“O monstrous beast! How like a swine he lies!” the man in the long robe said. His voice was crisp and clear in the night air and punctuated by the distant rumble of thunder. We were enjoying a performance of William Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew” at the Elizabethan Theatre in Ashland, Oregon, during the annual Shakespeare festival. The town of Ashland, whose population is almost 21,000, is home to Southern Oregon University. It has all the appearances of a college town: used book stores, coffee houses, funky eateries, and dozens of disenfranchised-appearing youths hanging out everywhere. But, I like college towns. They have a character all their own, a certain joie de vivre. Here, nestled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains amongst the hope of tomorrow, we enjoy a performance of one of the greatest playwright’s works. As the story unfolds tiny droplets of water begin to fall, and the night sky flickers with an electrical discharge. However, like their counterparts in Elizabethan England, the actors continue to perform in the light rain. Fortunately, it is the last act, and the performance is over before a torrential downpour.
We were back in our tent at the Valley of the Rogue State park before the rain began falling hard. We had pitched our tent near the Rogue River before going into town to have a look around before the theatre. We would camp here for two nights. When we made reservations for the play performance we had allowed for the second nights’ performance in the event the first was cancelled due to weather. Tomorrow, we would kick back around the campsite and maybe go for a hike along the river.
We awoke to the sound of the Rogue River as it flowed past our campsite. Claudette was insistent on cooking breakfast over the campfire. Once again, it was a morning feast among the tall conifers of the northwest. She served up bacon with eggs, hash brown potatoes, and strong camp coffee. Wow! What a way to start a day. There’s something about a campfire that just makes the food taste better. After I did the dishes I kicked back and put the finishing touches on yesterday’s drawings and reflected on our visit to Ashland. I began a tattered Clive Cussler novel I had picked up at the used bookstore. We had had a fairly extensive look around town before the play. We visited the aforementioned bookstore as well as some art galleries and may have enjoyed a performance of music and dance in a small park. I think it could best be referred to as experimental theatre. The language spoken and sung was French, of which I know little. We ate lunch at the Black Sheep Pub which was a faithful reproduction of an English public house. Claudette had fish and chips, and I ordered bangers and mash. Both were delicious. Now, I could relax and immerse myself into a Dirk Pitt adventure, while my intrepid travelmate was determined to find some wild berries. Indeed, she did find some, and returned to the campsite with about a quart of big delicious appearing blackberries. A slap to the back of my hand was a wordless indication that I was not to determine the quality of the berries prior to their being cooked.
Dinner that afternoon was special. Or, I should say that desert was special. Blackberries with dumplings! Plump juicy blackberries, just a few hours removed from their riverside home along the Rogue, in a thick gooey sauce with big tasty dumplings, warm but not too hot. I would have given one of my appendages for a scoop of vanilla ice cream! Nevertheless it was extremely difficult to eat slowly and savor the succulent flavors. But I did! As a wise man once said, “Joy in eating is always fleeting”. That evening I learned how to make dumplings and would later make my famous chicken and dumplings.
After dinner we did those things that must be done around a campsite. There were dishes to wash and things to pack in order to be ready to leave at first light. Then, we’d build a campfire and listen to the river and maybe pop some corn and recount the days’ adventures. But, not tonight. Mother Nature had another idea. The wind began to blow fairly hard, and it began to rain. There was much thunder and lightning. We quickly stashed a few things in the car and sought refuge in the tent. I was quite comfortable in the tent. It is dome shaped, and the wind doesn’t move it much, but seeing the lightning flashes through the walls became a bit unnerving.
“I’m not getting in that tent! I’m getting in the car!” I heard her say and then there was a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder and a large crash. My wife and travelmate did not need to plead with me for us to take refuge in our nearby car. Quickly I ran to the car and got inside just before a down pour. The down pour was short lived and we were soon out of the car and on our way to the bathrooms. We met a Park Ranger who told us that the bathrooms had been locked up and could not be used due to the lack of electricity but told of a bathroom located about a mile away that we could use.
On the way back from the bathroom Claudette told me that she had seen a big tree limb fall off a tree near our tent. After returning to the camping area we saw what we thought was a crowd of people near our tent. Upon further investigation we found that a huge limb had fallen from a large hardwood. The limb, which was about ten inches in diameter and fifteen feet long, had hit a travel trailer within ten yards of our tent. It had literally ripped the extended room from the side of the trailer. The owners were away and had quite a surprise on their return. Fortunately for them, they weren’t inside and the trailer was a rental. We were tired and slept well that night.
We left early the next morning after our usual travel breakfast of instant oatmeal, coffee, juice, and fruit, and we have great memories of the valley of the Rogue and Shakespeare.
|
No comments:
Post a Comment
What do you think of this post?