A Jewish Colony in Utah

I could sympathize with the citizens of old Clarion. 

The summer of 2020 was almost over and there had scarcely been a drop of rain. Dry, hot and dusty. No condition to grow crops. As I explored this long-abandoned town, I suspected that it felt very similar to how it must have felt to this desperate colony of Jews who attempted to settle here in the early 1900's. 

The ghost town of Clarion is located in central Utah. To have a town entirely inhabited by Jews seems out of place in a region dominated by Mormons. But that's what makes it so fascinating. 

The Jews have much in common with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Both claim to be God's chosen people and each have their own Zionist movement. I would add that both are hard-working, adhere to a higher standard than most, and would prefer to live in a place where they can worship in peace. Put succinctly, each are a peculiar people. 

Foundation of old structure in Clarion.

The impetus for the town of Clarion comes from the “Back to the soil” movement of the late nineteenth century. For years it had been very difficult, if not impossible, for the Jew to own land. They had been driven from Europe and many of them found their way to the eastern United States where they lived in ghettos. They made a living by peddling, working in factories, and owning their own businesses. 

In an effort to pursue a life outside the ghetto, Jewish leaders began pushing an agricultural lifestyle. “He who does not own land is not fully a person,” wrote Rabbi Eleazer. Over forty Jewish agricultural colonies were established throughout the United States. One of these colonies found its home in the Gunnison Valley of Utah. 

Although this was a pioneering effort for the citizens of Clarion, it came much later than the “pioneering era” of the Mormons, which lasted between 1847 and 1869. By the time the Jews arrived in town, the Mormons had become seasoned experts with the dry Utah landscape. And to add to their handicap, most of the new colony had no agricultural experience at all. 

Photo of Clarion, Utah.

The first Jews came to Clarion in 1911 when they purchased 6,085 acres of land and water rights from the state of Utah. They were told it was “the best land in the state.” They were promised that a new canal would be completed to bring them water. To welcome the newcomers, the L.D.S. Church threw in $500 to help with the purchase. 

The settlers came in phases. First came the men to prepare and work the soil. In the following years came the families, most of them from New York and Philadelphia. They planted wheat, alfalfa and oats. Without a canal they had to haul water from Gunnison. 

The colonists built homes and ran forty-acre farms, most connected by a principle street. The machinery and equipment were shared by the community, similar to the Israeli Moshav. Moshav is a Hebrew term to typify a cooperative agricultural community. I can't help but to think of the United Order, a similar concept in Mormon ideology that was practiced during the late 1800's. 

Could this be the site of an old grain silo?

Perhaps the fragment of a rake or farming equipment.

At its peak, the town of Clarion boasted of 156 residents. This included women and children. They built attractive homes, barns and corrals. From the east they brought their fine furniture, china, rugs and art work. A school house was built in the center of town and a community well dug. In 1915 a Post Office was established. For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope for the town of Clarion. 

I came here during the summer of 2020. Like I stated earlier, it was hot and dry, scarcely having a drop of rain in six months. I drove four miles west of Centerfield along farmland, eventually coming to a graveled road at Barex Dairy. Suddenly, hundreds of cows loitered the fields and cattle stench was ever-present. 

A walk-in basement that once was.

The graveled road south of the dairy is the main road of old Clarion. There is not a single house still standing. After the abandonment of Clarion, most, if not all the homes were moved to Gunnison. All that is left are the rectangular outlines of where the houses once stood, some with a short stretch of remaining wall. 

Upon examination of the grounds, there was more to find. Rusty cans and other metal lay scattered. I found what could have been the fragment of a rake. A tangle of barbed wire. Was that from the residents of Clarion, or later from the cattle ranchers? 

A couple of the houses had basements dug out and another had small indentations in the ground which could have been a cellar. A perfectly round foundation, I suspect, was a grain silo. One house had stubby posts in the ground, which could have been part of a fence. I found bricks on the ground. 

Remnants of the old Meeting Hall.

Scattered bricks along the ground.

So, what brought Clarion's demise? 

First, the soil was very difficult to cultivate. The drought left it hard and it had too much alkaline. Although some accounts say that the Piute canal wasn't finished until two years after the colony was abandoned, another account said it was finished, but heavy rains broke the canal's banks, flooding the fields and destroying crops. 

Another factor was the inexperience of these city Jews. Robert Goldberg, who wrote a book on Clarion, stated the following: “These people had come directly from Eastern cities. They were not prepared for the hardships and requirements of this kind of life. Their knowledge of farming and their funding were both inadequate to sustain them. As each new disaster presented itself, it became harder to accept the difficulties, harder to say 'wait until next spring,' harder to deal with dissension and division.” 

By 1916, the colony went bankrupt. 

Most of the colonists boarded trains back to Philadelphia and New York. Some continued west to California. A small handful, including Benjamin Brown, stayed in Utah for a while. Brown, a leader in the colony, helped form the Central Utah Poultry Exchange, which originally focused on chicken and egg production. This eventually morphed into Intermountain Farmers Association, or I.F.A., which is a large supply store for farmers, located in many locations throughout Utah, Idaho, Colorado, Nevada and New Mexico. Brown returned to the east in the 1930's. 

Benjamin Brown, a leader in the colony of Clarion.

Now I had another matter of business. 

My goal was to find the two isolated graves on a hill, the only two known burials from the existence of Clarion. In fact, I knew where the graves were located and from one vantage point I had spotted them in my binoculars. The problem was that they sat on the other side of the fence. (They sat on a hill adjacent to the massive diary.) 

I waved down a lady on a four-wheeler who was working at the diary. When I asked her if it was possible to cross the fence and get to the graves, I quickly learned that she didn't speak much English. I tried flipping on my Spanish switch, but it sputtered as it turned on. We were finally able to communicate and she said I would have to talk to the dueño and he would be at the lechería. 

So, there I drove. 

I walked inside the first door of the dairy and found three Central American men milking cows on some sort of revolving turn-table. I caught the attention of one and he told me to check the owner's house. 

Finally I found the owner driving up in an old blue milk truck. It turns out he doesn't even own the property with the graves, but thought it would be fine as long as I closed the gate. He made it clear, however, that he had no authority to say one way or the other. 

One of two graves on a hillside near Clarion.

I drove to the two graves. They are each surrounded by a small fence. Both headstones are mostly in Hebrew, although one is larger than the other. I couldn't help but to think of how far away these two burials are from any of their posterity. 

There are stories beneath these headstones. 

The larger is that of Aaron Binder, a young man who hadn't arrived at the age of thirty. On August 14, 1913 he was in a nearby canyon gathering a wagon-load of logs for a barn. On the way down he was unable to negotiate the road with his heavy load, and his wagon tipped, burying him under the load. He was buried on a remote corner of his farm. 

Translated from Hebrew, his headstone says the following: 

“A son of our people, a humble, 

hardworking Jew, 

With a great Jewish soul, 

He died a martyr, in the cause of 

raising our level,

And not permitting shame on the

Jewish name.”

 

The other grave is that of an infant that died a few months later of meningitis. 

The two burials stand as lonely reminders of a colony that once lived, with hopes for a future, but died and withered away. ♠

 

Headstone of Aaron Binder.

 

A Weekend With Bernie

Today I talked for one and a half hours with a person I had never met in my life. 

It all began yesterday when my wife was photographing the wedding for a young couple. After the wedding they attended a luncheon when she happened to sit at the same table as the groom's grandparents. 

The grandmother asked my wife, “Now, remind me of your name.” 

“Jenelle Lacy,” she responded. 

After a minute of small conversation, an older gentleman sitting at the same table piped up in a loud voice: “So, who is John Lacy?” 

This was odd since neither one of us had ever met each other. 

He introduced himself as Bernie Johnson. When he learned that I, John Lacy, was her husband, he became excited. “I have some documents I need to give him,” he said. 

He wanted to meet me in person. I wasn't there, but through texts from my wife, I quickly became informed of his presence. I was as baffled as anyone. 

It turns out we are both descended from Joel Hills Johnson, a prominent figure in the early history of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Joel is my fourth-great grandfather, while he is Bernie's first-great grandfather. I had a suspicion that this had to do with the reason he wanted to see me. 

His sister lives just up the street and we had arranged that I would meet Bernie the following morning. 

When I showed up, some of the tables and chairs from the reception still adorned the lawn. A small group of family members sat around and visited. At once, Bernie stood up. He was expecting me. I know everyone else in the family and I'm sure they told him it was me. 

Bernie is 80 years old. He wore Sunday pants with a white shirt, but no tie. On his gray head he donned a straw hat. The first words from his mouth: “You are much younger than I thought you'd be.” 

We walked around the back yard to go inside the house. His legs almost gave out. He struggled to make it up the stairs and I supported his back with my hand so he didn't fall backwards. 

Our common ancestor, Joel Hills Johnson.

We found ourselves ensconced in two wooden chairs inside Gaye Matheson's kitchen. Gaye is his sister and eight years his elder. 

On the table sat a large brown expanding folder. In front of it, a stack of papers. 

For the next hour he handed me papers, one document at a time, explaining each of them. We covered so much area that I have already forgotten many of the details. 

He gave me a paper on the resurrection of little children and another on the Biblical mother, Aseneth. As he told the story of Aseneth, tears rolled down his cheek as if he were speaking of his own mother. 

The bulk of what we discussed, however, was Joel Hills Johnson, and in particular, when and where he wrote the beloved hymn, “High on the Mountain Top.” It is disputed within the family and even the church whether it was written in Salt Lake City during the spring of 1850, or at Johnson Fort (now Enoch) in 1853. 

One of the commonly accepted versions comes from Bernie's father, who claims that Joel wrote the hymn while waiting in line at the tithing office in Salt Lake. Each time he returned with a load of lumber from his sawmill at Mill Creek, he knew he was getting close when he could see the flag waving on Ensign Peak. One day there happened to be a long line at the tithing office, so he unhitched his horses and sat down on the tongue of his wagon and penned the famous verses. 

Bernie grew up in Tropic, Utah at the foot of Bryce Canyon where they raised cattle. His grandfather, John Henry Johnson, spent a lot of time on a horse in the back-country, and even led a National Geographic reporter in the early 1900's. On a remote wall in Paria Canyon is the inscription “J H Johnson,” most likely left by Bernie's grandfather. He showed me a picture of the inscription. 

When it was time to go, I firmly shook his hand and told him I appreciated the opportunity to meet him.—But I had to ask one last question. 

“How did you know of me?” 

He wasn't really sure. 

We both belong to a Joel Hills Johnson group (with thousands of members) on Facebook. A couple of years ago I made a comment on it. He's not sure if that's where he heard my name, but for some reason, it stood out to him. 

On the drive here he had the thought that if he were to meet John Lacy, he should give him some documents. 

“So, you were thinking about it on the way down?” I asked him. 

“Oh, it was just a passing thought. I do a lot of thinking when I drive.” 

—And then at the luncheon, he sat down next to my wife. ♠

Lovey and Moki Mounds

At 3:00 last night I was awakened by the persistent bark of our black schnauzer, Lovey. Worried that she was waking the neighborhood, I walked outside to calm her down. As soon as I stepped out the front door, the overwhelming stench of skunk consumed the air. I now knew why she was barking.

Lovey has been a lonely pooch ever since her mother, Moqui, passed away. She gets anxious anytime we leave the home. Her temporary dog house is cordoned off with a small fence, and any time we leave her alone, she makes a high-pitched howling whine. 

I decided that I would spend a little one-on-one time with her this morning. I put her on a leash and we walked down the hill, then slipped through a barbed-wire fence into the field. Here I removed the leash. 

Lovey was excited to be free, criss-crossing from one side to another, exploring and sniffing any nook she could find. She kept her head down as she roamed and never noticed the horses at the far end of the field. 

As we walked I observed the prints on the dirt between the clumps of wild grass. Recently a coyote had wandered across the field. I also noticed two sets of deer prints, that of a doe and very a small fawn. Bigger than them all were the indention of horse hooves. 

After crossing the field we entered a stand of juniper trees, then came to the rim of a small canyon. I worried about Lovey stepping onto cactus, but she didn't. 

I slid down a five-foot ledge. Lovey recoiled when she saw the drop-off, scared of the jump down. But I lifted her into my arms and quickly she was down into the grass and sticks. 

Although Lovey didn't know this, I was taking her to one of my old haunts. As a kid I came here with my brother and we explored the canyon. A stream runs down the middle and we once dug a fork in the stream so that the water flowed on both sides, creating an island. We set up our tent and camped on the island. 

Just a few seconds later and we were at the stream-side. We found the rock and cottonwood tree that once sat inside our tiny island. But now the water no longer flowed on two sides. Nature had reclaimed our little project and the stream only flowed on its original route. 

We pushed through a tangle of reeds and cottonwood trees. Just a little ways up the stream we found a very small waterfall pouring off the moss and logs. Lovey stopped to lap a mouthful of water. 

We climbed up the hill that led to the rim of the canyon. Beneath the lip of the rim is an old Anasazi ruin. About half of the circular-shaped stone structure still survives, looking almost exactly as it did centuries earlier. Inside the cave are foundations of other rooms, but the walls have long since tumbled. Lovey headed to the deepest part of the alcove and sniffed intensely. 

This was a good spot for the Anasazi to live. The stream provided fresh water, the cave protection, and the flats above furnished space to grow crops. 

To exit the canyon I had to climb out and lift Lovey up two different ledges. 

We now walked through the juniper trees. My intent was to walk toward the field and return the way we came. But then I saw the moki mound. 

These small hills of dirt and rocks are likely locations of former dwellings of the Anasazi. At one time these ancient people built land structures just like the ruin we had found earlier. It is possible that they might have occupied and abandoned the same habitations several different times. 

Over the centuries the stone walls tumble to the earth and dirt blows over the structure, essentially burying it. Plants and even trees begin to grow over it, creating a camouflage. A freezing and thawing cycle, over many years, can cause artifacts to be pushed to the surface. 

An array of pottery laid scattered around the mound. I searched and found several interesting sherds. Some were painted in black and white design. Others were textured with various patterns, likely shaped with their fingers. Some pieces contained no decoration at all. But all were made with fine workmanship, being smooth and sturdy. 

As my eyes scanned the ground, I heard a rustling in the trees. I looked up and beheld a roan horse just 25 yards away. She seemed not to care that we were here. Her soft peachy mane fell over her back. 

Lovey and I both stared at her. I was worried that she would start barking and scare the horse away. But she didn't. All three of us just stood and stared. This was our experience, one that I, at least, will never forget. ♠

 

The Wisdom of Seneca

 

Córdoba, Spain is an ancient city. Over time it has been ruled by Romans, Visigoths, Muslims and Christians. A gigantic mosque, now converted to a cathedral, is an impressive icon of the city. During Muslim rule Córdoba became a caliphate and was a world leader in education. 

While visiting there in March of 2011 my wife and I found a passageway near our hotel. Through an arch, we walked up a flight of stone stairs that led to a very narrow pedestrian walkway. Three-story cement buildings lined both sides of the lane, their white-washed walls so close you could stretch out your arms like wings and touch both ends with your fingertips. 

We followed the route for a few minutes when it came to a small, but quaint plaza. A tavern sat at the far end and a handful of well manicured trees grew along the square. A short set of steps led toward a fountain of water that ran into a shallow pool. On the other side of the pool, on a pedestal, stood a beheaded Roman statue. It was none other than Lucius Annaeus Seneca. 

Statue of Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

 

Seneca was born in Roman Córdoba within a year of the birth of Christ. His father studied rhetoric and was of Italian descent, while he came from Spanish ancestry on his mother's side. His older brother, Junius Gallio, once met the Apostle Paul. (Acts 18:12) 

As a young boy he was sent to Rome to gain an education. During his academic pursuits he studied literacy, history and philosophy. Two of his teachers had been pupils of Quintus Sextius, a Roman philosopher who combined Pythagoreanism with Stoicism. Seneca spent time in Egypt after becoming sick, and was later exiled to Corsica after being falsely accused of committing adultery with the Emperor's sister. 

Seneca became a tutor and adviser to the Emperor Nero. This must have been a challenge as Nero is well known in history for his brutal character. At the age of 64, Nero ordered Seneca to commit suicide. He complied by killing himself in the same manner as Socrates, by drinking poison. 

My visit to Córdoba and discovery of the statue sparked an interest in Seneca. It also initiated an interest in the Stoic philosophy of which Seneca adhered. The more I studied the more I realized that many Stoic principles either make up who I am, or what I strive to become. 

Recently I read a book entitled Dialogues and Essays, which contain (long) letters Seneca wrote to friends, in which he gives practical advice using Stoic ideology. He recommends frugality, moderation, optimism, temperance, virtue, courage, and anything that benefits the soul, rather than pleases the body. 

I believe our modern world could benefit from the wisdom of Seneca. We live in a world that indulges in pleasure, while scarcely giving thought to morality. 

Roman Temple in Córdoba, built during the lifetime of Seneca.

 

What follows is a list of my favorite quotes. It could be much, much longer, but I painstakingly thinned it out. 

“We see wrestlers, who concern themselves with physical strength, matching themselves with only the strongest opponents, and requiring those who prepare them for a bout to use all their strength against them; they expose themselves to blows and hurt, and if they do not find one man to match them, they take on several at a time. Excellence withers without adversary; the time for us to see how great it is, how much its force, is when it displays its power through endurance. I ensure you, good men should do the same: they should not be afraid to face hardships and afflictions, or complain of fate; whatever happens, good men should take it in good part, and turn it to a good end; it is not what you endure that matters, but how you endure it.” 

“Shun luxury, shun good fortune that makes men weak and causes their minds to grow sodden, and, unless something happens to remind them of their human lot, they waste away, lulled to sleep, as it were, in a drunkenness that has no end.” 

“No tree is sturdy or firm-rooted without enduring many an assault from the wind; for the battering itself makes it tighten its grip and fix its roots more securely; trees that have grown in a sunny valley lack strength. Accordingly it is expedient even for good men, in order that they may be fearless, to spend much time in fearful pursuits, and to endure with a patient mind things that are bad only to the one who bears them badly.” 

“Very many men manufacture complaints, either by suspecting what is untrue or by exaggerating the unimportant. Anger often comes to us, but more often we come to it.” 

“How much better it is to heal a wrong than to avenge one!” 

“Show gratitude for what you have received; wait for the remainder, and be happy that your cup is not yet full; it is a form of pleasure to have something left to hope for.” 

“The man who has anticipated the coming of troubles takes away their power when they arrive.” 

Roman Bridge in Córdoba, Spain.

 

“Let virtue go first, let her carry the standard: we will nonetheless have pleasure, but we shall be her master and control her; sometimes we will accede to her entreaty, never to her compulsion. But those who have yielded first place to pleasure lack both; for they lose virtue, and and yet they do not posses pleasure but are themselves possessed by pleasure, being tortured by the lack of it or choked by its excess, miserable if it abandons them, more miserable if it overwhelms them.” 

“All life is servitude. A man should therefore grow accustomed to his state and complain about it as little as possible, seizing upon whatever good it may have: no condition is so distressing that a balanced mind cannot find some comfort in it.” 

“Without a plan they rove, searching for work to occupy them, and what they end up doing is not what they have intended to do but whatever they have bumped into; they scurry around without aim or purpose like ants crawling through bushes, that idly make their way to the top of some twig and then to the bottom: it is a life like this that most men lead, one that might justly be described as a restless idleness.'” 

“We must, therefore, take a less serious view of all things, tolerating them in a spirit of acceptance: it is more human to laugh at life than to weep tears over it.” 

“It is, however, necessary to combine the two things, solitude and the crowd, and to have recourse to them alternately: the former will make us long for people, the latter for ourselves, and the one will be a cure for the other: our distaste for the crowd will be cured by solitude, our boredom with solitude by the crowd.”  

“Nature's intention was that we should need no great equipment for living in happiness: every one of us is capable of making himself happy. Little importance is to be attached to external things, and they cannot posses great influence in either direction: the wise man is neither raised up by prosperity nor cast down by adversity; for always he has striven to rely predominantly on himself, and to derive all joy from himself.”  

“Excessive prosperity does indeed create greed in men, and never are desires so well controlled that they vanish once satisfied.”  

“Sadness blunts the mind's powers, scattering and restricting them; not even when disaster strikes him personally will this happen to the wise man, but instead he will beat back all of Fortune's anger and smash it first; he will always maintain the same calm, unperturbed appearance, an impossible thing to do if he were susceptible to sadness.” ♠

 

 

Oregon Road Trip: 8 Days; 6 States; 2,362 Miles

This would be the longest road trip we had ever taken as a family. I was excited, but a little apprehensive about having to spend so much time in the car. It proved to be one of our most memorable vacations ever. We didn't do anything extraordinary—like go to amusement parks or baseball games. Instead we kept it simple and saw some stunning landscapes. Every day was an adventure! 

Mormon Crickets.

Plague of Mormon Crickets: Day 1; Middle of Nowhere, Nevada; 302 miles. This was one of the most disgusting things I had seen in my life! At first we thought dirt had blown onto the highway, but upon closer examination we discovered the dirt was crawling! We had to stop to truly get a grasp of what we were witnessing. All around us for miles—on the road, on the hills—crawled millions of crickets! It is interesting that they all seemed to be instinctively migrating the same direction. On the highway, many of them had been plastered onto the pavement by passing traffic (which wasn't much). It was a sight that had to be seen to be believed, and I was very grateful that I wasn't a pioneer trying to eek out a living and planting crops.

Austin, Nevada.

Ghost town of Austin: Day 1; Austin, Nevada; 340 miles. With the nickname of “The Loneliest Road in America,” it is no surprise that U.S. Route 50 is home to some quaint little ghost towns. Nestled among the foothills of the Toiyabe Mountains, Austin is an old mining town with lots of boarded up and empty buildings. In 1863, Austin boasted a population of 10,000 people, but now there are less than 200. We spent about an hour here, walking along Main Street, driving up to Stokes Castle, and roaming through one of four fascinating cemeteries.

 

Reno, Nevada.

The Biggest Little City in the World: Day 1; Reno, Nevada; 513 miles. This was our first time ever in Reno. I was excited to see what the mini-Las Vegas would look like. We enjoyed our walk along the Trukee River, which runs through the middle of town. But my first impressions of Reno: dirty and sketchy—just like Las Vegas.

  

Doyle, California.

Small white church: Day 2; Doyle, California; 555 miles. I honestly don't know a thing about this little building. As we drove down Highway 395, I spotted a small white wooden church with a picket fence around it. Short steps led to the front entrance and a white wooden cross sat perched on top. It looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie. And to boot, it was next to a cemetery.

 

Burney Falls.

Burney Falls: Day 2; Cascade Mountains, California; 676 miles. This was my first time traveling through the Cascades and I wasn't disappointed. No one else was, either. The kids were surprised when they first set eyes upon the mighty waterfall. One hundred and twenty nine feet high and two hundred and fifty wide. It is indeed impressive. We walked the 1.3 mile-loop that circumvents the falls. Burney Falls was a detour from our route, but it was well worth it.

 

Clam Beach.

First view of the Pacific Ocean: Day 2; Clam Beach, California; 884 miles. We thought we'd never make it. The drive between Redding and Arcata was beautiful, but a very curvy road. But at last we made it to the beach! It wasn't at all what we expected. We found a super strong wind blowing from the sea and a very rugged coast line—choppy waves, wind-swept sand, drift logs and icy-cold water. Hills clad with pine trees rose in the distance. Right away we knew our June vacation would have no sunbathing or dips in the ocean.

Redwood Forest.

Walking with giants: Day 3; Redwood Forest, California; 915 miles. Our first contact with these massive trees came at Prairie Creek Redwood State Park. I was surprised at how few visitors we encountered. It felt as if we had the forest to ourselves. For over three miles we wandered along moss-lined trails beneath an impressive canopy of redwood trees. It is difficult to comprehend until you've actually been there. It was like wandering through a fantasy-land, where we could expect elves and hobbits to pop out at any time. There is a tame herd of Roosevelt elk near the entrance of the park. Prairie Creek is one of many places a visitor could go. Whatever you do, you need to get out and walk to truly gain the experience.

Smith River.

Chilling by the river: Day 3; Smith River, California; 949 miles. The Smith River is named after Jedediah Smith, the first European to explore this area by a route other than sea. We drove through an impressive redwood grove with lots of camping spots and picnic tables. Our stop here was completely spontaneous, as we were looking for someplace else. But it turned out to be a pleasant intermission. We chilled by the river and occasionally rolled up our pant legs and waded in. The kids had fun finding flat rocks and skipping them across the water.

Macklyn Cove.

Macklyn Cove: Day 3; Brookings, Oregon; 973 miles. At last in Oregon! Although we had a beach near our hotel, we chose someplace else for our first sandy spot. Macklyn Cove is more on the secluded side. The easiest route to get there included parking on a steep and narrow dead-end road, then walking down a flight of stairs. This place didn't disappoint. We found sandy stretches, as well as rocky coves. We spent a couple hours, wading in the ice-cold water and exploring the shoreline. Then we watched the sun go down and silhouette the cliffs that rose above the water.

Harbor at Brookings, Oregon.

Harbor walk: Day 4; Brookings, Oregon; 973 miles. I've always dreamed of spending an extended period of time out at sea on a small fishing boat. This morning—while everyone else slept— I walked to the harbor and gave myself a tour. A low fog hung over the port. In the early morning, the still water reflected an image of vessels and their masts. I walked along the dock and admired the character of each ship, most of them old and rusty, each with a unique name that tied it to the sea.

Tide pool at Lone Ranch Beach.

Searching for sea creatures: Day 4; Lone Ranch Beach, Oregon; 978 miles. The fog still hung low as we pulled into the parking area at Lone Ranch Beach, with hills of spruce behind a wide stretch of sand. Although devoid of spectacular sea stacks like many of the other beaches, this shoreline is abundant in tide pools. We removed our shoes and braved the chilly water to get a closer look at all the marine life clinging to the rocks. We found starfish, anemone, mussels, and a variety of colorful shells.

Lunch at Arch Rock.

Lunch with a view: Day 4; Arch Rock, Oregon; 986 miles. This stretch along Highway 101 is arguably the most scenic in all of Oregon. We could have spent all day exploring hidden coves and picturesque beaches. Since time was of the essence, however, we had to pick and choose, unfortunately bypassing several places. With the exception of a few meals, we always bought our food at a grocery store and ate outside or in our hotel. The view point at Arch Rock provided picnic tables, along with a fantastic vantage point to observe some of the sea stacks.

Coos Bay, Oregon.

Dinner by the bay: Day 4; Coos Bay, Oregon; 1,080 miles. Coos Bay has always been one of those places that has stuck out on a map, calling me to come. And on this day, we finally came. But it began a bit rocky when I made a U-turn, not knowing I was on a one-way street, and for a small moment, risked the lives of our entire family! Unbeknownst to me, Coos Bay does not sit next to the Ocean, but is inland a few miles, next to a bay. (Imagine that!) We ate fish and chips—and other fish food—on the boardwalk next to the bay. Several boats are docked there, including a boat / museum.

Oregon sand dunes.

Sand Dunes: Day 5; Florence, Oregon; 1,130 miles. We didn't plan on stopping here, but I took a serendipitous left-hand turn off the 101 and fifteen minutes later we were looking over a beautiful stretch of shoreline with deep-blue ocean on one side, and a never-ending mound of fine sand on the other. I never would have imagined sand dunes in Oregon, but here they were. I think this would have been a fun family beach had it been twenty degrees warmer. Instead, we waded in shallow water until our feet turned to popsicles, then dried them off on the warm sand.

Heceta Head Lighthouse.

Heceta Head Lighthouse: Day 5; Lane County, Oregon; 1,148 miles. Coming around the bend from Sea Lion Point, just before passing Devils Elbow, a very photogenic lighthouse comes into view, perched on the distant cliffs. I wasn't sure if we would stop here, but once I saw it, it was too enticing not to. The Heceta Head Lighthouse is a beautiful red and white structure built in 1893 and named after the Basque Explorer, Bruno de Heceta. The beam can shine for 21 nautical miles, making it the most visible light on the Oregon Coast. Closer to the lighthouse you can park near the beach and hike there on a paved trail.

View from our hotel.

Room with a view: Day 5; Newport, Oregon; 1,185 miles. Just being an average family, we usually can't afford a hotel on the beach. But this time we splurged. Upon arrival we found our room to have a superb view of Nye Beach, complete with balcony and chairs. Especially with the cold weather, it was pleasant to merely sit on the balcony and enjoy the vista. At night we watched the ships slowly move across the dark waters, and to the north of us the rotating beam of a lighthouse.

Yaquina Bay Bridge.

Run on the beach: Day 6; Newport Oregon; 1,185 miles. I had to take advantage of the long stretch of beach below our hotel. I woke up before anyone else and jogged south along the sandy coast, just feet from the incoming waves. Near the mouth of the Yaqina River I ran up and over dunes of sand and along a trail toward the bridge. The Yaquina Bay Bridge is a beautiful piece of architecture with several steel arches.

Chowder Bowl at Depoe Bay, Oregon.

Chugging oysters: Day 6; Depoe Bay, Oregon; 1,198 miles. When looking for whales at Depoe Bay became fruitless, we decided to peruse the shops along the main road (Highway 101). We bought some tasty kettle corn, watched salt water taffy being made, and found a good gift shop. Then we decided to step foot into the Chowder Bowl. When I saw the oyster cocktail on the menu, I knew I had to try it. When the raw shellfish came served in a shot glass, I had to ask how to eat it. (This was an embarrassment to my family and is a result of living a deprived life in the desert.) The waitress was so excited to teach me that she ran in back and grabbed a shot for herself! She instructed that first you drizzle it with Tabasco sauce, then you douse it with lemon juice. Then you down it in one gulp. That simple. On the count of three, and after a toast, (and with the entire restaurant looking on) we successfully consumed our oyster cocktails. At least two people filmed us and afterward I received an ovation. Probably the closest I will ever come to becoming a celebrity.

Mount Hood as seen from across the Columbia River.

View of Mount Hood: Day 6; Washougal, Washington; 1,320 miles. Just over the border from Oregon, and a few miles east of Vancouver, Washington is the small town of Washougal. I am glad we decided to spend the night here. It has a very rural feel to it, and seems a hundred miles away from the din of Portland. We lodged near the Columbia River, with a view of Mount Hood across the waters. We enjoyed sunset over the river and listened to a powerful thunderstorm move in overnight.

Columbia River Gorge.

Cape Horn Lookout: Day 7; Columbia River Gorge, Washington; 1,329 miles. The Columbia River is something to be revered. This mammoth waterway is the fourth largest river in the United States and discharges more water into the Pacific Ocean than any other river in the Americas. You can either drive it on the Oregon side or the Washington. I'm happy we chose the Washington side. I believe it is much less popular, yet just as spectacular.

Panther Creek Falls.

Cascades in the Cascades: Day 7; Panther Creek Falls, Washington; 1,366 miles. On this day it was my goal to see some beautiful waterfalls—and that we did! Our first waterfall we accessed by walking through a cemetery. The second we walked a short distance up on canyon, not far off the road. The third—and my favorite—required a twelve-mile drive deeper into the mountain range. Then we set out on foot through a thick forest, down to the bottom of a ravine. That put us face-to-face with Panther Creek Falls. As you can see from the picture, it is very impressive.

Upper Perry Arch Bridge, Oregon.

Upper Perry Arch Bridge: Day 7; Union County, Oregon; 1,590 miles. This stop was purely serendipitous. We crossed back into Oregon and surprisingly passed through a beautiful forest, which I believe is part of the Blue Mountains. It is right off the Old Oregon Trail. What we found was an arched bridge that spans over the Grande Ronde River and railroad tracks. The bridge is of an historical nature (built in 1924), but for us it was just a fun place to get out and stretch our legs. We crossed the railroad tracks and walked down to the water.

Shoshone Falls.

Shoshone Falls: Day 8; Twin Falls, Idaho; 1,894 miles. I have wanted to see this for a long time. Sometimes referred to as Niagara of the West, Shoshone Falls is an impressive cascade along the Snake River in Idaho. Even though water levels were high from a heavy snowfall this winter, I was worried that the falls might not be up to capacity. The size of the falls depends on the amount of water released from the Milner Dam, 24 miles up-stream. Indeed we weren't disappointed. The falls flowed at 85% of capacity and we enjoyed the view from the top with dozens of other people.

Harrisville Park, Utah.

Harrisville Park: Day 8; Harrisville, Utah; 2,072 miles. By this time, we were anxious to get home. Our drive today would be over nine hours. We found a small park with a pond where we pulled over to eat lunch. Although we had never been to this particular park before, it felt good to be in familiar territory with the Wasatch Mountains reigning in the background.

Home sweet home!: Day 8; Somewhere in Utah; 2,362 miles. ♠