While I have switched seats in blogland, they are still cheap and the sky is so so blue. I am no longer reporting from my bay window overlooking the wilds of Clinton street, but out my three living room windows that overlook the back porch from which I survey the rolling hills that make Yamhill. I don't know the reason for the name. A mystery to solve. We lived here -- my family did -- before I was born. There is a road called Kinney road, my maiden name, and I wonder who the road is for, if anyone I know or am related to. Another mystery to unravel. So it is a homecoming, of sorts. Not much happens here. By design. According to our neighbor, Jim, Yamhill doesn't want commerce.
As is typical of very small towns, everybody already knows we're from Portland. What they don't know is that we are really from Ruch which is not much different than Yamhill: a post office and Zippy's Pizza. Two big junk stores, one sells milk for five thousand dollars, so I guess it serves as the general store.There are no democrats, no hipsters and no organic food. Just space and space and space.
Ahhhh.
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1 comment:
There's a Kinney Rd around here as well. Prolific Catholic Irish.
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