The Blue-Skinned Host of Maryhill

By Himanee Gupta-Carlson

Welcome to my home. You might not find my presence familiar but, like the train trill in the Gorge below, I am difficult to ignore.

I have been told that my flaunting beauty is like the train’s haunting rumble. The two of us decorate this land. I make little noise, but the train will shake the ground beneath you as you sleep.

I have been told that my beauty makes me difficult to despise, but that I, as an omnivore, am like the train—programmed to dominate and control. I devour berries, flower tips, small rodents and leaves. If I’m hungry, I will eat away the boundaries between garden beds and perhaps state lines.

Speaking of state lines, how much do they matter when the line is a river, tamed like the wild pheasant was in me? The river waters vineyards and feeds human appetites. I adorn mansion lawns and greet visitors. Borders are drawn for administrative purposes. But I doubt the salmon, steelhead and sturgeon know those purposes and I suspect the fishing boats don’t care.

I would like to let the river run wild.

I would like to condemn the dam.

But I am tamed and have a human appetite. I admire the sun shimmering on the river’s quiet seas, and the streams of water pouring through the dams. I delight in the quirky bridges that announce the lines between Oregon and Washington.

Like you, I am a foreigner. I have been told I am an exotic bird of India. Perhaps you too are a city kid and not a fisher, a logger, windmill operator, dammer or a cowboy coffee-drinking camper.

Despite my many years here, I am still not comfortable when the wind blows my tail askew. On hot days, my layers of plumage weigh me down and I would like to strip down to the attire of my friend, the crow. I rarely voice such thoughts because, despite my brilliance, I actually am quite shy. I know my guests stare at me, sometimes with fear, sometimes with curiosity. I never quite know what to say or do that will help them feel as if I am just one of them.

Wikipedia blames (or credits) my attire to “an optical interference phenomenon based on periodic nanostructures found in the barbules of the feathers.” I think that means I am beautiful, and that you should stare. People put me here—with the train, the bridge, the dam—for you.

So, please stare, as I welcome you to Maryhill Museum.