Thick bushes and trees of all descriptions tower and twine along the roads. Sand dunes and oyster heaps, myrtle trees, wild apples and hops. So lush and varied, so rich and fruitful it boggles the mind. Dinosaurs chewed and cavorted here. Lewis and Clark clawed through this, trying to catalog and survey it. First people thrived and trusted, feasted and shared. White man elbowed in with rosebushes and logjams, picket fences and family farms. Today, black and white cows stand in the fields, give creamy milk.  Over three hundred micro breweries populate the state, and Oregon is gaining renown for its wines and cheeses. I think of France--this emphasis on handcrafted regional comestibles, the unique produce of Oregon’s regions. There’s The Coast with its fish and its parks, The Hood River with its wines and fruits, Central Oregon with its high desert and 300 days of sunshine annually, there’s Eastern Oregon which I’ll have to return to see, and then there’s South Western where we’re headed. This is the area I know best, in a small way--two weeks in August when I was a jr. and graduate of Homer High, I came here to study at the Oregon Shakespearian Festival. It was the best experience I’d ever had in my life. Staying on campus at Southern Oregon State with fifty youth from around the North West, walking a mile to downtown Ashland each afternoon and evening, it could have been Seurat’s “Le Grande Jatte.” Hydrangea bushes and rolling hills, broccoli trees, Frisbee players and picnickers. Warmth. Sun. Theater on the outdoor Elizabethan stage, introductions by dramaturges and actors, costume and set designers – someone special every time, giving us a thrilling foothold in Shakespeare’s  reticulated terrain.