I can’t remember ever having spent a more “American” holiday than the 2015 observance of Memorial Day. As you know, the weather wasn’t really nice enough for an outside picnic, but that negative was hardly noted.
First of all, my son Matthew and daughter-in-law Lanita came “down” from Olympia to spend the day. (Daughter Lisa and son-in-law Karl apparently thought it was too long a drive from Georgia to join us just for the day.) By the way, for the benefit of those who occasionally ask me how my progeny are doing, Lisa and Karl spend their retirement years riding horses and Harley-Davidsons, while Matthew and Lanita are living on dry land now after spending nearly 10 years aboard their 85-year-old wooden boat, Sea Lass.
Matthew took charge of the grill because he’s better at it than I am, while Lanita consoled herself with her vegetarian menu. She makes a potato salad, which stands on an equal pedestal with her “killer” macaroni and cheese. Both are winners.
A walk being in order after dinner, we headed for nearby Fort Borst Park, where the real joy of the day began. To begin with, the park was groomed as well as I remember seeing it. The recently completed handicapped-accessible trails were being trod by many family groupings besides our own trio.
I, from the standpoint of my long experience, was able to point out various points of interest, to remind them where certain attractions used to be, such as where the old steam locomotive once sat, and the place where that poor bear was once penned up in its piteously small enclosure.
I identified the spot where, one morning, I walked out of the brush carrying an empty liquor bottle that had been tossed aside, and was spotted by early morning walkers whose cell phone quickly produced two cop cars, causing me to have to explain that I was not really a derelict bum.
That incident produced a column that inspired a reader to paint a delightful watercolor depiction of the event. She, however, chose to add a long trench coat, which really wasn’t part of my attire.
Both Matthew and Lanita remembered (as did I) swimming in Borst Lake under the watchful eye of a life guard, seated in or on a tall perch. (Remember when Centralia could support not one, but two manned outdoor swimming facilities? How priorities have changed!)
They also remembered the raised flower boxes along the bank that once spelled out the message to southbound travelers on Interstate 5, “Centralia City of Azaleas.”
The blockhouse came up for discussion, along with its impending move back to a spot where it once sat near the Borst home, a move we questioned, remembering that it was in danger of flooding and washaway riverbanks that caused its replacement into the park in the first place.
We followed the trail — which by then had become dirt instead of hardtop — through the rhododendron plantings. While the bushes are doing their best to live up to their reputation, the gradual dwindling of citizens volunteering their time to maintain them has had a negative impact over the years. Pity.
Our walk back to the car was spent watching children — and a few adults — fishing from the bank of the lake, a bucolic scene crying out to become a Norman Rockwell painting, and then headed home for dessert and the first sampling of last year’s blackberry wine. The verdict? While acceptable, another year’s aging couldn’t hurt. Thus ended a day that was voted, three to nothing, to have been very well spent indeed.
I had another column ready to submit, but woke up this morning with this one crying out to be on paper, so here it is.
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Bill Moeller is a former entertainer, mayor, bookstore owner, city council member, paratrooper and pilot living in Centralia. He can be reached at bookmaven321@comcast.net.
