Upon meeting people here in Wallowa County I often ask how they came to live here. I am continually surprised at how often the answer is something like: “My great-grandfather walked in here from Kentucky in 1878.” There are a great number of people descended from pioneer families living in this county.

Others, like myself, stumbled on this oasis accidentally. In my case, I was summering steers in Saskatchewan, where I lived until 1953, and after checking the cattle in June I was returning to my home in California. I left the ranch in Saskatchewan and drove to Lewiston and spent the night. The next day I looked at a map and saw a road that ran south that I had never been on. Not being encumbered with my wife, who hates shortcuts I sometimes take, I took it and after the horror of Rattlesnake Grade I discovered the most beautiful place I had ever seen. Being June, all the creeks were full, the grass was green and there was still snow on the Wallowas. The country sure had its Sunday clothes on. I pulled over near the Top Hand Cafe and just looked. I remember thinking that I had been to all the pretty places west of the Mississippi and this topped all of them. It reminded me of Gardnerville, Nev., in the 1950s before it filled up with people, or Jackson Hole, Wyo., when it was the size of Enterprise.

It was always in the back of my mind to somehow live here. It took 10 more years to accomplish the feat and come up with the wherewithal to make it work. At one time there was no better place than California, but that was no longer the case ‑ too many rats in the cage. It was not just the uncrowded beauty of Wallowa County; I was to discover many other reasons to love living here.

Visit the Social Security Office in Modesto, Calif., NS you will go to the counter and get ticket number 256 as they are serving number 34. At the same office in La Grande I was told by the guard I had to get a ticket prior to being served. I wondered why, if I was the only one there, that I needed a ticket. I got one and was promptly served by a pleasant civil servant. Last week I renewed my tags for one of the vehicles at the local DMV and was again at the front of the line and had a pleasant visit with the girl working there.

Contrast this to the last time I got my drivers license renewed in California. I trapped my brother into going with me for company. There was a serpentine line at all the windows and after a 30-minute wait I got the test to take. I answered all the questions and had another 40-minute line to get it graded by a cranky clerk. I passed, and then got in the 40-minute line to have my picture taken. My brother’s mood had deteriorated to the point that I wished I had left him at home. We were 15 minutes from the camera when I decided to enjoy some bladder relief. I handed brother Bill my papers and told him to hold the place in line while I went to find el bano. The line at the men’s room wasn’t that long and I headed back to get back in the photo line. My brother intercepted me on the way and said “let’s go.”

Apparently the line had sped up and for six years I had my brothers picture on my drivers license.

Since he was younger and better looking than me I was OK with it. I also noticed that cops don’t really look at driver’s license pictures.

Columnist Barrie Qualle is a working cowboy in Wallowa County.