The Crater Lake Monster now has a name!

For millennia, tales have been told about monsters lurking under the surface of Oregon's famed Crater Lake. The indigenous peoples who made their home near the lake had stories of such a beast, as did the early settlers of the region.

Such legends are not just in the past, however. A frightening modern-day sighting was reported by Mattie Hatcher of Albany, Georgia, who said she saw a long dragon-like creature swim under their rowboat on Crater Lake when she was a child.

Until now, however, this legendary but elusive Crater Lake resident hasn't had a proper name, and this just seemed... well, undignified! Nessie of Scotland's Loch Ness has a name, after all, as does the sea serpent Caddy, who makes appearances up and down the Pacific Coast of North America.

We decided this was a wrong that must be righted, so we held a naming contest, and… we have a winner!!

Magma, short for Magmasaurus, with Maggie as a wonderful, cheery nickname for the monster, was submitted by John Maunder of Sevenoaks, England. The contest judges unanimously choose this as the appropriate moniker for the mysterious denizen of Crater Lake, and since the lake was formed by a massive volcanic explosion, I have to agree!

As John lives across the pond in England, he has kindly offered to donate his prize of dinner and bowling to a worthy family in the area.

Congratulations to John, and many thanks to all who submitted name entries. Each one was massively creative and a winner in its own right!

Thanks must also be given to KWRO radio's Hooked on Oregon for announcing the contest on the air, and to the show's crew - Cam Parry, Mark Mattechek, Rick Osborne, Jeff Galusha, and Sandy Messerle - who combed through the many worthy entries to find the winner. We also offer thanks to North Bend Lanes for their generous donation of a prize.

The morning sun, softened by haze, gently illuminated the rows of tulips that swept grandly to the horizon. Bands of color met my eye - bright reds, sunny yellows, soft pinks, rich purples, and more - a tapestry of rainbow flora larger than I could have imagined.

I was at the Wooden Shoe Tulip Farm in Oregon's Willamette Valley with new friends, my gracious host, writer Sue Kuenzi, and her mother, Joan, an impressive 80-year-old woman who I had just met that morning. I had heard about this lovely Oregon feature a few years back and was eager to experience it. It was wonderfully serendipitous that I was in the northern part of the state in April, when the tulips were at their best.

I was astounded by the sheer variety of them, not just by the plethora of color (endless shades, it seemed), but by the shape and texture and patterns of the petals. Some had subtle blended tones, and others had stripes or ruffles or fringy edges.

Dozens upon dozens of buckets were filled with bright cut tulips for sale, and other types of geophytes made appearances here and there. In other words, the "blissfulness of bulbs" was present everywhere! And, speaking of bulbs, visitors can order them during the festival for fall planting.

Hours passed like minutes as we wandered the rows, sometimes together, and sometimes on our own. There was just so much to see! One could get lost in the details of one flower (and another and another) and at the same time be overwhelmed in the best of ways by the sheer scope of the plantings.

The whole place had a festive feel, with carnival-style rides for the kids, hot air balloons, much laughter, and people chattering in different languages. It was clear that this is a well-known tourist destination. There were a few rows of vendors, and food was available.

On a clear day, Mt. Hood is visible to the east across the fields, a beautiful and benevolent guardian. The haze prevented a good view of the mountain when we were there, but a quick online image search for Mt. Hood with tulips brings up an array of stunning photos, the best of which, in my opinion, are the sunrise shots.

Because of frost and temperature, each year is a bit different, but the tulips generally bloom sometime between March and May. The farm sets the dates for its "Tulip Fest" based on the predicted bloom, a shifting window dictated by the conditions of the season. The 2024 festival was held from March 22 through April 28. Visitors are welcome to the farm to view tulips during the festival.

Tickets are only available through the website, and we had purchased ours the night before. To ensure an optimum time for photos, we chose a morning entry, but it turns out that was a good choice for another reason. It gave us time to roam the bright rows before the crowds set in. The farm is expansive, though, and even as more people arrived, there was plenty of space to wander freely.

In addition to tulip viewing, the farm offers other festival activities. Among them are wine tours and lessons on making wooden shoes. Their website, www.woodenshoe.com, gives info on bloom status as festival season grows closer. If you're there after the bloom, there are limited summer activities noted on their website, including farm tours and access to the gift shop.

Highway 101 curves ahead, shiny with recent rain, a wet silver snake that slithers through forest and along roadside cliffs, leading me from my home in Northern California to my Oregon destination. The weather shifts once again. Rain, snow, and brilliant sun have presented themselves in an ever-changing and unpredictable dance as I make my way north. My goal today is to travel as far as Gold Beach.

The road is my new normal after tragedy struck last year. My husband of 35 years slipped from this life after a pancreatic cancer diagnosis. It left me empty, shocked, and emotionally devastated, but from the ashes of my grief a phoenix rose, one that rekindled adventure in my soul. So, I press forward, curious, longing to share through my virtual pen the things I discover.

The bare limbs of winter trees are shrouded in the soft green of hanging moss. They become my muse. Suspended wisps of fog curl between them, adding mystery, and a memory of childhood hikes through coastal forests is sparked. I shudder with an internal thrill and am reminded that it's always been this way. Nature and my soul have intertwined since my youngest years. Now this love affair, long dormant, is reignited, creating a hunger that can only be satiated with full immersion, and later, expression through writing.

To my right, a flutter of wings reveals a hawk diving for prey on a passing bank. Moments later, one flies low in front of me, so close that the details of its feathers are clear on its rounded rust-colored belly and spotted wings. I form words in my head to describe the experience as I drive.

Inspiration comes as a swollen Eel River accompanies me for miles on end. Sometimes I glimpse it through trees, sometimes low in a canyon, where it runs grey-green like jade. At times it matches the road's curves, at others it rushes under an old bridge as the road crosses above.

Redwoods, astounding in their girth and height, kiss the road's edges, so close that a passenger could have touched them had I paused.

I leave the forest, and around a bend, I am welcomed by a rainbow stretched across a field illuminated bright green by sudden sun. Later, a lazy herd of elk passes slowly in front of me, crossing the highway with the nonchalance that their imposing bulk allows. These are the things that feed my soul.

I am closer to Oregon now, and a brilliant beachside sunset presents itself north of the Klamath River when 101 drops to the sea. It's so rare in its stunning beauty that it removes breath from my lungs. I am beckoned off the highway for a photograph, and a jolt of bracing wind and the sound of waves refresh me.

The day wanes into twilight as I drive, and when I reach Gold Beach, it is already dark. Lights twinkle on the wide mouth of the Rogue River, which empties there into the sea. I enter my motel room ready for rest, thinking about tomorrow's route and what I'll find along the way.