I finally got to hook up my trailer for an overnight excursion, this time stopping off to the most northwesterly high school in mainland US (apologies to Friday Harbor) – Forks.
If Forks, WA, sounds familiar then yes, it is THAT Forks – the one from the vampire books. I’ve lived in Washington over 40 years but never found any reason to head out that way. I was tickled to see that the Western Peninsula group assigned me a game there.
The drive out was beautiful – a lovely spring (FINALLY!) day that took me around the breathtaking Olympic mountains. I couldn’t help but stop a few times for photos along the way to capture the rugged beauty of the Olympic Peninsula.
As my GPS told me that I was about 8 miles away from Forks, I noticed a clearing on the right side of the road where a quaint little ballpark had been carved out of the forest. It seemed so out of place, yet so perfectly situated. Baseball belonged wherever Americans could find space, and the good people of this area picked this spot as a reasonable spot. I slowed to see the name of the place, possibly to get a picture or two before I headed out. Fred Orr Ball Fields. Where I was assigned later that afternoon! It all seemed too perfect, really. Instead of working at a field next to the school I was going to be here, in this little spot out in the forest. I couldn’t wait.
I set up my trailer and got everything ready. My partner for the day was Randy, who recently retired from working in fish hatcheries and decided to add baseball to his officiating repertoire after many years of working football. He said that this was only his second year of working baseball, but it was clear that he had a very solid knowledge of what he was doing as we went through our pregame.
Our assignment was a double header between Forks’ varsity and the JV from Montesano. Not only was there a size difference in schools, but Monte was a powerhouse at their level. I took the first plate and Forks put together a brilliant effort, holding Montesano’s bats quiet. The local team took game one, much to the delight of the numerous fans who had made the eight mile trek from town to watch the contest. Montesano was too much in the second game, running up a 7-2 lead after four as the lights started to fade in the chilly March sky. The Montesano coach instructed his kids to swing at everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING) in the top of the fifth to assure that we got the final inning in. The locals took no offense to the gamesmanship, and in the end all had a great time.
This was exactly what I imagined when I dreamed up this journey. An endearing field in the middle of nowhere, two teams with little fanfare and playing for the love of the game. A rickety set of stands full of parents and well-wishers whose desire was to see their kids take part in the grand tradition of this great game.
I packed up my gear and buttoned up the camper as the final lights faded from the sky. The Forks boosters sent me off with a tasty burger to fill my belly on the way out of town. I made one final pass through this little town in the middle of nowhere, thrown into unlikely stardom by some author who had never even visited. With a final farewell I made my way down the coast, pulled into a camp spot near the beach, and enjoyed my first Last Time By night on the road.
