When adopting a roadside goes beyond picking up trash

Along a road near Indian Creek in Hood River, unexpected drama led to unexpected progress

Lane change: Hood River’s Tucker Road, transformed. Photos by Jurgen Hess

By Susan Hess. April 22, 2021. Looking down the slope I saw a yellow excavator on the trail. Not a good sign. What was it doing there?

My husband, Jurgen, and I had “adopted” the 1.5-acre slope a year earlier. Adopted, because the land belonged to the Oregon Department of Transportation (ODOT).

I was already late for a meeting. I called Jurgen and asked if he’d come over and see what was going on.

He called back an hour later: “You’re not going to be happy. I’ve called a bunch of people; we’re meeting here in half an hour.”

Reintroducing native plants

Two years prior, ODOT had widened Hood River’s Tucker Road, leaving a steep, bare site that sloped down to Indian Creek—sidewalk and chain-link fence at the top, Indian Creek Trail at the base. Incensed that the city didn’t require it to be replanted, Jurgen suggested we adopt it. That was 2001.

We applied and received an Adopt-a-Landscape permit from ODOT. Then we had to get permission from Pacific Power—whose electrical lines ran along the road—to work on the site. 

[perfectpullquote align=”full” bordertop=”false” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=””]To care for a piece of public land is to put a piece of it in your heart.[/perfectpullquote]

In November, Jurgen and I spent $500 on native plants and planted them across the quarter-mile-long site. We had a live Christmas tree that year, a pine. Planted it there, too. In summer we watered every plant.

A filling station next to the site let us fill buckets from their hose. I hauled them on a wagon along the sidewalk, lifting buckets over the fence. Jurgen took the lower section, dipping five-gallon buckets out of the creek, hauling water up to each plant. We were strong by the end of that summer.

Twist in the road

It was April the next year when I saw that yellow excavator. I got to the site meeting a few minutes early and walked with dread down the trail.

A sewer pipe dug out of the trail had been thrown up on the site. Dozens of plants lay crushed beneath it. The Christmas pine had been ripped out of the ground and tossed aside.

At the top of the trail, a group gathered to put the pieces of the story together. A hospice director explained that across the trail they were erecting a new building, which the city planner said required a larger storm sewer pipe.

We told the workers about our permit and planting. Everyone felt badly, the excavator operator especially. He vowed to replant the now-wilted pine, and to carefully lift the pipe off the site.

MORE: 7 best Basin B Corps

It’s been 20 years since that disheartening April day. Despite the kind effort of the excavator, the pine died. But most of the other plants sprang back.

In the years since, volunteer parties have planted, picked up litter, pulled weeds. A wildfire burned across half the slope. A valuable tree was cut and a new one was gifted. A nearby business found a clever solution to watering. We adopted an adjacent section of land. Oaks that 20 years ago were five inches high are now 25 feet tall.

We’re still there about once a week to pull weeds and pick up litter. Every time, someone walking or biking by stops and says, “Thank you.”

To care for a piece of public land is to put a piece of it in your heart. It’s my happy place.

Susan Hess is the publisher of Columbia Insight.