An Escape to Oregon Is No California Dream

In the southwestern Oregon hub of Medford, whose tidy airport serves the Rogue River Valley, a cabbie was praising the town: close to Crater Lake, the deepest lake in America, he said, and to Oregon’s only national park. Fine fishing in mountain streams and in the Rogue River itself. Good hiking. Good skiing. Fresh air.

And 19 inches of rainfall a year . . . look at those climber roses!

Was the braggart a native? Not at all. He moved to Oregon from California eight years ago and has never looked back.

“Sixty-four percent of the Medford population is from California,” he claimed, a figure confirmed by town officials.

You can escape California by traveling north, but you cannot escape Californians.

In front of a big-screen TV in the lounge at the Red Lion Inn, I talked to the young bartender. Since settling in Oregon, she has become a do-or-die fan of the Portland Trail Blazers. Her parents, back home in Los Angeles, cheer for the Lakers. They get along well, she said, except during basketball season.

From the Southern Oregon History Center--a handsome museum located in the former J.C. Penney store in downtown Medford--to the headquarters of Jackson & Perkins (world’s largest grower and shipper of roses), I kept hearing the phrase: “Not being from California. . . .”

The disclaimer seemed especially amusing at Jackson & Perkins, since all of the roses shipped from here--10 million plants a year--are grown on 5,000 acres near Wasco in California’s great Central Valley.

In pine-green foothills, just five miles west of Medford, I walked through Jacksonville, an 1850s Gold Rush town that is one of only eight towns--including Colonial Williamsburg--to be listed as a National Historic Landmark. More than 80 homes, churches, the brick-and-stone courthouse, the Jacksonville Inn and the Oddfellows Hall have been preserved from the 19th Century. Horse carriages roam the gracious main street--which is named California.

Out on the craggy Oregon coast, I came upon Bandon, a winsome resort full of artists, craftsmen, fishing boats, cranberry bogs and festivals to honor them all. After finding no room in a couple of heart-of-town inns, I lucked out at The Seabird, a bed and breakfast in a stylish contemporary house on Beach Loop Road.

The proprietors, Carol and Ollie Sapousek, live upstairs. Two spacious guest rooms--The Puffin and The Sandpiper--have private baths and garden views.

The quiet setting promised a good night’s sleep. I awakened to the rich aroma of coffee in the solarium, with its wicker furnishings and wood-burning stove, which crackles most mornings throughout the year. Carol is the decorator; Ollie, a retired forester, keeps the plants and trees happy. They are from California.

“Californians are now a majority in Bandon,” Carol said as she served blueberry pancakes with blueberry butter and syrup. “We have the votes to make things happen.”

Ollie marked my map and suggested that I swing past the Shore Acres botanical gardens--rich with rhododendrons and prize roses--above a spectacular cove near Charleston. As with most Oregon beaches, this one was empty. I heard a tourist complain: “The toughest thing about taking beach photos in Oregon is to get people in your pictures.”

However, in Florence, where the Siuslaw River meets the sea, I found a true gathering place: the Old Town Coffee Co. Locals started drifting in at 7 a.m. Each was met with a warm greeting from Donna Lee Wendling.

“Mornin’, Dave,” she called from behind the counter. “Mornin’, Laramie. Would you like a cup of coffee or are you going to sit and read for awhile?”

Donna is one of the rare ones: a native Oregonian and the daughter of Oregonians. Her children were born in Florence. She has watched the Old Town neighborhood grow from a hippie hangout to an appealing collection of small businesses: restaurants, kite shops, antiques.

“We get a lot of visitors from Southern California,” she said with a smile. “They come in with their shoulders still up. It takes a couple of days, but then they start to relax. That’s nice to see.”

Not being from Oregon, I thanked her.