Habakkuk those (7?) years ago.)
With Grünhilde Audi back on the road, a road trip seemed the natural happy thing to do on the way home from our Saturday coffee in Asotin. We headed up
Weissenfels Ridge Rd., a primitive (a strange way to characterize a mere absence of signs, I’ve always thought) gravel road glancing a few inches from the edge of the steep, 1,100-foot-deep ridge side. To a person without functioning adrenals, it looks about 6,000 feet to the bottom.
One of the less comforting sights on the way up was a crumpled car at the bottom. My husband assured me it was a longstanding high school tradition to roll a beater car down such places as part of graduation festivities. My husband and I did not attend the same high school. What did reassure me was that the car below had not exploded and burned. As it happened, not a single car came along in the opposite direction to cause us to yield our hold on the center of the narrow, winding road.
Hay was bailed in most of the pastures on our route, but some canola fields had dried up without being harvested; we don’t know what hard times visited the ridge this summer.
We returned through Anatone, noting that the town sign announced a population of 38, up from 37 the last time we came through. Congratulations, someone!
For those as captivated with metal barns and thunderheads as I am, I offer these photos as representative of the excellent scenery that reconstituted my sense of protectedness from all things harrowing, unhinging, or both.