Shoes of Eastern Oregon

The other night, I was at a basketball game, and watched a little girl wearing cowboy boots playing a version of hopscotch on some squares that had been painted on the floor.

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A few nights later, at a work event, I spotted two little girls waiting patiently for their mom and brother to finish getting the assistance they came for.

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I later asked them if I could take a picture of their boots, and they posed prettily. I prefer the unposed version.

Seasons

Today’s Word Press photo challenge is Seasons. We can use photography to illustrate a weather season, season in our life, or however we choose to show a season. Since our winter was relatively mild, and currently, the temperatures are downright spring-like, I’ve chosen to show the winter season through the dazzling sunsets. Since returning west from Boston, I am once again able to enjoy stunning sunrises and sunsets on my commute to and from work, without worrying about missing brake lights ahead of me. It’s been a welcome change. While the Boston area also has stunning sunrises and sunsets, I have chosen to show you some from my home in Eastern Oregon. Winter is the time when we have more clouds, making the morning and evening even more beautiful.

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Sunset, Ontario, Oregon, Feb. 11, 2016.

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Sunset over Rimrock, Adrian, Oregon, Feb. 11, 2016

The latter image was made from my front yard. We have an amazing view, particularly in the evenings. The two images were made less than 30 minutes apart, approximately 22 miles north/south.

Hitchhiking, or meeting new friends?

Question: Have you ever hitchhiked? Would you ever pick up a hitchhiker?

While my answer to both is no (though as a child in the ’70s, I used to beg my parents to pick up the poor, forlorn hitchhikers on the side of the road), I did manage to freak out my parents by catching a ride with a perfect stranger one afternoon.

I had been visiting my sister, who was on bedrest with her first baby, helping with household chores, preparing and freezing meals, etc., and was driving the seven hours home one summer day. I came to a place Oregonians will be familiar with – two-thirds of the way up Cabbage Hill on Interstate 84, when my car decided to give up. It had done all it was going to do for that day. Mind you, I’m still three hours from home, and this was before cell phones. I got out of the car, and opened the hood – I knew about three different things to look at, based on past experience – but saw nothing I recognized as out of the ordinary. I’d been there just a couple minutes when a semi-truck stopped, and the driver asked if he could help.

“Are you going through Ontario?” I asked, and he said he was, so I asked if he could give me a ride to the truck stop there. He did, and when we arrived, I called my parents to tell them where I was, and ask them to come get me. Forty-five minutes later, my parents arrived to take me home, and the entire way, all I heard was how stupid I was to get into a truck with a stranger. Did I want to be raped, murdered, cut into tiny pieces and stuck into someone’s freezer? Don’t I ever watch the news?

Not only was I not raped or murdered, I spent three hours chatting with a very nice man, who, it turns out, lived in the town next to mine, and was known to several of my dad’s friends. We spend so much time worrying about what bad things might happen to us that we don’t take small risks that might lead to a fun, interesting new experience.

So, with that in mind, have you ever hitchhiked? Any stories about a time you picked up a hitchhiker? Do you wish you had?