I have told the story of how Rebecca and I met; I have written about a few of the memories we share; and you have by now read about how and why I designed her ring. Now I will share the story of how I proposed, and also how I did not propose.
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We had long been planning our trip to Oregon. Rebecca had been there once before, during Christmas time. She therefore got to see it during the wet time of year, the cold time of year. Now it was time to see it during the warm and sunny time of year, the dry time of year. We had been wanting to do this trip since she came a year and a half ago during the winter. She was excited to finally see God's Country during the summer time, to hike and see lakes and streams and waterfalls, and of course to see the stars; but I had something more on my mind.
As I mentioned in my previous story, about the ring, the completion date for the ring was to be in mid-July; our tickets to fly in to Oregon were for the end of the month. Both of these things were known to me (or at least correctly guessed by me) as early as April. Therefore, I had been planning for months to propose during that trip (as a revealed to a handful friends and family). Having obtained her fatehr's blessing in April, the trick was to keep both of her parents from spilling "The News" for the four months until the trip; they both came pretty close to ruining the surprise (and within 24 hours of each other!). Luckily, we avoided that catastrophe.
For those who have never been to Oregon, there are many very scenic places in that state. I do not call it God's Country lightly, and it's certainly not because of an over-abundance of God's followers taking up residence there; if anything, there is a tragic dearth of such people (they do exist there as elsewhere, in any case). There are the majestic crags and great outcroppings of the Oregon coast; several fertile valleys nestled between mighty ranges of mountains; forests of trees which are tall as buildings; streams which flow year-round; and a plethora of waterfalls in which the water plummets from heights which dwarf even the trees. All of this contrasts with anything which I have seen in Texas (including surrounding areas).
Nevertheless, my original plan was to take her stargazing. The stars at night may be big and bright deep in the heart of Texas; but in Oregon, they are something much better: visible. Yes, they are actually visible entities, each with a glimmer and a gleam, each shining with the glory of the ages; and the Milky Way itself can be seen on a clear night. On a night with a new moon and clear skies, the stars seem close enough to touch, and yet far enough to be safe.
It is because of the amazing views we get of the stars that I originally intended to propose by their light. I would slip the ring into a constellation view-finder, and after finding a few constellations for Rebecca, I would let her look though it to find "Saturn's Rings" and so propose. However, the Maker and Keeper of the stars had other plans.
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I had a hunch that she might suspect that something was up on that trip. She was long since ready for me to ask her to marry me (and I was long since ready to propose to her). To throw her off just a little, I resolved that I would not pop the question on the first night we were there; instead, I would wait until the third night (which happened to be my birthday, though this was really a coincidence). Besides which ,I did not have the ring in my possession, as I had it made by a local jeweller; my parents had picked it up for me, but I still needed to wait until Rebecca was asleep to get it from them.
Nevertheless, Rebecca was absolutely adamant about going out that first night to stargaze. Thus, I needed a clever way to get her back to the house without staying out too late (and thus ruining the effect of first seeing the stars), and also without raising her suspicions. Thus, not only did she forget her jacket, but I forgot mine; for in Oregon, the nights are cool and sweet after it gets dark, not warm and stuffy as in Texas. We therefore had about a ten minute walk under the stars, and they were bright and precious as I remember from my last visit. I did not take her to either of my favorite spots from which to view them, wanting to save the best views until I could propose.
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The big day arrived, and we decided to go to the local reservoir. It's not exactly a lake, but rather a portion of the river which is wider than the rest (this qualifies it as a lake in Texas). We swam and/or cayacked for most of the afternoon, and then returned home. Night rolled around, and after attending the vigil Mass and a birthday dinner we arrived home. I had wanted to take her out to stargaze then; unfortunately, we had cloud cover. There would be no stars that night, nor any of the next few.
The next day, we drove to Bend (which is in central Oregon, for the non-Oregonians). On the drive over, we decided to stop and hike to a waterfall. The
Sahalie and Kooshah waterfalls are each more impressive than any falls which can be found in or around Texas. We walked to Sahalie falls and watched as the water there hurtled over the precipice into the churning blue pool 120 feet below. The clear pool which collected before the falls had an apparent depth of about a foot, but that appearance was a deception: it was in fact nearer to four feet deep than to one.
It may not be the biggest or most impressive waterfall in the state, but it took her breath away nevertheless. I could see how impressed she was; however, since my parents had come along on this trip, I did not propose in front of this waterfall. That would have to wait until we had some privacy.
We arrived at my aunt and uncle's house about an hour later, just in time to unload the car and have a quite dinner of grilled salmon and chicken. This, too, was a treat--those who have tried the pacific salmon caught off the coasts of Oregon, Washington, or Alaska always have a hard time going back to the Atlantic variety more commonly found in Texas (and elsewhere). It was an enjoyable dinner, with a decent wine to match, followed by a brilliant sunset.
From my aunt's back deck, we watched as the sun sank between the twin peaks of two of the
Sisters volcanoes, the third Sister visible in the periphery. The sky became turned a red hue which hearkened back to the time when, thousands of years ago, those volcanoes were active. In my mind I could see the clouds on the horizon as plumes of smoke, the sunset as a fiery cascade of magma. Still, we were not alone, but in the company of my parents, my aunt and uncle, and my cousin; and so I did not propose here. We watched the sun at last sink behind the mountains, and then enjoyed the thunder and lightning display which replaced it.
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We decided that the next day we would hike along one of the nearby trails in the mountains, along with my parents, a family friend, her daughter, and my cousin. Needless to say, Rebecca and I got not a moment of privacy between my cousin and the rest of the troop. Therefore, when we stopped by a beautiful lake in the mountains for a picnic, I did not propose; nor did I do it when we walked to a second, more secluded lake in the clearing of that mountain forest.
The crystal clarity of the water was a testament to the pristine conditions of much of the state—not polluted or urbanized as so much of the country, including parts of Texas. The crisp mountain air could be breathed in with ease, in spite of its relative thinness as compared to air in the Texas lowlands. This feeling of freshness, of all things still being new in spite of the great age of this ancient forest, was overwhelming—yet even here we were not alone, and so the proposal would have to wait.
We did, however, see the impressive display of a tall fir tree which had been utterly destroyed by a lightning strike the previous night. The hundred-or-so-foot length of the tree lay upon the ground beside its ten-foot-high hollowed-out stump. The thing had been shattered by the power of the lightning strike, and we could see large chunks of it which had been blown off of the main trunk.
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That night, we ate dinner with my parents and aunt and uncle at an upscale (if somewhat casual) restaurant. It was located in what had once been the ranch-house of a large ranch (which had been converted into a small ranch and large equestrian facility). The food was superb, and the views sublime, for the ranch house was perched at the crest of a tall hill. The view was of another glorious sunset, though not between two volcanoes as before.
It would have been an excellent engagement dinner, were we attending it alone, but that would have to wait until the next day. Instead, I would have to content myself with pleasant conversation with my family, with viewing the masterpiece of red, orange, and gold which faced us from the west.
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The next morning, I awoke fairly late. It had been a relatively late night that night, and I needed sleep; the dog who kept trying to slobber on me as I slept—and who would lick any exposed flesh—did not help with this matter. I could feel a bit of a tingle in my spine: this was going to be the day.
The main plans for the day were to visit the Lava Butte cinder cone (essentially, a volcano) and the lava river cave (a cave created by the lava’s flowing during the volcano’s last major eruption some 5000 years ago). We also wanted to work in a visit to another waterfall—perhaps Tumalo falls—but this was too far out of the way, so we settled for the Lava Chute “falls”—more accurately named the Lava Chute rapids. The name is fairly descriptive for this latter thing: the lava formed a chute and then cooled and dried; this filled with water and became a very rapid stream upon which only the bravest (and the most stupid) people would attempt to kayak. We settled for walking along the trail which runs beside the river, our timidity repaid by a thousand tiny mosquitoes.
If today was to be the day, then I would need to convince my parents to stay behind. Luckily, I didn’t need to ask twice; in fact, I didn’t even need to ask once, because my mother was despairing of my ever asking the more important question. Thus, I was able to pretend to be non-chalant about whether or not they came along. Rebecca, for her part, wanted some alone time but did not want to be rude about it. The net effect was that my parents (and other family) stayed behind on this trip, citing that they were a little tired and had already seen everything which we were going to go see that day; and that I was able to feign disappointment that they couldn’t come along.
We packed a small lunch for ourselves, peanuts for the chipmunks, and a map to get to the volcanic monument (all of these major attractions are more-or-less together near this monument), and then we were off. The trip over was uneventful, other than that the city of Bend is incredibly unfriendly towards motorists: finding a gas station was difficult, as the motorist information signs pointing to gas stations were largely filled with misinformation or disinformation after about an hour and fifteen minutes (forty five minutes to drive to the monument, thirty minutes to drive around looking for gasoline), we at last arrived at the cinder cone.
We ate lunch, and spent some time feeding the chipmunks. We then entered the visitor’s information center and were greeted by a large sign which read “Do not feed the golden-mantled ground squirrels.” Duly noted, but who wants to feed golden mantled ground squirrels when you can feed chipmunks? We took the bag of peanuts with us; her justification being that the explanation on the sign was that the golden mantled ground squirrels take the food back to their winter stores, which then get spoiled—“But we’re feeding them peanuts which are practically a part of their diet anyway, and besides, those won’t spoil.”
We hiked along a trail through the lava field to an observation platform near the base of the cone, and gazed across the expanse of volcanic rock. It was a see of black and grey stones, with here and there a patch of trees which stood out like islands. After taking a few pictures and doubling back along the trail, she asked whether we were going to climb to the peak of the volcano, or whether we would drive. We settled on driving—otherwise, we’d not have the time nor perhaps the energy to explore the cave or hike the lava chute trail.
Now, the park rangers for this volcano have gotten to be fairly smart about managing how people can drive u the volcano. Each person is allotted thirty minutes during which he may park in the small lot at the peak (there’s room for about a dozen cars at most). Our time window was open by the time we got back to the car, and so we began the ascent –which took perhaps five minutes by car. When we reached the top, we were pleasantly surprised to find that only one other vehicle was up there—and it was about to leave. We had the peak all to ourselves for about five minutes or so: well, almost to ourselves, for in a stroke of practicality which borders on the ironic, the forest rangers had built a fire-watch tower at the top of the volcano.
The peak of the cone is at a height of 5020 feet—nearly a mile—and so from it one could see for miles and miles. The view is worth describing: there are several things which can be seen from this cinder cone. First is the cone itself: one can literally look down into the inside of the volcano, from which molten lava spewed and hot magma exploded, from which the cinder were thrown forth. This is, of course, now filled in with a great amount of pumas and other rocks, and there are even trees growing along a part of the inner cone. Next there is the lava field itself, which covers an area of about nine square miles, stretching in all directions from the base of the cone, which I described before as resembling an eerie sea of black and grey dotted with isles of green.
The trees become a forest again in each direction, though they grow much closer on one side of the cone than on the other. They grow up along on face, but then the forest vanished under the lave for a few miles in the other direction before appearing again, so that the mountain looks bald on one side and like a forest on the other. The reason for this has something to do with how much sunlight and wind each face of the mountain receives.
Rising about the trees and eve the distant mists or clouds which seem to emanate from them are the mountains, for all of this is in the midst of the Cascade mountain range. How many of these mountains are dormant (or indeed active) volcanoes, I do not know, but this is the eastern boundary of the so-called “Ring of Fire.”
The view was exhilarating for me, breath-taking for her. After she took it in for a few moments, she at last said that it was so romantic up there. I knew what would make it even more so, for after she said this, I dropped to a knee and produced the ring. “Becca-Bec,” which is my nick-name for her, a combination of the two shortened forms of Rebecca to which she will answer, “Will you marry me?”
And through tear-filled eyes, she assented, saying “Of course! I thought you’d never ask.” We embraced as I slipped the ring upon her finger. I held her for a few moments, and then took four pictures: two of the ring on her hand (one of which was shown in Part III of this story), one of us together, and (of course) the one at the top of this story, which captured perfectly her shock, her surprise, and her joy.
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Epilogue: Keeping My Mother in Suspense
After the proposal, we had only a few minutes before the next set of people arrived at the cone’s summit, at which point we left to go hike along the lava chutes river and spelunk in the lava river cave. This gave some time for the initial shock to wear off a little, and so by the time we got back, Rebecca was feeling a little bit mischievous.
“Let’s not just tell your parents,” she said, a glint of deviousness in her eye, “I kind of want to keep your parents guessing.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah, it will be fun.”
We casually walked into the house through the front door, her left hand in her pocket. My parents were both in the living room waiting for us, and my uncle was reclined in his Lay-Z-Boy. My mother’s eyes darted first to Rebecca, and then to me, and finally to Rebecca’s hand, which was still in her pocket.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Oh, it was pretty great,” I replied, “We got a lot of hiking in. Man, there sure were a lot of rocks by that volcano!”
I turned to Rebecca, who was half-pretending to shiver. The cave—our final activity--was actually fairly chilly, and I kept my car cool on the drive back. “Do you want a blanket, dear?” I asked, grabbing a large blanket from the couch.
“Thanks,” she said as I wrapped it around her, thus freeing her hand from her pocket.
“So, Becca, what was your favorite part of the day?” my mother asked. She was getting anxious, and it was time to try to call out bluff.
“Oh, there was lots of fun stuff. The volcano was pretty awesome, and there were plenty of rocks there. I also liked the river.”
“Yes, it was pretty white in the rapids areas, and had a pretty high clarity near the bridge,” I chimed in.
My mother frowned a bit; she though it was a bit weird that I was using so many words in my descriptions which sounded similar to the description of a diamond or a ring. Yet, it didn’t seem like I’d proposed yet. Rebecca certainly wasn’t bouncing up and down giddily, showing off the new ring.
“Anyway,” Rebecca continued, “the cave was pretty cool—chilly in fact—but also kinda fun.”
“Yeah, and it was amazing how round the walls were. And the water glistening on the rocks made them seem kind of shiny,” I said.
My mother frown deepened. “Oh, I see. Well, it sounds like you had a fun time.”
“Yeah, but we got kicked out of the cave because the caves close at 4:45 and we got there late. We didn’t get to see the whole thing. Maybe we can do some more spelunking oon our next trip,” I replied.
At this point, my father broke into the conversation, saying, “So your cave adventure was only enough to whet your appetite.” The word sounded almost like “wed” rather than whet.
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Are you guys going to go the observatory tonight to stargaze with the telescopes?” my father asked.
“I dunno,” I said, “I guess it will depend on whether we can get a nap in. Besides, it sound like it will be a bit overcast again.”
“And I didn’t bring any cold-weather clothing along,” Rebecca added, “the website said to bring cold-weather clothes.”
My mother’s frown had nearly become a scowl. It was apparent that I really wasn’t going to go ask her tonight, either. It was all she could do to not stomp into the kitchen. There was on last chance for her to try to call our bluff. “Hey Becca, do you want some blueberries? They’re fresh.”
“Oh, sure<” Becca said, glancing at me, “I’d love some.”
“Here, I’ll get them for you,” I said, walking to the kitchen to grab the carton. This meant, of course, that Rebecca was free to remain under the blanket. The ring was kept secret and safe.
As I passed my mother, she leaned to me and half-whispered, half-growled, “You’d better hurry up and do what you’re going to do.” It was all I could do to keep a straight if slightly hurt and slightly puzzled face; I wanted to burst into laughter, but Rebecca wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.
I brought her the blueberries, and she reached her right hand from under the blanket to get a few. My mother, in a moment of dyslexia, say the bare right hand—of course there was no ring on it—and in light of the conversation so far concluded for sure that I hadn’t proposed. She wore an open scowl at this point, and stormed up the stairs to her room. My father followed, hoping to placate her. She apparently told him to tell me that if I didn’t propose, she wasn’t going to ride home in the car with me; no pressure there.
Rebecca and I smiled at each other, and then quietly concocted a plan to reveal that, yes, I had actually proposed. She had her little bit of fun, now it was time to tell all.
We walked quietly up the stairs, her in front and me behind. She poked her heap meekly around the corner of the door. “Cindy, I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“How do you keep a diamond clean,” Rebecca asked, opening the door wide and holding up her left hand to show off the ring. My father chuckled from his chair in the corner, and my mother was all smiles. There were congratulations, and my father pulled me aside to tell me that we really didn’t need to go to the observatory.
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Postludes: After this fantastic trip, we returned home, and then two days later went to the coast. And got perhaps the best weather of the entire trip, clear skies and fine temperatures, and the sun setting behind the waves on the horizon. Well, at least we got some good pictures from the coast, our first full set as an engaged couple.
And in future ecological news, the golden mantled ground squirrel population of the Lava Butte volcanic region of Sunriver, Oregon, will be severely reduced due to the spoliation of their winter stores.
Meanwhile, back in Texas, we have begun planning out our wedding. No date has been set, but it will likely be in either June or July.
