The old Oregon Territory, comprising the present states of Oregon and Washington, has the unique distinction of being the only part of the United States that was actually acquired by exploration and settlement, and this was not accomplished without lively competition from the British. The New England States were wrested from the unwilling hands of Great Britain and we paid the first Napoleon his price for Louisiana. Spain sold us Florida very reasonably when she saw we were going to take it in spite of her. California, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona were taken at the mouth of the cannon from Old Mexico—pity we didn’t complete the annexation of the rest of that troublesome country at the same time. We paid Russia seven millions for Alaska and thought it a gold brick for a time—Seward’s Folly, they called it—and a little pressure was exercised on Spain to relinquish the Philippines and Porto Rico into our keeping. Oregon alone became ours by right of “discovery,” and this no doubt seemed a curious163 kind of right in the eyes of the red men who possessed this goodly land.
 
ALONG THE COLUMBIA HIGHWAY
From photo by The Weister Co., Portland, Oregon
We need nothing more to tell us where the Oregon pioneers hailed from than the nomenclature of towns and rivers of the eastern part of the state. The Columbia itself was once—and more fitly—the Oregon, which rolled through “the continuous woods and heard no sound save its own dashings” until a Boston sea captain decided to honor the mighty stream with the name of his ship. The New Englander crops out still more significantly in Portland, Salem, Albany, the Willamette, and other names familiar in this region which the “down east” Yankee bestowed in loving memory of the towns and rivers of his native land.
We left Portland by the Pacific Highway, which runs through the heart of this western New England for one hundred and sixty miles, following the valley of the Willamette River. This valley is from twenty to sixty miles wide and is beyond question the garden spot of Oregon, if not of the entire Pacific Coast. The late J. J. Hill, the “Empire Builder,” in one of his last public appearances, at a banquet in Portland, declared, “I consider the Willamette Valley the most favored spot on earth for its size.” Gov. James Withycombe, who for many years was connected with the Oregon State Agricultural164 College, is responsible for the statement that “The Willamette Valley has a greater variety of agricultural products than any other section of the whole United States.” Possibly both of these authorities may have been somewhat prejudiced—Hill’s railroads and steamships were directly interested in the products of the valley, and a governor is not likely to minify the merits of any part of his state. Still, they are authorities on the matter and the people of the Willamette Valley, at least, are no doubt quite willing to let these pronunciamentos stand unchallenged. Nor are we inclined to dispute such authorities from any knowledge that we ourselves may have for, though we traversed the valley at the most unfavorable period of the year, we were none the less impressed with the evidences of its wonderful beauty, fertility, and great variety of products. The climate, we were told, is very temperate; in winter the freezing point is seldom touched and while summer days are usually pretty hot, the relief of cool nights never fails. As to its fertility and the capability of the valley to sustain a far larger population, an enthusiastic local authority is responsible for the following comparison:
“Populous Belgium, which before the German invasion contained about seven million inhabitants, has an area of only 11,373 square miles,165 or less than the aggregate area of the eight counties occupying the valley of the Willamette, which have a total of 12,526 square miles. The present population of these counties is about two hundred thousand. There is no reason why they should not contain as large a number of people as Belgium, for the climate of both sections is similar and the soil of the valley, though of different composition, is fully as productive as that of Belgium.”
A roseate forecast, to be sure, but one to which a careful observer might reasonably take exception; for while the whole of Belgium is a level and very fertile plain, more than half the area of the eight counties of the Willamette is occupied by rugged mountains which can never be cultivated except in very limited sections. We can agree, however, more unreservedly with another enthusiast who speaks in terms of scenic beauty and pastoral prosperity rather than square miles and population:
“A broad valley, rich, prosperous, and beautiful to look upon is the Willamette, and a valley of many moods. Neither in scenic charms nor agricultural resourcefulness is its heritage restricted to a single field. There are timberland and trout stream, hill and dale, valley and mountain; rural beauty of calm Suffolk is neighbor to the ragged picturesqueness of Scotland; there166 are skylines comparable with Norway’s, and lowlands peaceful as Sweden’s pastoral vistas; the giant timber, or their relic stumps, at some pasture edge, spell wilderness, while a happy, alder-lined brook flowing through a boulder-dotted field is reminiscent of the uplands of Connecticut. Altogether, it is a rarely variegated viewland, is this vale of the Willamette.
“You have seen valleys which were vast wheatfields, or where orchards were everywhere; in California and abroad you have viewed valleys dedicated to vineyards, and from mountain vantage points you have feasted your eyes upon the greenery of timberland expanses; all the world over you can spy out valleys dotted with an unvaried checkerboard of gardens, or green with pasture lands. But where have you seen a valley where all of this is mingled, where nature refuses to be a specialist and man appears a Jack-of-all-outdoor trades? If by chance you have journeyed from Medford to Portland, with some excursioning from the beaten paths through Oregon’s valley of content, you have viewed such a one.
 
PRUNE ORCHARDS NEAR DUNDEE, OREGON, WILLAMETTE VALLEY
From photo by The Winter Co., Portland, Oregon
“For nature has staged a lavish repertoire along the Willamette. There are fields of grain and fields of potatoes; hop yards and vineyards stand side by side; emerald pastures border brown cornfields; forests of primeval timber167 shadow market garden patches; natty orchards of apples, peaches, and plums are neighbors to waving expanses of beet tops. In short, as you whirl through the valley, conjure up some antithesis of vegetation and you must wait but a scanty mile or two before viewing it from the observation car.
“As first I journeyed through this pleasant land of the Willamette, a little book, written just half a century ago, fell into my hands, and these words concerning the valley, read then, offered a description whose peer I have not yet encountered:
“‘The sweet Arcadian valley of the Willamette, charming with meadow, park and grove! In no older world where men have, in all their happiest moods, recreated themselves for generations in taming earth to orderly beauty, have they achieved a fairer garden than Nature’s simple labor of love has made there, giving to rough pioneers the blessings and the possible education of refined and finished landscape, in the presence of landscape strong, savage, and majestic.’”
Such is George Palmer Putnam’s estimate of the “Valley of Content,” as he styles it in poetic phrase, and we can testify that his description is true as well as poetic.
But it may be that our enthusiasm for the Willamette Valley is unduly delaying the story168 of the actual progress of our journeyings which I take it has the “right of way” in this volume.
Out of Portland we encountered considerable highway construction work, which reminded us that Multnomah County is improving other arteries of travel besides the Columbia Highway. Such improvement was certainly needed, for the dozen miles between Portland and Oregon City was badly broken macadam, enforcing a speed limit that put fear of “cops” quite out of the question. The road is fairly level, however, following the river quite closely and crossing it just before it comes into Oregon City. Here we struck the first of many of the ancient covered wooden bridges in this section, doubtless another New England inheritance for which the early inhabitants were responsible. Each of these rickety old structures bore a warning against crossing “faster than a walk,” with threat of a liberal fine for violations, though the infernal clatter of loose boards that seemed to threaten collapse ought to be a most effective deterrent against speeding.
The road leaves Oregon City by a sharp, winding ascent which brought us to a fine, rolling upland with a dim mountain range to our left. The surface, however, was much better, permitting us to do the legal limit of Oregon—twenty-five miles per hour—with entire comfort.169 The gently rounded hills on either hand were occupied by thrifty-looking ranches, and fruit-laden prune and apple orchards were the most prevalent crop. The former were being gathered and we met many wagons and trucks loaded with the purple fruit, which was being taken to the drying houses. These were odd-looking frame structures with tall, square, latticed towers projecting above the roofs and the odor of the drying fruit was noticeable in this vicinity.
Salem, the state capital, fifty miles from Portland, is the first town of consequence. It is situated directly on the Willamette, which is navigable to this point by good-sized steamboats and two lines ply regularly between Salem and Portland. The population is only sixteen thousand, but still enough to give it second rank among Oregon cities. The general appearance of the town, its shops and stores, which we especially observed while making a few purchases, would give the impression of a much larger place. Salem, like The Dalles, was founded by Methodist missionaries as early as 1840. This was only seventeen years later than the founding of the last Spanish mission in California and we could not help thinking how this beautiful Arcadian valley would have appealed to the Franciscan padres. There were plenty of natives to engage the activities of the missionaries and they are170 more numerous here to-day than in the vicinity of the old California missions. An industrial training school for Indians is located near the city. The town was incorporated in 1853 and made the state capital in 1860. Its career has been as peaceful and quiet as its name would signify. Indian fighting and mining lawlessness never disturbed its serenity as in the case of so many California towns. To-day it still gives the impression of quiet prosperity and peacefulness with its twenty-five churches and two denominational schools—the Methodist Willamette University, with about five hundred students, and the Catholic Sisters’ Academy, with one hundred and fifty girls in attendance. The state capitol and other public buildings are not very impressive and apparently not so costly as state capitols and public buildings average the country over. There are fifty miles of wide, level, well-paved, tree-bordered streets which in our mind go farther than almost anything else as an index of civic pride and progressiveness.
Beyond Salem the valley widens and becomes monotonously level. On either hand is a dim blue mountain range, above which, eastward, glimmers an occasional snowy peak. The principal crop in this section is wheat, large quantities of which were being hauled to the market. The heavily laden wagons worked171 havoc with the old stone road, which was very rough in places. We found considerable stretches of loosely scattered crushed rock awaiting the steam roller; this made desperately hard going and wrought havoc with tires. Sometimes we could avoid it by running to one side of the road, but chuck-holes and dust many inches deep made this alternative an unpleasant one. The country was a dead brown hue everywhere except for the enlivening green of occasional fields of alfalfa or well-watered lawns about some of the handsome farmhouses. The soil showed every evidence of fertility and we were assured that crop failures are quite unknown in this favored valley.
Albany, twenty-seven miles from Salem, is a good-looking, well-built town of five thousand people. There is an astonishingly large seven-story hotel which seemed to indicate a busy place. Notwithstanding the opportunities to dine at several apparently excellent hotels along this route, we did not regret that we had picked up a lunch at a Portland delicatessen store. It was more enjoyable than any hotel meal when eaten in the open under a group of towering trees by the roadside—and, incidentally it cost less. The Willamette at Albany affords excellent water power, and this has attracted several manufacturing establishments to the town.
Leaving Albany, the road swings several172 miles eastward from the river, returning to it at Harrisburg, thirty miles farther south. Here we found a ferryboat propelled by a gasoline launch alongside serving in lieu of a bridge. The service is kept up free of charge by the county and the ferryman told us that the average is two hundred and fifty trips per day. As the river is not very wide here and there appeared to be no great obstacle in the way of bridging it, the ferry seemed a penny-wise makeshift—and this on the much-vaunted Pacific Highway. Certainly one need have no difficulty in keeping on this same Pacific Highway for a more be-signed road we never traveled. At some of the crossings there would be a half dozen different signboards put up by enterprising local business men, auto dealers, and the omnipresent Goodrich Tire Company. And I might incidentally remark that I can conceive of no better advertising to the motorist than these same road signs; I have blessed the Goodrich people more than once when we paused in doubt at the parting of t............