Welcome to the Forest

Some of you may know, but some of you may not know. I, Ruthie, was born and raised in a forest. This forest to be more specific.

No I was not actually delivered in said forest, but I was brought home from the hospital to this quiet, well secluded region of the Northwest and lived there until the tender, naive age of 18.

Last week I had the opportunity to go home for Thanksgiving and decided to try and capture a bit of my home to share with friends. Now you may start to understand when I say "I grew up in a forest."

The house I grew up in and the very green front yard

My backyard

More backyard (Mt. Hood in the distance)


Front yard, and the trees I used to pretend were the front door to my house, where I would make mudpies.

Tree swings, my cousins and I did "tricks" on. We also spun each other up really high and tried not to get sick or their really long hair caught in the ropes.
(I did not have really long hair but that subject will not be discussed any further)

I also grew up along side Christmas trees.
It still pains me slightly to see fake Christmas trees.
My dad also says it's like taking food food out of his mouth.

I don't know if you knew, but Oregon is always wet. Including the spider webs.

This little guy must love rain.


Does your dad light a soaking wet brush pile on fire on
Thanksgiving morning and get the flames this big?

We lovingly call this area of the property "Fairyland"
I think the picture explains it all.


View from the Christmas tree field.


My grandfather's barn and authentic farm equipment.

There it is, my childhood playground. If you ever need a vacation where you don't ever have to see anyone, let me know. My parents are very hospitable. You could ride around on the tractor with my dad and eat really good food, made by my mom.