When we arrived at the abandoned dirt lot on the edge of a junk yard we thought that we made a dreadful mistake. There were no signs pointing us in the direction of the alleged “Dream Vacation” home we had booked for four nights– an adorable floating house we had happened upon online. Pictures of that little red house floating on the Willamette mesmerised us and beckoned us to plunk down our money, then imagine for the weeks leading up to our arrival about what it would be like to stay in a floating home. We looked around the lot and saw this path to an iron gate, looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, crossed the train tracks after preaching to the children to look both ways- ALWAYS, and walked down the plank.
There is something about iron gates that promises mystery and excitement as to what lurks on the other side. I think of the “Secret Garden.” But beyond this gate we saw the lazy river twinkling in the late afternoon sun and heard the quiet lapping of the water making her music on all she rapped. Far off laughter and a motor boat’s roar followed the closer we got to the gate.