About 25 years ago my older son, Chris, and I took a road trip to Idaho. We went through a corner of Nevada and entered Idaho from the south. It was the kind of trip where you stop when you encounter something interesting such as a red house by the side of the road selling antiques.
We stopped in parks and saw fish in the steams. We ate at local diners that had obviously been there for many years.
We only had four or five days and crossed into Oregon near Oxbow to start toward home. Driving along a meandering stream, I saw bushes growing on the banks and I wondered what they were. After a few miles, it occurred to me they might be willow because willows like a lot of water and this was dry area except for the streams.
Finally, I pulled over to investigate. The branches were thin but strong and flexible. I cut a few and picked up a broken branch near by.
That evening in our motel, I tied together some thick ends to make spokes, then, I wove a loose, open circular basket, inserting the stick as a handle.
The whole story is one of many in my soon to be published memoir, “Looking for Connection.”
One thought on “Oregon Willow”
I like this storyline. Great bonding.