Rogers Bar

A couple of weeks ago I took a trip out to Rogers Bar (its a sand bar, not a drinking bar) on Lake Roosevelt. I haven't been since I was a kid and was looking forward to the trip. I wanted to see if the place still looked the same and do some exploring.

The actual sandbar, its so big it has its own name - when you are standing on it when the water is up - it feels like you are standing out in the middle or the River.

When I was growing up my Grandparents used to take all their grandkids camping there at least twice a year. Once in the middle of the summer and once for Labor Day Weekend. I spent long summer days playing with my cousins on the beach, going for walks with my grandmother, and boating then, later going for drives with my Grandpa. It was two of 4 or 5 camping trips a year my grandparents would take us on (there was Memorial Day at Black Lake, there was Huckleberry Camp, and also Hunting Camp). My parents really don't like camping, I can only remember Dad taking us camping only once, so my fierce love for camping has to come from my maternal grandparents. 

The beach we used to walk for miles down with my Grandma - usually helping her find unique driftwood - I have most of her driftwood collection now. 

My Grandma used to tell me that I was restless like my Grandpa - this never sank in till he was gone. Now I can see why she would say that. My desire to travel and go explore is just as strong as my love for returning home. My Grandparents used to own a coveted cabin on the banks of the Columbia River, and for the longest time I never understood why they sold it after he retired when it was so much fun. But I do now. It tied my Grandpa down. He couldn't go do the things he wanted to do without feeling guilty about neglecting and not using the cabin, so he sold it.

The cove where the campground is located - we'd ALWAYS camp in the same spot - right up there on the right hand side about half way in the cove. It's a little nicer now than it was when i was little and many more people visit it now but still basically the same. 

This is soooo politically incorrect but since this place is on the Colville Confederated Tribes Reservation my Grandpa used to threaten us that if we wondered off at night that the Indians would catch us and scalp us, if that doesn't freak a little kid out in the dark I don't know what will. Thanks Grandpa, thanks a bunch for that one.

And with the cabin gone, they were free, they fenced in their little house in town, gated it, locked it up and went on to take their little house boat on a journey down the entire length of the Columbia out to the ocean where they traveled up the coast of Washington then Canada to Alaska. Of course scaring the rest of the family half to death. Then they topped that by taking this weird train trip from Oregon down the coast then through the dessert to Death Valley then into Mexico and back up. They actually loaded their 1970's model camper on to the train and took the trip that way. They would return with pictures and stories galore! Always in time for a camping trip or two up here....until one day my Grandpa realized he was getting too old for the trips and so was the camper - so he purchased a piece of remote property way up north of Omak WA, much to the protest of his ever concerned kids. There the camper stayed. When they wanted to get away from it all - they went up there for a weekend or two. The camping trips were basically over. And then he got sick.

Some soothing company for a quiet Stephanie.

During one visit to the hospital when it seemed that his spirits were up the family gathered to take advantage of him feeling good to spend time with him. Hubby and I sat in his room chatting about our most recent camping trip to the River and mentioned we had driven past Roger's Bar. My Grandpa, the Ex-Marine and toughest man I had ever known, got quiet - the good mood he was riding on seemed to fade, his eyes misted over and as he said, "That is such a great place to go play in the sun" his voice cracked and as he wept a little he said he was sorry he could never come with us again... of course by this time I was crying and Hubby was trying to change the subject. 

Dried river mud. Before we knew it comprised of not only natural clays but also heavy metal deposits, compliments of Teck Cominco, us Grandkids would take mud baths, let it dried then just when you couldn't stand it any longer race into the river and wash it off to marvel at the soft silky skin you were left with.

A little later he was gone and because of early onset Alzheimers Grandma was moved to a home and their little house in town is sold and under the care of someone else. It's seems that time is trying to take apart everything that was this strong house of love and adventure in my youth. 

 It's possible I've been hiding from this place. But not any longer.

Sometimes when the water level is low like this - you can almost imagine what the mighty Colombia River was once like.

This is the first time I have felt strong enough to blog about him. Partly because of my trip. Partly because of a dream that I had after the trip. I once read in a book where in it the main character was searching for her dead husband in her dreams. When I read that - I was stunned, cause I do that too, I look for people. I have remarkable lucid dreams where if I want I can control them, but usually I don't - I know I am dreaming but I go along with whatever happens, sometimes I look for people, like my Grandpa - but I have never seen him in my dreams tell just recently. I found him doing what he always did (whether camping or at home) he was always working. He was mowing the lawn at their little house in town and Grandma was there with him - weeding her flower garden, happy as can be. It was so good to see him again I hugged him and he said "Hiya Red!" (I was born with full head of carrot red hair that never fell out like what happens with most newborns, it that darkened as i got older - but he called me Red until I was an adult). I told him that I loved him and missed him before I woke up balling my freakin eyes out. 

I have always loved the way receding water works away at a bank.

Needless to say that may be why I am such a freak about going to the river so much every summer. Maybe I am forever chasing after my Grandpa or maybe like Grandma said, I am just restless. But after spending summer after summer on the River as a kid and then an adult I can see why it would bring someone to tears, it gets in your blood and works its way into your soul.