A few times in my life I’ve had the feeling of traveling through time. Once, on a 4th of July, we took a tour of Paul Revere’s house, and standing in his bedroom, I had the distinct sense that I had invaded a living person’s privacy. Once was when my husband and I got lost in Montana (a thing not to do) and found ourselves in a ghost town. And last week. Last week on our way home from the coast we took a detour to satisfy ten years of curiosity. We veered off of Hwy 42 and followed it to Powers, Oregon. We’d always wondered about that turnoff, so we took it. The road knotted its way through the coast range -- intensely green land too steep for hills, but not tall enough yet for real mountains. The road, which appeared to be in the habit of slipping off the slopes periodically, was patched and rutted, and so windy that the road signs looked liked snakes and usually just said SLOW, by which they must have meant 20 or less. We passed a dilapidated...(Read Full Article)