Walla Squared (Part 1)

This weekend my mother, grandmother and I piled into our well-used Toyota Sienna and embarked on a five-hour drive to see my cousin Naomi in Walla Walla where she goes to school.

There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the drive. Wait! That's a total lie. My mom had her window open as we were going down the highway and at one point a huge, obscenely bony insect flew inside and smacked me right below my eye. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I received no sympathy from my mom and grandma, however (and it wouldn't be the last time on the trip when an injury of mine would fail to elicit concern), and I was ceaselessly mocked with statements like, "Well I don't see any blood" and "Oh, you know, I think you're right. I do see a large dent in your cheekbone." Thanks, Fam. Y'all are peaches.

Aside from the insect fiasco, the drive was peaceful. I listened to several episodes of Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me! and Too Beautiful to Live (with Luke Burbank). No matter how many times I plug both of these programs, no one will ever believe me about how insanely hilarious they are. Seriously, guys. Everyone's a geek at heart. Embrace it and tune in.

We barreled down the freeway at quite an impressive speed, and despite the long journey we only stopped once, at a rest stop near Selah Creek, to stretch our legs. It was ungodly hot--around 90 degrees, which is about 15 degrees too hot for me--and the creek had dried up completely. The canyon was gorgeous, though, and I took pictures like a crazy person while my mom attempted to scare me with her newly acquired knowledge that western rattlesnakes inhabited the area. A little tip for you: If you ever need to shut me up or drive me away, mention snakes. It doesn't matter what kind, or in what context they are mentioned. Just say the word and I'm out of there.

As we had parked slightly uphill of the lookout, we hiked back to the summit of what I called Mt. Rest Stop and got back on the road. We arrived in Walla Walla around 2pm. After we picked up Naomi from her house and my mom and grandma got settled in their hotel (I was spending that night at Naomi's house so I did not share their room), we drove about five minutes to a lovely walking trail. Two young boys were cavorting around in the water--as they were each holding large stones I imagine they were playing a rousing round of Flatten That Fish--and I successfully scared away a white heron approximately 13 times.

Down the trail a bit was a bridge, and on the other side of the bridge was this old deteriorating barn that I was dying to photograph. While my mom and grandma found a seat in the shade, Naomi and I ventured down a gravel path to explore the sagging structure. I'll abbreviate this story by explaining that on the way back to the trail I was in the midst of explaining something profound and intriguing inane and I absentmindedly walked right into the strip of barbed wire under which Naomi is ducking in this picture. I hit it so hard that it knocked me backward into the grass. I looked up and noticed that four or five of my hairs (with the follicles attached!) were hanging from the accosting barb. I was convinced that the wire had hit me on my forehead right at my hairline. I felt the area to check for blood but there was none. Gathering myself, I explained the situation to Naomi who rolled her eyes and mentioned something about the insect through the window (at this point she'd been told extensively of the highway mishap), and kept walking.

I relayed the story to my mom and grandma who, upon noting the lack of physical evidence of my injury, chimed in with some bug jokes of their own which they found endlessly hilarious. "Laugh it up," I told them, and then, as if the real issue at hand were not my current pain but their lack of belief in my insect-through-the-window tale, I added, "It was a huge bug. And sharp. And it almost hit me in the eye."

We left the trail, stopped by Safeway to pick up some snacks and cold drinks, and headed to the hotel where we chatted for quite some time about Naomi's classes, why she'd chosen Whitman, and how recently I'd had a tetanus shot. (I am still unsure of the latter, and this alarms me.)

I think this is a good place to stop for now. Tune in next time to hear all about the Elevator Confessionals, the world's largest air mattress, an expert tour of the Whitman campus, and the nail-biting conclusion of my barbed wire injury.

Oh, and go listen to TBTL.
Also. Before I forget: Our "well-used" van has now been coined my by dear cousin as the "Little Miss Sunshine Van." Not only does the incessant rattling in the side panels and the dash sound like a severe form of mechanical arthritis (yes yes, I know you can't hear arthritis, but just go with me on this one), but both sliding doors decided to act up as soon as we reached Naomi's house. The button you have to push to open them from the inside kept sticking on one door, so my mom would have to open it for us. When we tried to close it, it would bounce back open. Not to be outdone, the other door followed suit (but with a different problem that I still can't quite pinpoint). At one point we were literally trapped in the backseat of the van. It was awesome.

Okay. I'm done now. For reals.