I ran to pick up my phone, even though 99 times out of 100, if it’s not Sunday night at 7, it’s a junk call.
It not being Sunday night at 7, it was a junk call.
But the location on the caller ID got my attention.
Government Camp, Oregon.
Even though we covered a pretty substantial part of the state when we went to Oregon last year, our itinerary never took us to a place called Government Camp.
Given that there has been some stuff going on in Oregon, particularly in Portland— all we saw was part of a Pride Northwest celebration, and no one seemed too put out by it — for a moment as the phone rang, I let myself wonder if Government Camp was actually a real place, and what I might hear if I actually answered.
I let it go, though, and found out Government Camp is a small village that’s basically the base camp for activities at Mount Hood, so maybe we flew by it as we were arriving. Its name comes from it being the location where an Army regiment got bogged down in the snow.
So if I had answered my phone, it probably just would have been about my credit card or nonexistent federal student loans or some other such stuff that isn’t particularly interesting or frightening but is just annoying instead.
Or maybe it was an election call, since it’s that time of year.
What I do know is it wasn’t my parents, since they’re in New York, not Oregon … and it wasn’t Sunday night at 7.