Walla Walla, Washington
This morning we departed the ship and stepped onto the fertile soil of the Walla Walla wine growing region. As we did, we also stepped back in time, all the way to the April 30, 1806 campsite for the Corps of Discovery. We were able to pick out certain sand dunes and geological features described in their journals. In doing so, we found ourselves, having been for the past couple of days on the trail of Lewis and Clark, now directly connected to their story. From here, it was off to the Fort Walla Walla Museum and its 42,000 19th-century artifacts. Along the way, we were treated to an in-depth narrative from our Road Scholar leader Don, with historical humor so distinct and crowd-pleasing it will go down in the history books simply as ‘Popejoyian.”
The roots of the Fort Walla Walla Museum can be traced back to an early pioneer society that formed in 1886. And any visitor will tell you, they’ve been busy. With its improbably expansive and well-kept collection of artifacts and a small village, the museum stands out as a monument to the past, complete with volunteer re-enactors. We shared the sunlight with our new “strangely dressed” and lovable friends as we walked from building to building, learning more of what life was like for the early settlers.
For lunch, we stopped in at Bob’s Backstage Bistro in downtown Walla Walla. If Lewis and Clark had stumbled upon Bob’s Backstage Bistro, well, I surmise that they would never have pushed through to the coast. Years later, a rescue expedition would find them there, chatting with Bob, completely content, possibly overweight from the delicious meals, with cheeks bright red from local cabernet and shared laughter.
After lunch, some chose to remain in Walla Walla and aid the local economy while the rest of the group forged on to the Whitman Mission, a National Historic Site. Here, we learned about the plight of Marcus and Narcissa Whitman, Presbyterian missionaries who established a mission on these grounds in 1836. After 11 years of working with the Cayuse Indians, deep cultural differences, a measles epidemic brought by the emigrants, and news of Cherokee killings in the east led to the massacre of the Whitmans and 11 others.
As we paced the grounds, placing our feet in the worn ruts left by Oregon Trail wagons long ago heading west, cedar waxwings snacked on the bright red berries of a Hawthorne tree. In the distance a red-tailed hawk screeched his departure over the endless rolling hills. There was something in the starkness of it all that helped us envision what it must have been like to live there at that time – the weight of the open land, the light breeze that grew colder and colder, the sign of a coming winter. The sun that had so brilliantly lit our day had finally succumbed to a swath of gray clouds and we soon felt the tap of light rain on our jackets. The sky grew darker and we left the mission, knowing that the warmth and comfort of our ship was near. It could be heard on from the bus as we approached, “National Geographic Sea Bird in view. O’ the joy!”
