Postcard History

By Andrew Heffingham

I was born in 1938 in a small town in Oregon. Mount Hood is just a few miles from the Columbia River. (If anyone has studied the geography of America’s northwest, they know that the Columbia River forms the border between Oregon and Washington state.) My dad died in Korea when I was 12; Mother and I lived at my grandfather’s Double-H Farm that was so close to the Columbia that the kid who lived on the next farm, who was also named Andrew, and I, would ride our bicycles up the road and we would fish from the base of the bridge that crossed the river to White Salmon, Washington.

My grandfather’s farm got its name from my great-grandfather Nehemiah Heffingham and my great-grandmother Sarah Hartz. His last name began with an “H” and so did hers. Get it? Double H’s.

Everyone knew my grandfather and grandmother and they knew where their farm was along Route 35. There is a gate along the highway with two giant letters (“H-H”). On the post at the left side of the gate was a sign that read, “Eggs & Butter” and on the post at the right side of the gate was another sign that read, “Fresh Vegitables – June to October.” Yes, the word “vegetables” was misspelled.

Andrew and I would ride our bicycles up to the bridge and we would fish for salmon. Andrew’s family liked fish, so he fished for his family. I didn’t like fish, except when Andrew’s mom would cook it in an old wood-burning stove in a cast-iron frying pan that weighed about seven pounds. On days when Andrew and I would have a good catch, his mom would invite me to stay for dinner. She called me Drew so we would know who she was talking to. She called her son, Andy. I think her magic fish-rub ingredients were butter, garlic, and dillweed. I liked salmon that way, but only when she cooked it.

Andrew and I graduated from High School on the same day, we enlisted in the Marines the same day, we left for Camp Pendleton on the same day, but we never served together. Andrew went to a Marine Corps Base in Texas to learn how to shoot big guns. I stayed right there in south California and learned oceanography. There were so many things to learn, but I specialize in how the oceans influenced geology and meteorology. In short, the Marine Corps made me a weatherman.

I remember that when Andrew and I fished along the Columbia River as kids, on days when the fish didn’t care much for the bait we offered, we would walk down the riverbank about a half mile and watch the fish wheel.

Then one day just before I retired, I was on a business trip with a colleague in Seattle, Washington. He was a postcard collector and wanted to stop in an antique shop about five miles from our home office. I agreed and he bought several cards, and we resumed our trip home. I was dropped off at my front door, but before I got out of the car, my friend asked me to “wait-a-minute.” He reached into the bag in which he had his postcard purchases, sorted down the stack about five or six cards. He pulled one card from the pile and handed it to me with, “Here, I bought this for you!”

It was a kind gesture, and it started me off as a postcard collector.

Oh, the card had a picture of a fish-wheel along the Columbia River.

Today, I have nine cards in my collection.