Not far away is the Hood River Valley, with its myriad fruit growers who supply glistening, fragile berries and stonefruits of every stripe and color.

Yet virtually larger than life in the eyes of his contemporaries, the scourge of the skies, the ace of aces,

Let frantike Talbot triumph for a while, And like a Peacock ſweepe along his tayle, Wee’le pull his Plumes, and take away his Trayne, If Dolphin and the reſt will be but rul’d.

We kick ass and take names and call muster.