Growing up in Issaquah Part 5: the Dam, the Salmon, Earthquakes, Summer and whatever else

4th of July is over. I hope none of you proudly displayed any American flags that were made in China, threw tea in our harbors, played with fire and abused your freedoms! I learned a valuable lesson this year. Never look for leftover fireworks in your truck with a lighter. Good news is that now my truck has a sunroof.

Before I begin with Part 5 I just want to say that my very best childhood memory was falling asleep on the couch and waking up in my comfortable bed…. I miss teleporting. It never happens to me anymore. Re-living my past brings one subject to mind. In 1962, my teacher made me write "I must hand my work in on time" five hundred times. Pointless activity, if you ask me, but anyway...I'm finally done. Unfortunately I don't remember the teacher's name, so I don't know where to send my homework. Writing this blog, well, sometimes I feel like my life is a foreign movie with no subtitles. I just keep nodding, smiling and thinking WTF. It's OK if you do the same. My friends are always saying how funny and awesome they think I am. Mostly because they are imaginary and I tell them what to think. I am definitely the most mature out of everyone in my imaginary circle of friends. Relax, we’re all crazy... It’s not a competition. I am just waaaay ahead of the rest of you. You know what’s funny? Lot’s of shit. Loosen up already. My apologies, I am now just blatantly wasting your time by typing absolute drivel  And so we begin -

I previously told of my 1966 Leonid's experience when I was 14. Let's move back another year, to when I was 13. My most vivid and distinct memory of growing up in Issaquah was the 1965 earthquake. It originated in Alaska as a 9.2 earthquake. By the time it hit us, in Puget Sound,  it was a 6.5 earthquake. Horrifying experience for any child, that had never experienced a HUGE earthquake before. I had experienced a total of 15 earthquakes while I lived in Issaquah, but they were normally just 3's and 4's. Not even worth mentioning, most not even noticed. But this one -  this was a monster earthquake. Scary not knowing what to expect. The violent shaking. The sounds of the earth moving. Watching the ground literally open up in front of me. It seemed to last forever.  We all remember where we were at that given moment. A moment none of us will ever forget. Just like we will always remember where we were and how we felt when John F. Kennedy got assassinated. This earthquake, I was in Jr. High. My friend Jenny, if I recall, was in the gym. I was in the 3rd story of the main building with load-bearing walls made of brick. They tend to collapse like the "proverbial ton of bricks." I was told to get under my desk. I didn't. I ran out of that room, down three flights of stairs and  out of that shaking building, across the football field to my house. When it comes to life or death I listen to myself, act on gut instincts, not some teacher. Yes, stubborn Finn. The only damage to the house my father and grandfather built was a brick fell off the fireplace chimney. That in itself was a testament to the Finn's ability to build good solid houses. On the other hand the Jr. High building had to be destroyed. It sustained too much damage.  I do not recall any aftershocks. I would check out the huge cracks in the earth for months to come, peering down the cracks as if to see China or something. Pushing rocks down the cracks to see if I could hear them hit the bottom. They eventually closed but I remember so well how I would jump over them just in case I somehow fell into them. Of course I couldn't - but hey, you think strange things when it comes to the "unknown." I have experienced many earthquakes in the State of California, but that one in Washington will always be the one that truly let me know who is in fact boss - Mother Nature. 

My Washington summers were short, yet lazy. I would go down to the Issaquah Creek or Lake Sammamish and try to catch fish with a stick and some fishing line. Of course I never put a hook on the fishing line. I didn't like fish, I just wanted to pretend I was fishing. I always found this odd because  I could swim in the fish ladders at the Issaquah Dam with those huge Salmon and feel their slimy skin and fins touch me but I didn't want to touch them. I swam with the Chinook salmon, usually in late August. Never swam with the Coho or the Sockeye because I wasn't in the Issaquah Creek waters after August. Just too dang cold. The Chinook are the first to arrive back home to spawn, followed by the Coho and Sockeye. Salmon are not the greatest looking things when they return to their native waters to spawn after years in the Ocean. You see their dead carcasses spread around the forest, the creek....everywhere..... by wild animals. Not a great sight nor a great smell, but if you are raised around that you do get used to it. It's all good - they replenish the soil, feed wild animals and nourish the trees.  During the summer my friends and I would float my B-52 inner-tube from the Issaquah Creek to Lake Sammamish. It held 3 people. After my Dad attached a piece of circular plywood to it, it also held my dog Shep. That dog enjoyed the Huckleberry Finn life he shared with me. Well, except for the time I yelled  "Jump Shep Jump" when the inner-tube got too close to the Dam's water spillway. It was only a 12 foot high Dam, but it did have a concrete and rock spillway bottom. I suppose Shep didn't understand what the word "jump" meant because he and the inner-tube went right over that Dam. I am still surprised that he didn't get hurt. He just "rolled with the flow", so to speak. Damn fine dog, that Shep. Loved an adventure as much as me. 

A very familiar sight to see in Issaquah in October

My swimming hole, the Issaquah Dam. It has been torn down and replaced with a new series of weirs to allow the salmon easier access to their spawning grounds

In the winter I would get on my snow gear and head outside to make snowmen, igloos, slide down the 3 level schoolhouse hill,  or just have snowball fights.  

Schoolhouse Hill 

I would go back inside the house to warm myself by the floor oil furnace and then go back outside with my friends and neighbors again until it got too dark to see. When I got to be a  teenager things just got better. 

I wouldn't have wanted to grow up any differently. Sometimes it was hard, being raised in our small town, but I'm proud of how I turned out. I'm an honest person.  I work hard. I love the mountains and forests and I'm not afraid to be in them. There's a real genuine toughness that kids get from growing up in small towns, well, most kids, anyway. I feel more comfortable around a roaring bonfire in the middle of a forest with wild animals watching us - having drinks and conversations with my friends, than I ever could at someone's party in a city.  City life - how do people do it? It's obvious I'm not like city people.  I don't fit in with city people. City people aren't as friendly. There was always a party in the woods somewhere. Most often than not we would build a bonfire and drink six packs of beer all night. Stolen six packs of beer. You know - stolen from our parents. No drinking and driving involved. We walked where we wanted to go. In a small town, like Issaquah, everyone knew you and you knew everyone. The local townsfolk were friendly. It was really like walking into the "Cheers" bar every time you left your house. I could not leave my house and make it downtown without waving to at least 10 people along the way. I had a lot of 2nd and 3rd parents that would tell me I was out too late and to get my butt home. It was hard to get away with anything when your parents knew everyone in town and they all watched you like you were their kid! This gave me a sense of accountability. Somewhat. You just never knew who was watching you at any given moment. If I got into any kind of trouble, my Mom and Dad would already have heard about it by the time I got home. There was always someone looking out for me. The whole town knew if I was grounded and why, and if I skipped school, I couldn't go anywhere because someone would spot me and call my parents. Issaquah didn't have the need for truancy officers because the whole damn town acted as truancy officers! When I first started smoking I would wrap my cigarettes in plastic and crawl under the Issaquah Dam spillway to smoke. There was enough room under the waterfall to actually stay dry if you entered from the side opposite of the fish ladders. Nobody, except my closest friends, knew of my special hide-out. Well, Shep did but he never snitched me out.  I would go there when my Dad was working and I didn't want to be in the house with my Mother. My sacred place. No drama, just peace and quiet. The Dam was within a 3-5 minute walk for me (depending on what peaked my curiosity along the way), but on the path there were a few caved-in old abandoned mine shafts that could be explored. Just the entrances - they were all boarded up and disguised as not even being there but we knew where they were.  I admit I had no common sense at times because I sure as hell should not have investigated any of them by myself without anyone knowing where I was. My grandfather was a Miner and my Dad had specifically warned me about the unstable grounds around these old mines. Hell, we had a section across the creek from where I lived that was called "Mine Hill" where the owners of the homes there had nothing but problems - their houses sinking because of the unstable ground. How they allowed homes to be built there is beyond me - unstable ground, big mine shafts under the houses, combined with the constant rain we received - really stupid. 

If someone didn't like you, they wouldn't play head games. You always knew where you stood with everyone. You knew the people you grew up with and you didn't have to worry if someone was  going to do something to you. I would never have dreamed of date rape, ruffies - that stuff just never existed. My group of close friends were inseparable from one another. We knew when something was wrong with one another and if you picked a fight with one -  you got them all. Us girls were just as tough as the boys were. We were by no means door mats. Many a fist fight on the railroad tracks after school. Yes, us girls. Teenage girls - they can be total bitches. I can tell you from experience that trying to have a fist fight on the railroad tracks is difficult because you do not have good footing when standing on freakin' pea gravel and railroad ties. It is hilarious for me to think about that now but back then - I would not tolerate any sh** from anyone. I was raised with two brothers, I fought like a boy.  This is where I want to mention one of my longest and dearest friends, Savana. She was my true friend and the  one who saw all the good & the bad deep within me, yet stood by me no matter what. Taller and stronger than myself but she would stand there and let me 'settle some scores' and not involve herself unless of course I needed assistance.  "Bridge Over Troubled Waters", Savana, "Bridge Over Troubled Waters". There’s something about having an old friend who knew who you used to be, knows who you are now, and accepts everything you were in between. What is so funny is that these fights were usually with some of my best friends. Ahhhh - the teenage years. 

As teenagers we went to parties in an empty barn, a local pasture amongst the cows (and I can tell you for a fact that you cannot tip a cow), at the big gravel pit, or just in the middle of a dirt road in the forest. My life was a bunch of  “it seemed like a good idea at the time” moments. When the week-end was over and we were back in school, you could tell who was at the party during the week-end. You couldn't hide the scratches on your arms and  legs from running through the woods when the party got busted. I swear the cops knew all of our hangouts. Most of us escaped - never to be caught. We knew all the trails through the woods. The cops didn't. 

All of my teachers mentioned when they had my older brothers in class. They would ask me "Are you going to be like Dick or like John?" (Couldn't I just be me....little old me?) The trouble with being the youngest of two older siblings. They had set precedence. Yes, I ended up to be like Dick. "Hell on Wheels" as my Dad would say. 

I couldn't buy cigarettes because every store knew how old I was, who my parents were. I had to resort to stealing cigarettes from my Dad. I always felt guilty about that. So guilty! That was how he caught me smoking. My guilt overwhelmed me and one time I left money at the bottom of his carton of cigarettes to pay for the pack I had stolen. Seriously how stupid was that? Pretty damn stupid. Even though he was disapointed in the fact I stole from him he was equally as proud of my honesty. I didn't really get punished - the honesty won him over. He did make me smoke an entire cigar with him - as punishment. I never got sick so I suppose I did not learn any lessons from that.  Even my 2nd and 3rd parents were sometimes tougher on me than my own parents. When I was old enough to smoke, I'd still get a lecture and they'd still tell my parents. I had one 2nd mother who would call me "Swede" when I did something wrong and got caught. She knew that word really pissed me off. I was "Finn", not "Swede". She was my favorite 2nd Mom tho. One time her daughter Debbie and I snuck out of the bedroom window late at night. Where we went I do not remember but I distinctly remember upon returning to that bedroom before dawn that the window had been nailed shut from the inside. It had a note attached which read "Swede go home. Your father is waiting. Debbie, stay outside until your father is ready to talk to you". Debbie's Dad died 2 days before my Dad did. I was fortunate enough to have been in Washington taking care of my Dad to have attended Don's funeral. I will never forget what my 2nd Mom, Jean, said to me. "Of all the people who walked by his casket you were the only one who stopped, said something to him and kissed him goodbye. He loved you Finn, he really did". He was by all means my 2nd Dad. He and my father were life long friends. He had been good to me all my life. His other daughter, Nancy, had said to me "Isn't that just like my Dad to take your Dad with him when he had to go".  And with that, I am sad now, so will end this blog - for now.

I wish we could just fast forward through time just to see if it’s all worth it in the end. If we could I have a few ideas for the future:
They should totally change up the wording of “check engine” light to “this shit’s gonna cost ya”.
Door bells should be made non-existant in commercials. All dog owners know what I’m talking about.
Facebook needs a new button.  One that is the equivalent of kicking someone under the table to stop them from making a fool of themselves.
Build prisons out of the crap Costco packages their electronics in, no one could ever escape.

I will leave you with this final thought:
I would tell Obama to go to hell, but I think I am already there and I don’t want to see him everyday.

P.S.  If I ever win the lottery, the first thing I'm going to buy is a pot to piss in. I've always wanted one of those.