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After the end of World War II when my father was discharged from the Army Air-Corps, he went home to Nebraska, married my mother, packed up his 1937 Oldsmobile and they headed for a new life in Oregon. They chose The Dalles in part because it had a river to match the Missouri my father had grown up with, fishing its murky waters and hunting and trapping along its banks. The Columbia River more than filled the bill.

I remember stories of locals driving their cars out on the frozen Columbia in the winter of 1950, and of watching River People dipnetting spring salmon at Celilo Falls. I have always felt fortunate to have grown up here.