Summer of Love... 1967

The ranch... Joseph Oregon. An old multi picture picture, sorry about the quality. The ranch is in the second panel from the right, at the end of the road you can see...

The second big trip in my travels took place in 1967, the "Summer of Love". It was my second trip to Joseph, Oregon, and it cemented my love for the place. It was my first trip alone, in a '62 Buick Le Sabre. A great car. but a bit problematic.

In case y'all have forgotten, my friends have a huge ranch up in Joseph. The first time I went up there was in 1956. I was 13 and our entire family went up to the ranch. At that time they owned 850 acres and an old ranch that was once the talk of the county. It was world renown, and drew visitors (hunters?) from Europe in the late 1800's or early 1900's. Apparently the town wasn't happy with the 'feriners' and cut off easy provisions for the ranch, thereby providing for the near demise of the town itself, and certain closing of the ranch.

It is still a beautiful place, with a view of the valley from the ranch windows that is sweeping and breathtaking. The summer of '67 was one filled with the sounds of music... literally. First there was the musical, which played constantly (I never heard a song that was so right for a place as that one), and second, I was there to teach music to the Nez Pearce children and the local kids who wanted to learn. It was a summer school kind of event.


The Buhlers... longest family friends and ranch owners...
I didn't camp on that trip, but did discover the campground at that time. I will tell you allll about that in a bit.

It was a summer of too hot days and some wicked allergies, but is remembered extremely fondly by myself. I discovered several things on that trip, not the least of which was that I am left handed. This was discovered in a shooting gallery in the local carnival. I also discovered Carnies, who preyed on the local girls (those who weren't already pregnant) and somehow thought that "howdy ma'am" would work. Let's just say musicians have much better lines...

I had my own goat for the summer... named "Dog" because he would follow me around like a puppy. If I went into town without my car, he would climb on the roof and sit until I returned. He got so lonesome we finally sent him home to his family.

DOG... on my car.. a lousy photo, but heck, it's almost 45 years old and has been pinned to a board forEVER.

Now we go back just a bit before I went North. I got a call from an old high school boy who wanted to go out with me. How we reconnected is beyond me, but I acquiesced to his request. Remember, this was the wicked sixties, and I was a buxomed babe. He was tall and zitty in High School, and tall and pock marked later, but a nice boy. We went to dinner and dancing (ballroom!!?) and I was totally bored. I let him kiss me goodnight and left the next morning for Oregon.

I got a letter while in Oregon. It was from Lee, stating that he had decided I was IT, the one, the only. He told me how he was living with a girl, but they had never had sex and he just knew I was the one for whom he had waited. It went on from that (I still have it), and it was, to say the least, pathetic. I ignored the first letter, and got a second. I wrote back and said... very very nicely (for me) that I thought he was looking very had to find something and thought it was in me, but I didn't feel the same. He called and told me he knew my itinerary (thanks Mom!) and was coming up to Joseph. He arrived and stayed in the campground and wanted to see me. That was my first introduction to the Wallowa Lake Campground. I told the nice people at the gate that, if I didn't return shortly, he had probably killed me so no one else could have me.

He went on and on about all he could do for me and totally ignored my patient feelings. I finally told him I was a slut of the first order, and had to have different men at all times. I told him I was leaving the next day for Portland and he told me he knew where I was going and would find me. I told him he had to catch me first, and left VERY early the next morning. I have never seen him again. He might still be up there somewhere, calling my name .

While in Portland, I stayed at the Benson Hotel, and saw the Monkees (I knew they were going to be there) but didn't bother them (they were huge then, and surrounded by fans.. it's another story for another time).

I drove to Canada, taking the ferry across from Port Angeles onto Vancouver Island. It was peaceful and serene, considering it was the turbulent sixties and there were many disenfranchised hippies on the island. I heard my first variable sounding siren as I was staying across from the fire station. I also had dinner in the same Fire Station, cooked by some really cute Fireguys...
sigh...


Coming back down the coast I had to stop at San Francisco. I dressed in my finest hippie attire, beads, fake fall (hair) and painted flowers on my face and went to Haight Ashbury. What a zoo! Tour buses, multicolored people and clothes, and many offers to be someone's "old lady"... I will never forget that time, it was a total trip!



And so...

That was my second trip..

and I was..

hooked!