As I headed south on the route 97 that is called "the Cherry street," I found some towns here and there as well as special landscape composed by the contrast between the irrigated green fields and the low dry mountains.

The valley is dotted with the fields of cherries and apples (State's special products). They look like green stains on the brown basin and there's a small town formed in the center.

They call this region located in the eastside of the Cascade Mountains "rain shadow" and the amount of rain is short. I wondered how they can grow cherries in this vast dry fields, but they seem to irrigate directly from the river and store it in the tank so that they can sprinkle constantly the water sprinkler trucks.

There's a place dotted with large houses near the dry hillside and river. Are they descendants of the frontiers who originally built these houses?

Even though they live in an inconvenient place, they can come shopping by a helicopter because parking space is wide in the States! It's funny that it's parked innocently in the vacant lot next to the house.

It's wide, wide, and wide to the horizon. They seem to cultivate this area to make cherry fields. In few years, they will have tons of sweet rainier cherries.

As I drive under the fragile rock surface, I found an old small grocery shop. The distance between stores can be several ten kilometers, but we can stop by at one of them and store the products. And, unexpectedly I found a flower shop, too. How sweet! It appears unnatural because of the atmosphere, but I felt relieved and I could cure my fatigue from driving.

I didn't like to go lower being away from the river, so I got off the road and drove a wild land heading to the river again. I heard it's very dangerous to walk around here because there're many rattlesnakes. Actually, it did look dangerous and I kept driving hoping my car wouldn't break. There're some ups and downs, so it was hard to look ahead. I kept trying to locate where I was by checking a precipitous brown rocky mountain and the sun. Also, I drove as slowly as possible because I was afraid of jumping out to the edge of a cliff. On the hill, like in a Western movie, mass of withered grass and broken shrubs passed the sides of my car by turning around. I thought it would be nice to have some macaroni Western music, so I checked if there's a FM signal, but unfortunately, all station was too weak to catch. I tried to take it easy to drive as usual, but my cell phone indicated that I was out of the range. I became extra cautious and slowed down even more not to hit the real danger of the nature. And, I started to wonder if I should return in case I couldn't reach the river in another few kilometers. Soon, there suddenly appeared the end a few ten meters ahead and I felt I glimpsed the river. I instantly parked my car and walked to the end. This doesn't look good. What I saw was a steep downward slope followed by a cliff. If I kept driving, I would have dived straight into the bottom.

I finally made it! There was a great river that seemed to be hundreds meters deep. This is the Columbia River that I imagined. The wet wind from the bottom was pleasant and cooled my body. I found a trail that could let me walk on the cliff. Is it a sideway for walking or a bridle path? I couldn't measure the size from where I stood, but I was also wondering if it could be a forgotten way where the Native Americans used to pass. I wanted to wait until the sun set so I could photograph the river reflecting the shining red sky, but decide to return to my car and drive to the town because the ground looked friable.

As I came near to a village, I found more large fields everywhere. I was overwhelmed by the gorgeous carpet of the blue violet flowers as if they were competing the beauty against the sky. Is this area blessed by the Columbia River, too? I also found a river toward the mountain faraway. Is it a potato field?

There're also seemingly family-oriented small wineries here and there, and they have cute shops next to the stone houses. This time I didn't have enough time to stop by at them, but next time I'd like to taste each wine picking some local food.

The grape farms had livestock such as horses, cows, and uniquely Llamas that seemed to be brought from South America. Are they carrying the harvested grapes? Anyway, how tranquil is this place! It makes me want to move in there.

Now I can finally see the Highway 90. I can return to Seattle if I cross the bridge. I drove quite a long distance for an overnight journey staying one night at a small town. Driving along the Columbia River was nothing but exciting.

Now, my heart goes back to the river again. I want to visit the source of the river located in the Canadian Rocky. I also want to drive along the gigantic cliff located in the State border between Washington and Oregon. The scenery of the valley is different from the one described by Smetana's "the Moldau," but it's easy to imagine the symphony of various picturesque landscapes of rivers formed by gathering the sources from the mountains, irrigating the fields, moistening the dry towns, cutting off the plains, running in the narrow valley, passing the great valleys quietly, and finally pouring into the ocean slowly as if they miss their great journey.