The town in which I spend most of my time—Yakima, Washington—has several physical attributes that help make it a good place. It has air that cannot be seen, sunshine nearly every day, seasons, mountain views and hundreds of vineyards that produce world-class wines. It has apples, cherries, pears, peaches, plums and apricots in such profusion that the city used to bear the municipal nickname, Fruit Bowl Of The Nation. Several years ago, before we moved here, the slogan was dropped, for reasons that I can only imagine had something to do with embarassment over a new meaning increasingly attached to the word “fruit.†This is a conservative community, not likely to cotton to snickers about its name. The big illuminated sign that proclaimed Fruit Bowl Of The Nation is no longer on display downtown, but in the museum.
Now, as you approach the downtown exit from the west on Interstate 82 , you encounter a sign erected on private property by a businessman in the recreational vehicle field. It reads, “Welcome to Yakima, the Palm Springs of Washington.†That encourages lots of snickers and a certain amount of outrage, but at least it isn’t—well, you know—suggestive. I have encouraged friends down south to erect a sign that says, “Welcome to Palm Springs, The Yakima of California.â€
Yakima has two other institutions that, unlike mountains, air, fruit and wine, are unique to the town. Not far from the Fruit Bowl sign in the museum is a replica of the US Supreme Court office of Justice William O. Douglas, one of the most liberal judges ever to sit on the high court. Yakima is Douglas’s home town, and despite its conservative nature, the city is, for the most part, proud of that fact. He grew up here, practiced law downtown and for nearly all of his life made Yakima a point of departure for hikes and hunting and fishing expeditions. At the high school from which he was graduated in 1916 is a fine statue of Douglas. Last week, a 75-mile trail from Yakima to Mount Rainier was dedicated to him and given his name. The event was suported by the other unique attraction, the trolley line.
The Yakima Valley Trolley line’s web site explains, “The YVT is listed on the National Register of Historic Places because it is the last authentic, all-original turn-of-the-century interurban railroad in the United States.†The line runs from more or less the center of Yakima to the little town of Selah, five miles away, and has since 1907. For decades, it provided essential public transit. These days, it is used primarily for sightseeing and nostalgia. Following the trail dedication ceremony, a few dozen Douglas fans and outdoor enthusiasts, some wearing back packs and hiking boots, walked to the north side of town.
It was a coincidence that I chose that storybook autumn morning to take a long mountain bike ride. I was tooling along near the conjunction of the Naches River and the Yakima as the hikers arrived at the the base of one of the hills that form the Selah Gap. Both ancient trolleys were waiting there. The casual strollers piled aboard the red trolley and went back to town. The serious hikers boarded the yellow trolley, rode a symbolic few hundred yards, got out, began a steep climb and headed west toward Mount Rainier. I pulled over and watched the line of fifteen men and women and one dog as they trudged beneath a cloudless sky up the steep trail through the sagebrush and disappeared beyond the brow of the hill. They planned on taking four days to reach the mountain. I imagined Bill Douglas with them, setting the pace.