SASQUATCH SPRINGS

   Just a wide spot on the highway. The forest has left enough room at the edge to fit a market and a couple of fuel pumps. About 'round are the farms and fences of folks and the lives they carry in this world.

   It's Cascade foothill country. Cold in the winter, hot in the summer and close enough to the city for a visit, just a sliver too far to commute.  The mail man can always find us, the pizza dude doesn't even try, but we don't care because Grandma cooks every night.

   People usually pass through here on their way to somewhere else. A stop lasts as long as a tank of fuel and a snack. We'll lend first aid, directions, advice or a hand. If we don't have it here, just follow the river and more than likely, you'll find what you're looking for. We're almost certain you'll find what you need.

   Country don't mean trash. Simple don't mean stupid. (That time cousin Donnie Daryll shaved his head, put on his dirtiest cover-all's and sat on the front porch playin' Grandpa's banjo was just a joke for you weekend highway tourists) - (p.s. if one of ya'all got a picture of Donnie Daryll that day, could you maybe send a copy our way). We mind our manners when treated with such. Just remember, if you're not from here, odds are, it's a long walk home. And that old codger in that beat-up pickup you cut-off on the highway last weekend? Well, Grandpa can draw his scatter gun as quickly as that finger.   Rural that.

   The name that stuck was a 70's thing. Neighbor Nielsen thought it would be hoot to have his name in the news. But back in 1974, if you weren't Elton John or Evel Knievel, the only way to make headlines was to spot Bigfoot. Some footprints behind the barn. Mister Nielsen surmised a little publicity could generate some tourist revenue. Snacks and Souvenirs. No lines at the fuel pumps here.

  And like the icons mentioned above, Neighbor Nielsen caught a moment in time. About two minutes of it. The great Bigfoot scare of '74 faded to myth but the name of the spectacle stuck to these hills. 34 years later and you still need a magnifying glass to find us on the map.

   So if you happen to be in Oregon looking for perfection (Perfection is 12 miles south of Boring off of highway 214), you're probably lost if you're standing in The 'Springs. We'll wave if we see you passing by.