The puppies had me flying out of the Airbnb the next morning accompanied by Stella, barking her head off. Andrew followed with his coffee.

“Did you hear the owl this morning?” John asked.

Andrew raised his eyebrows. The genuine-ness of the owls not to mention the crickets was still in question.

We learned a little more about our hosts while I cuddled the puppies one after the other.  According to John, Amy was “athletic,” but he was a Mountain Man. As a kid he trapped muskrats, skinned them and sold the pelts. I left the two men talking about manly stuff and went back inside to get ready for Day 2 in Walla Walla.

We started by driving up and down the roads around the Airbnb, trying to find Castoldi’s Candy Sweet Onions. Even though they are available in Seattle, I like to buy a huge bag of Walla Walla sweets right from the source when I can. I bought 25 pounds in a little shed next to what was presumably Farmer Castoldi’s house, stuffing $17 into a little Honesty Slot. For the rest of the trip, I relished learning that they were much more expensive everywhere else.

“You’re my Walla Walla sweet,” Andrew said. I glowed.

Next stop was Fort Walla Walla, which I remember as green but late in the fall it is brown and yellow. We found a walking path and Disc Golf course with those baskets that look like they belong at the bottom of a guillotine. Andrew had two discs in the car. He showed me how to throw one –it’s all in the wrist– and I immediately threw my neck out instead. We walked along the path with Stella, occasionally throwing a disc; it was hot and a little dis-spiriting. The magpies were fun though. On my 1075 trips to Walla Walla, I always noted the first magpie once I crossed the mountains.

We went back to Pioneer Park with a picnic lunch, it being so much greener there. Andrew is a first-class picnic lunch maker. He’s also an amazing cook though he modestly says that he just follows the recipe. If you are new, he’ll tell you about America’s Test Kitchen, Cook’s Illustrated, Cook’s Country and Milk Street. I’m not complaining, I like it that I rarely have to cook.

We drove to a pottery place called Clay in Motion. I discovered it once when I drove down to Milton-Freewater in Oregon to get some Scotch without having to pay all the Washington state taxes. I bought a soup plate to compliment the one I had bought on the earlier occasion.

It was what Andrew calls “surgical strike” shopping, the only kind he likes. Go in, buy, get out. The only exception is Christmas stocking shopping when you have to graze a bit. We had fun doing that last Christmas. Otherwise, I prefer not to shop with Andrew. He hangs around behind me and I think he’s bored but he says he enjoys the people watching and objected to my use, in this blog post, of the word “skulk” so I took it out.

Coming back into Walla Walla on 9^th Ave, we stopped at Melody Muffler Sculptures so Andrew could photograph some of Mike Hammond’s creatures and objects built from car parts.

Back at the Airbnb we had more discussions about where to go for dinner and whether or not the crickets and owls were real. Then a nap, ending with me leaping up: “Klickers!” I needed to show Klickers to Andrew. We drove up Issacs Ave, past the Community College with their renowned viticulture school, out toward the airport to family-owned Klickers where we used to get blueberries, watermelon, squash, honey and ice cream. We bought some Klicker’s  salad dressings, some carrots and apples and ice cream.

Like we needed more food. We always bring too much food on these excursions. Also too many clothes. We both wore the same thing for three days and packed about as much food home as we brought with us, not counting my 25-pound bag of Walla Walla sweets.

We resolved some of our excesses by deciding to have dinner at the Airbnb. Andrew grilled sausage, corn-on-the-cob and asparagus on the barbeque and toasted tater tots in the oven. I made a salad with everything that could possibly go into a salad. I put on a dress and lipstick and the sapphire earrings that my friend Kay gave me before she died. Andrew put on a tie. We had a lovely meal on the terrace next to the fountain with the lily pads.

Andrew said, “The food is always better at home.” When Andrew is the cook, I concur.

Another issue was resolved in the early evening when Stella who had been chasing something in the cabin for hours, finally bagged a cricket. I decided the owls were probably real as well.

The next morning as we packed the car, Stella insisted on sitting in my seat. She usually rides in complete comfort in the back but it took some coaxing to get her there. We visited the Walla Walla Saturday Market on our way out of town. A busker fulfilled all my requirements: good voice, accompanied by single guitar, well-played; old, well-loved songs and –crucially–not overly amplified. As we listened, a text came in from our Airbnb host: “You forgot Stella’s bed.”

Back we went for Stella’s bed. When she got settled, she looked as though to say, “See, I told you something wasn’t right.” Dogs know.

Andrew found the old highway out of Walla Walla. I don’t think I ever thought of it as Highway 12. It was the only way into town. We went by Waiilatpu (place of dry grass) where the Whitman massacre  took place. My freshman class at Whitman was the last one required to visit the site during orientation week.

Old Highway 12 goes through little old Lowden and Touchet, two communities where speeding is resented.  Lowden is the site of Woodward Canyon, the first winery in the valley and L’Ecole No 41, the winery with some of the best marketing merch. The two towns were always markers on the trip to Walla Walla.

We stayed on the old highway as much as we could, winding through the little farm towns.  In Zillah, we visited the oddity that is The Teapot Dome Gas Station and visited with the docent and his lovely dog, Ebony and puppy, Alfie. At Union Gap we finally found the Los Hernandez Andrew had seen on Evening Magazine –the best tamales in the valley, in Washington, maybe in the country, the world. We got four different kinds: pork, chicken, asparagus, and cactus, then wandered around looking for a place to eat them.

We ate them at a park on the edge of another gem: the Central Washington Agricultural Museum, which features a street to resemble an old western town, full of period pieces of carriages, mechanical potato planters, wringer washing machines and the like. The most interesting aspect was not on the curated street; it was behind it. There must have been acres of old equipment, cars, trucks, tractors, every piece of equipment you could imagine a farming couple wanting to get rid of when they down-sized their home so they could move to a condo in Yakima.

The tamales were ok.

Finally we made stops at the Selah and Thorp produce stands, which weren’t as wonderful as I remembered them to be, but then a lot of things are that way.

In any case, I could relax. Andrew pretty got much the full Walla Walla experience.

Melody Muffler musicians, Walla Walla
photo by AJB

Shakespeare fan, Walla Walla Shakespeare Co. Observe the beard.

Teapot Dome Photo by AJB

Trucks, Central Washington Agricultural Museum Photo by AJB

Sugar Beet Lifter Central Washington Agricultural museum photo by AJB

Some of the Back Forty lot Central Washington Agricultural museum photo by AJB