From salty sea breezes on the California coast to misty mornings beneath the evergreens of the Pacific Northwest, we’ve officially coasted our way into Washington. Our journey north has been scenic, snack-filled, and slightly feral (more on the wildlife warnings later).

We kicked things off with a scenic cruise up through Central Oregon, a place where the landscapes are vast, the people are kind, and—most importantly—the original Black Bear Diner still serves up mountainous portions that challenge both your appetite and your waistband. We feasted, we gazed lovingly at Mount Hood, and we wandered local shops hoping to find some tax-free treasures (did you know Oregon has no sales tax?!). Unfortunately, nothing screamed “take me home,” though I did come close to adopting a suspiciously cute bear statue. Probably for the best—it wouldn’t have fit in the Airstream anyway.

Then we rolled into Washington, where we nestled ourselves in the beautiful foothills near Seattle, specifically a charming little town called Fall City. It’s peaceful, green, and the kind of place where you half expect a moose to deliver your morning coffee.

But aside from the potential to become a bear’s afternoon snack, Fall City has been lovely. We ventured into Issaquah to explore the farmers market, where we promptly discovered the real danger: Rainier cherries. These little golden-red gems are Washington’s pride and our newest obsession. We bought a small bag. Then a large bag. Then we considered calling a farmer directly for a bulk discount. If there’s such a thing as cherry-induced bliss, we found it. If our trailer smells suspiciously fruity, don’t ask.

And speaking of wildlife—within five minutes of arrival, a ranger cheerfully warned us about recent bear and cougar sightings. Just a casual, “Watch out for apex predators!” welcome. I nodded and smiled while mentally assessing how fast I can run compared to Joel. (Spoiler: not very.)

The highlight of the week? A fantastic Fourth of July barbecue with Joel’s family. It was a full house—siblings, spouses, and stories flying across the patio as fast as the burgers flipped on the grill. The real show, however, came when Emiel busted out the private fireworks display. He might not be an official pyrotechnician, but he certainly had enough spark to light up the sky (and our nerves). Thankfully, all fingers and toes survived. Only a few lawn chairs and possibly a patch of grass paid the price for freedom.

Now, as we sip coffee beneath towering pines and listen to the occasional rustle in the woods (please be squirrels), we’re feeling grateful. For family. For cherries. For our still-intact limbs. And for the ever-surprising adventure of life on the road.

Until next time—keep it rolling and watch out for bears. 🐻