It’s mid-November in the Pacific Northwest and I’m looking out a coffee shop window at sunshine. Not what I expected when I came out here. I’m still waiting for The Rain to come. It drizzled a little last night but it’s nice out again. I went to Seattle last weekend and it was beautiful and sunny the entire time. The locals assure me that it will get rainy, but I’m starting to think they’re just trying to scare me, and that people in southern Oregon have it really, really good when it comes to weather. (That’s what I’m hoping anyway. I’m not much of a rain person. I’m very jealous of my friends back in Michigan who are already seeing snow.)
So what am I doing on this non-rainy day? Not a whole lot. That seems to be the theme here lately. I had Friday off for Veteran’s day, which turns out to be a huge holiday here. (Possibly due to the VA hospital nearby and the extreme rural conservatism and patriotism of the people who live around here.) I met some friends for breakfast at a bagel shop Friday morning and was overwhelmed by the crowds that had gathered downtown for the parade. Normally, downtown Roseburg is quaint, but eerily quiet. Even on weekend nights when people are out at the bar. Veteran’s Day is a whole ‘nuther matter, though. I’ve never seen so many people in town, and it was fun running into fellow teachers and students from school and actually recognizing non-AmeriCorps people. The parade itself was kind of boring, with the exception of a float of anti-Agent Orange veterans releasing fifty orange balloons into the air (I didn’t think people still did that—isn’t it bad for the environment, etc??) After the balloons rose up into the air, a mile long parade of motorcycles tooted their horns, revved their engines, and filled the street with exhaust. AMERICA! I may have teared up a little. I get very emotional at patriotic events. I wish I was more patriotic, myself, but it’s hard to love America unconditionally when you’ve spent so much time in other places.
Besides a day trip to Eugene, this weekend hasn’t been that exciting. Yesterday I was so bored I got out my flute and played every scale I remember from high school, sang all of my songs from voice lessons years ago, made cookies, played racquetball, and watched a movie. Sounds jam-packed, but it was all done in an attempt to quell my boredom. And I don’t think I succeeded. Luckily I can go to fun places like Eugene and Portland and Seattle to find excitement. Speaking of Seattle, I drove up there last weekend to visit my cousin Gwenna for her birthday. I love Seattle. It’s so much cooler than Portland, and not as obnoxiously hipster. I’m excited to go back there for Thanksgiving.
So now I’m sitting in a coffee shop pretending I’m still in college and have to get some work done. I almost wish I had a huge paper to write, to complete the nostalgic moment. Almost. But I’m not that bored. Yet.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Recycling Bends: An analysis of the Oregon accent (and beer)
I haven’t written much lately. But don’t feel left out; there hasn’t been much to talk about. Until now. Today in school I saw a student poster advertising recycling. Instead of writing “recycling bins,” the student wrote “recycling bends.” Now, for a Michigander, “bend” sounds absolutely nothing like “bin.” Unless you have some sort of bad head-cold. But I was pretty sure the student was perfectly healthy. So I stared at the paper for a few seconds before figuring out the root of the spelling error. You see, in Oregon, some people, like people in Michigan, claim that they do not have an accent. But as I have observed in my travels, everyone has an accent. (And when I say “accent,” I say it with the most nasally “a” I can muster.)
So anyway, the Oregon accent: I noticed pretty quickly after getting here that not everyone says his or her “en” the proper way. For many people (in Southern Oregon at least), “end” is “ind” and “enter” is “inter.” Whenever I hear my Oregon-born housemate throw out a word with a heavy Oregon “en” accent, I point and shout and try to convince everyone that I hear it. So far, I’ve been only slightly successful in convincing Oregonians and foreigners alike that this subtle accent exists. Until today. I now have written proof that in the mind of an Oregon-raised high schooler, “bends” sounds like “bins.”
So why does this matter? Well, really, it doesn’t. Except I love languages, including accents and dialects in my own language. And it’s one of the things I love most about traveling and exploring new places.
I’ve been marveling at the Oregon accent since Roseburg, Day One, when I first grabbed lunch with my roommate at a localish pub called McMenamins. Our first ever phone conversation went something like this:
Her: Hey, do you want to grab lunch and talk about housing options?
Me: Yeah, that sounds good. Where should we eat? I just got to Roseburg, I’m terrified of where I’ve decided to live for the next 11 months, and I don’t know of any good restaurants.
Her: Well, I went to a good place yesterday, called McMINamins or something.
Me: Oh, that’s funny; I’m standing across from a restaurant called McMENamins right now. Do you think that’s the same place?
Her: Yeah, McMINamins. That’s the place.
Me: Right, you mean McMENamins. I think that’s how it’s pronounced.
Her: Yeah, okay, I’ll see you there soon.
Me: (Thinking in my head) Am I going crazy? Does no one know how to read here? It’s very clearly written McMENamins.
The funny thing is, my roommate is from Minnesota. I guess someone had already told her the right way to pronounce the restaurant’s name.
*Another note about McMen(in)amins. I said it was localish, because it is an Oregon chain that stays in Oregon. Oregonians love their local stuff, especially their micro-brews. I experienced this love last weekend when I volunteered at the Umpqua Brewfest, a fundraiser for the local watershed council (Beer: “It’s all about the water.”) For three and a half hours I poured yummy smelling beer to people and talked to a good range of people from the area. It was a blast, although after spending nine hours there (most of it spent sampling beer after my volunteer shift), I grew pretty discouraged about finding many more young friends from here, outside my AmeriCorps social circle. And I really, really wish I liked beer. As I mentioned before, I like the smell of it coming out of the tap when I pour it, and the first sip of a nice micro-brew is good, but taking every sip after the first is like pulling teeth. I’ll have to just appreciate the local brews from the sidelines, I guess, and stick to my cider.
So anyway, the Oregon accent: I noticed pretty quickly after getting here that not everyone says his or her “en” the proper way. For many people (in Southern Oregon at least), “end” is “ind” and “enter” is “inter.” Whenever I hear my Oregon-born housemate throw out a word with a heavy Oregon “en” accent, I point and shout and try to convince everyone that I hear it. So far, I’ve been only slightly successful in convincing Oregonians and foreigners alike that this subtle accent exists. Until today. I now have written proof that in the mind of an Oregon-raised high schooler, “bends” sounds like “bins.”
So why does this matter? Well, really, it doesn’t. Except I love languages, including accents and dialects in my own language. And it’s one of the things I love most about traveling and exploring new places.
I’ve been marveling at the Oregon accent since Roseburg, Day One, when I first grabbed lunch with my roommate at a localish pub called McMenamins. Our first ever phone conversation went something like this:
Her: Hey, do you want to grab lunch and talk about housing options?
Me: Yeah, that sounds good. Where should we eat? I just got to Roseburg, I’m terrified of where I’ve decided to live for the next 11 months, and I don’t know of any good restaurants.
Her: Well, I went to a good place yesterday, called McMINamins or something.
Me: Oh, that’s funny; I’m standing across from a restaurant called McMENamins right now. Do you think that’s the same place?
Her: Yeah, McMINamins. That’s the place.
Me: Right, you mean McMENamins. I think that’s how it’s pronounced.
Her: Yeah, okay, I’ll see you there soon.
Me: (Thinking in my head) Am I going crazy? Does no one know how to read here? It’s very clearly written McMENamins.
The funny thing is, my roommate is from Minnesota. I guess someone had already told her the right way to pronounce the restaurant’s name.
*Another note about McMen(in)amins. I said it was localish, because it is an Oregon chain that stays in Oregon. Oregonians love their local stuff, especially their micro-brews. I experienced this love last weekend when I volunteered at the Umpqua Brewfest, a fundraiser for the local watershed council (Beer: “It’s all about the water.”) For three and a half hours I poured yummy smelling beer to people and talked to a good range of people from the area. It was a blast, although after spending nine hours there (most of it spent sampling beer after my volunteer shift), I grew pretty discouraged about finding many more young friends from here, outside my AmeriCorps social circle. And I really, really wish I liked beer. As I mentioned before, I like the smell of it coming out of the tap when I pour it, and the first sip of a nice micro-brew is good, but taking every sip after the first is like pulling teeth. I’ll have to just appreciate the local brews from the sidelines, I guess, and stick to my cider.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Activities
Even though I have umpteen more hours of free time now that I’m not in college, I’ve been too busy to write. So what have I been doing with my free time in this grand place? I’ve been exploring the great Oregon wilderness in an attempt to escape the all-American small town boredom that is Roseburg.
Activity # 1: The Swimming Hole (aka Swiftwater)
Back when the weather was hot and dry every day (early September) my roommates and I went adventuring up towards the mountains. We found a great swimming hole on the North Umpqua River, and to my delight, the turquoise water was frigid and oh-so-refreshing. We spent a couple Saturdays jumping off rocks and cliffs into the river below, and watching crazier people jump off a 50-foot bridge.
Activity #2: Waterfalls
There are an insane amount of waterfalls here. I’ve hiked to three or four already, and each one has been more breathtaking than the last. We swam in a few, and I found some thimbleberries growing near some. No one believes me when I mention that thimbleberries exist. Maybe they have another name here? I can’t wait to see what the waterfalls look like in winter when the rivers rush with snow runoff and rain.
Activity #3: Hot Springs
I finally made it to some hot springs!!!!! The only springs I’ve experienced up until this point have been the cold puddles by the Petoskey State Park. But the springs in Oregon were something different entirely. They’re HOT. There’s one pool at the top, and it trickles down into four or five more pools all the way down a hill. Each pool is a little bit cooler as you get farther down and closer to the river. This spot was very Oregon Hippie, and my modest Midwest self had to pretend not to be shocked that some people don’t think a bathing suit is a necessary accessory when soaking in hot springs. Like the rivers, I can’t wait to go back in the winter (when there will be snow up there in the mountains.)
Activity #4: Portlandia
(I had to go to Portland for AmeriCorps training last week, and some of us spent a couple extra days there exploring.)
Okay, so Portland isn’t exactly the Great Outdoors, but at times I felt like I was observing a wild species as I strolled down its rainy streets. I am referring to the abundance of a certain breed of human, called “Hipster.” I vaguely remember discussing the Hipster’s identifying characteristics with family members this summer, and I wish I could show them Portland. I’m not sure there are any non-Hipsters in Portland. I couldn’t walk down the street without feeling bad that my clothes matched and my pants were not pegged, cutoff, or otherwise altered. There were also a lot of hairy men there. Overall, an interesting city, but probably not a place I’d choose to live. I guess I’m too mainstream.
Activity #5: The Zoo
Despite the lack of young people here, I’ve managed to go out a bit and check out the nightlife. We live down the street from a place that has free ping-pong and a jukebox that plays way too much heavy metal and country. (But I think I might get pretty good at ping pong if I keep frequenting that establishment). We also took a couple trips to the Zoo, Roseburg’s finest nightclub (unless you count the strip club—amateur night, anyone??) where we danced the night away and pretended that the people dancing around us were wholesome, upstanding citizens. (Maybe some of them are, but the Zoo doesn’t seem to attract Roseburg’s more cultured inhabitants.) Contrary to what you might think, this establishment does not house animals.
Of course, this isn't all I do. But I'm too tired to write more. The Zoo sapped all my energy. And my neck hurts. I think I need to tame my dance moves.
Activity # 1: The Swimming Hole (aka Swiftwater)
Back when the weather was hot and dry every day (early September) my roommates and I went adventuring up towards the mountains. We found a great swimming hole on the North Umpqua River, and to my delight, the turquoise water was frigid and oh-so-refreshing. We spent a couple Saturdays jumping off rocks and cliffs into the river below, and watching crazier people jump off a 50-foot bridge.
Activity #2: Waterfalls
There are an insane amount of waterfalls here. I’ve hiked to three or four already, and each one has been more breathtaking than the last. We swam in a few, and I found some thimbleberries growing near some. No one believes me when I mention that thimbleberries exist. Maybe they have another name here? I can’t wait to see what the waterfalls look like in winter when the rivers rush with snow runoff and rain.
Activity #3: Hot Springs
I finally made it to some hot springs!!!!! The only springs I’ve experienced up until this point have been the cold puddles by the Petoskey State Park. But the springs in Oregon were something different entirely. They’re HOT. There’s one pool at the top, and it trickles down into four or five more pools all the way down a hill. Each pool is a little bit cooler as you get farther down and closer to the river. This spot was very Oregon Hippie, and my modest Midwest self had to pretend not to be shocked that some people don’t think a bathing suit is a necessary accessory when soaking in hot springs. Like the rivers, I can’t wait to go back in the winter (when there will be snow up there in the mountains.)
Activity #4: Portlandia
(I had to go to Portland for AmeriCorps training last week, and some of us spent a couple extra days there exploring.)
Okay, so Portland isn’t exactly the Great Outdoors, but at times I felt like I was observing a wild species as I strolled down its rainy streets. I am referring to the abundance of a certain breed of human, called “Hipster.” I vaguely remember discussing the Hipster’s identifying characteristics with family members this summer, and I wish I could show them Portland. I’m not sure there are any non-Hipsters in Portland. I couldn’t walk down the street without feeling bad that my clothes matched and my pants were not pegged, cutoff, or otherwise altered. There were also a lot of hairy men there. Overall, an interesting city, but probably not a place I’d choose to live. I guess I’m too mainstream.
Activity #5: The Zoo
Despite the lack of young people here, I’ve managed to go out a bit and check out the nightlife. We live down the street from a place that has free ping-pong and a jukebox that plays way too much heavy metal and country. (But I think I might get pretty good at ping pong if I keep frequenting that establishment). We also took a couple trips to the Zoo, Roseburg’s finest nightclub (unless you count the strip club—amateur night, anyone??) where we danced the night away and pretended that the people dancing around us were wholesome, upstanding citizens. (Maybe some of them are, but the Zoo doesn’t seem to attract Roseburg’s more cultured inhabitants.) Contrary to what you might think, this establishment does not house animals.
Of course, this isn't all I do. But I'm too tired to write more. The Zoo sapped all my energy. And my neck hurts. I think I need to tame my dance moves.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Blind Spots and Benches
Since I’ve been here almost a month and I've done a lot of exciting things, I should probably talk about them, but I don’t feel like it. There are more important things to discuss, such as zoning rules. And benches.
I hate driving in this town because every time I head out for the grocery store in my trusty wagon, I narrowly miss death by way of being rammed by a car. For some reason, when Roseburg developed, somewhere in the zoning rules, they left out the part about leaving space between a building and the road. My mom likes to complain about the lack of a “greenspace" or "greenbelt” rule in Paradise, which resulted in people only having lawn between their store and the highway, instead of a bunch of trees between their store and the highway. Well, in Roseburg, there isn’t even the option of a lawn in some cases. Nope. Just a cement building (my nemesis is a stone-working shop), a four-foot sidewalk, and a four-lane road.
This lack of space between building and road (which occurs not just on my corner, but all over town) creates some real frustrations for me. As mentioned before, when pulling onto the road by my house, I look left and right a couple times, then look right five more times, because there is always a cement wall in my line of vision. I risk certain death if I pull forward to the point where I can actually see the cars coming, so I get a little thrill every time I successfully turn left and don’t die. *Disclaimer—I am very careful driving here because I recognize the added danger. I’m only exaggerating for comic relief.
The blind spots aren’t just inconvenient/hazardous for drivers, however. Every time I walk down a particular street I feel like I’m going to get creamed by a car or knocked down by a rear-view mirror. Or kidnapped and swung into the back of a pickup because I have nowhere to run, pinned between wall and road. Biking is also difficult, because I’m pretty sure the handlebars on my vintage bike are wider than the sidewalk in some places.
Ahhh, speaking of biking…While I hate driving in Roseburg, I do love biking in it (despite the narrow sidewalk issue).
There is as sa-weet bike trail here. Or maybe it's not that cool, I just like it because it exists. But the bike trail is pretty nice. It starts just across the road from where I live, and since discovering it last weekend, I’ve spent some wonderful evenings cruising through the riverside park on my bicycle. The trail winds along the Umpqua River, which runs right through the center of town. Once I cross under a couple creepy railroad bridges and get on the main bike path, I escape into a land of green trees, happy people (except for the homeless ones), and beautiful sunsets. When I first got to Roseburg and went running in town, I never saw anyone else running or biking. Then I found the bike path and realized that people do exercise here, they just do it in the park. (Which makes sense, I guess.)
So anywho, this bike path is amazing and beautiful, but the best part about it is the benches. A lot of my reflections on this town end up being comparisons between Roseburg and Aix. Roseburg has a ton of benches along the bike path and by the river, and they make great picnicking and reflecting spots. Aix, on the other hand, had a total of four benches in the downtown, and only half of them were ever in the sun at the same time. Les Francais prefer to sit on little chairs in little cafes and sip little coffees, but Roseburgers seem to recognize the value of a good bench in a beautiful place. (I mentioned this bench observation to a friend and he asked if I would write about it in my blog..OF COURSE!)
As usual, I’m generalizing A LOT and making assumptions and other false-ish statements, but this is what I think about when I’m wandering around this town. And I like to write what I’m thinking.
The more I see of Roseburg, the more I like it. Once I figured out how to ignore the sprawl and blind spots, I began to see that it’s really a beautiful town nestled in big hills, with a great river and a decent downtown. It’s a very typical “Amerrican” town, but I’ll get to that later..
I hate driving in this town because every time I head out for the grocery store in my trusty wagon, I narrowly miss death by way of being rammed by a car. For some reason, when Roseburg developed, somewhere in the zoning rules, they left out the part about leaving space between a building and the road. My mom likes to complain about the lack of a “greenspace" or "greenbelt” rule in Paradise, which resulted in people only having lawn between their store and the highway, instead of a bunch of trees between their store and the highway. Well, in Roseburg, there isn’t even the option of a lawn in some cases. Nope. Just a cement building (my nemesis is a stone-working shop), a four-foot sidewalk, and a four-lane road.
This lack of space between building and road (which occurs not just on my corner, but all over town) creates some real frustrations for me. As mentioned before, when pulling onto the road by my house, I look left and right a couple times, then look right five more times, because there is always a cement wall in my line of vision. I risk certain death if I pull forward to the point where I can actually see the cars coming, so I get a little thrill every time I successfully turn left and don’t die. *Disclaimer—I am very careful driving here because I recognize the added danger. I’m only exaggerating for comic relief.
The blind spots aren’t just inconvenient/hazardous for drivers, however. Every time I walk down a particular street I feel like I’m going to get creamed by a car or knocked down by a rear-view mirror. Or kidnapped and swung into the back of a pickup because I have nowhere to run, pinned between wall and road. Biking is also difficult, because I’m pretty sure the handlebars on my vintage bike are wider than the sidewalk in some places.
Ahhh, speaking of biking…While I hate driving in Roseburg, I do love biking in it (despite the narrow sidewalk issue).
There is as sa-weet bike trail here. Or maybe it's not that cool, I just like it because it exists. But the bike trail is pretty nice. It starts just across the road from where I live, and since discovering it last weekend, I’ve spent some wonderful evenings cruising through the riverside park on my bicycle. The trail winds along the Umpqua River, which runs right through the center of town. Once I cross under a couple creepy railroad bridges and get on the main bike path, I escape into a land of green trees, happy people (except for the homeless ones), and beautiful sunsets. When I first got to Roseburg and went running in town, I never saw anyone else running or biking. Then I found the bike path and realized that people do exercise here, they just do it in the park. (Which makes sense, I guess.)
So anywho, this bike path is amazing and beautiful, but the best part about it is the benches. A lot of my reflections on this town end up being comparisons between Roseburg and Aix. Roseburg has a ton of benches along the bike path and by the river, and they make great picnicking and reflecting spots. Aix, on the other hand, had a total of four benches in the downtown, and only half of them were ever in the sun at the same time. Les Francais prefer to sit on little chairs in little cafes and sip little coffees, but Roseburgers seem to recognize the value of a good bench in a beautiful place. (I mentioned this bench observation to a friend and he asked if I would write about it in my blog..OF COURSE!)
As usual, I’m generalizing A LOT and making assumptions and other false-ish statements, but this is what I think about when I’m wandering around this town. And I like to write what I’m thinking.
The more I see of Roseburg, the more I like it. Once I figured out how to ignore the sprawl and blind spots, I began to see that it’s really a beautiful town nestled in big hills, with a great river and a decent downtown. It’s a very typical “Amerrican” town, but I’ll get to that later..
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
I'm at it again.
For those of you who enjoyed my blog from France, here’s another installment of my life; this time in America, but no less interesting. I hope.
My brain hurts. There are thunderclouds in my brain from all of the brainstorming I’ve been doing lately in my new job. Since my mind is so hazy, I’m having a hard time figuring out where to start with this whole “read about my new life” thing. So I’ll skip the creative intro hook and just start with some boring FAQs.
1. Why am I in Roseburg, Oregon?
In case you missed the memo, I graduated from college last spring. (I know, I didn’t really tell anyone, because I didn’t think it was much of an accomplishment. Doesn’t everyone graduate from college these days?) So anyway, I graduated with only a vague idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to do something involving food, the environment, and helping people. So I applied for AmeriCorps, hoping to explore a different part of the country and get some experience. Consequently, I’m now volunteering in a school in southern Oregon, teaching environmental education and figuring out new ways to use food from the school garden. (I’ve been at it for a week, and so far I’ve spent most of my time thinking up activities and reading up on food preservation…hence the brain fatigue.)
In the next eleven months, I plan to do lots of camping, hiking, and getting over my various irrational fears and insecurities. Then, on to the “real world” if that really does exist.
2. How did I get here?
Since part of my post-college plan was to explore a different part of the country, rather than head off to another continent right away, I took the opportunity to make a road trip out of my move West. My best friend Katie and I fulfilled our childhood fantasy of taking the Oregon Trail and trying our luck against the rivers and rattlesnakes. We couldn’t find any sunbonnets, and rode in a modern station wagon instead of the traditional covered kind, but our journey was exciting nonetheless. We drove through endless cornfields of southern Minnesota and South Dakota; roasted in the dusty, strangely beautiful Badlands; looked at musty artifacts in a slightly authentic 1880s town; stopped for some nasty (but free) water at Wall Drug; found a REAL jackalope; and snapped some pictures of Mount Rushmore. (I really enjoyed looking up George Washington’s nostrils).
My favorite word during this trip was “terrifying.” Let’s just say Boyne Mountain ain’t got nuthin’ on the Big Horns, or any mountain range out West, really. By the time we reached Cody, Wyoming, the gateway to Yellowstone, I had acquired some colorful new vocabulary and a closer relationship with God. Once we assured ourselves that my car (and my nerves) would survive more mountain roads, we drove through Yellowstone and into the Grand Tetons. Yellowstone was awesome, emphasis on awe. It’s HUGE. We planned on zipping through in a couple hours and taking a peek at Old Faithful, but ended up spending most of a day there. We kept stopping for buffalo/bison (what is the difference anyway?) trying to cross the road (or cross a bridge that Katie happened to be standing on…terrifying moment #56), stopping to take pictures of buffalo/bison, stopping to take pictures of geysers, stopping to take pictures of elk in the river…you get the picture. Although it was beautiful and wild, I felt like a character in Jurassic Park, driving around a preserve behind other cars on an automatic track—there were tons of people in Yellowstone. Kind of took away from the “natural” feeling, but hey, that’s tourism. Can’t avoid tourists when you are one yourself.
We camped a night in the Tetons and visited one of my study abroad friends who is working there this summer. The campground worker advised us on how to avoid attracting man-eating bears, so we spent the whole night worrying about being eaten by bears. The next morning we woke up (or really just got up, since we weren’t sleeping anyway) and went horseback riding, then drove on to Boise, Idaho. We got some much-needed R & R staying with my cousin Elyse in Boise and walking, not driving, around the town for a day. After Boise, we drive to Oregon, taking a route that followed the original Oregon Trail, arriving (finally!) at the Pacific Ocean. We wanted to keep driving west, but couldn’t. So we camped at the Northern tip of Oregon for a night, frolicked on the (cold and misty) beach, put our feet in the (frigid) ocean, and then drove some more (unable to fight the urge to keep driving). We toured the Oregon coast, got some (squeaky!) cheese curds at the Tillamook cheese factory, and then headed back to Portland for our final night.
As soon as I dropped Katie off at the airport, fear of the unknown gripped me, but I functioned well enough to drive three hours south to Roseburg. There, I discovered a town about the size of the Soo, with a slightly depressed looking downtown and lots of sprawl. My first night in Roseburg, I locked myself in a hotel room, cried and called my mommy for moral support. I knew I would get over the fear of moving eventually, and just had to wait it out. Luckily, I attended AmeriCorps orientation at a camp in the woods for three days at the start, where I made new friends and let myself relax enough to finally get excited about the year to come.
3. What kind of town is Roseburg?
Roseburg is not what I expected when I envisioned living in Oregon. I assumed everyone would be eco-friendly, wear earth tones, and decorate their LEED certified houses with Buddhist flags. Not the case. I haven’t lived here long enough to really “know” the town, but here is what I know so far:
Roseburg calls itself the “Timber Capital of the Nation.” Rightfully so, I think. The area is full of conservative-minded folk and giant Douglas Firs. They’re beautiful and everywhere (the trees, not necessarily the people), and logging them sustained this town for a long time. Unfortunately, relying on a single industry (which has since peaked and declined) has made Roseburg a town of 20,000 with a lot of poverty and the services of a much smaller town.
For example, the public library is scheduled to close next year because there is not enough funding to keep it open, and it has been deemed a “non-essential” service. It’s more important to use tax money to pay for services like fire trucks, police, and…free trash? Yep, that’s right. Douglas County is the only county left in Oregon that has a free dump. I keep telling people stories about my parents going to the dump to see the bears in Paradise. I didn’t know there were still places that had real live “dumps.”
4. There is a big meth problem, though apparently not as bad now as it was a few years ago.
But don’t worry; it’s not all negative. The people here are really nice. I swear, this town is going to rob me of all of my hard earned, less than minimum wage stipend just by being so nice. The cashiers and service people keep charming me into buying more than I need. My friend and I had a great chat with a Rite Aid cashier and she was so nice that I couldn’t help throwing an extra doodad into my cart. I got my oil changed and they duped me into spending too much money on “preventative maintenance” (but hey, that’s nothing new. I always end up spending too much getting my oil changed). But what's really amazing is that the mechanic referred me to another mechanic to get my break lights fixed, and that mechanic puzzled over my car for half an hour and fixed my lights without charging me. (Turned out it was just bad light bulbs, but he spent a lot of time figuring that out, and could have charged me for labor, but didn’t.)
Pretty much everywhere I go I end up telling complete strangers way more information than they probably care to know. Roseburg is the reverse of Aix – overly friendly people who make me talk more, instead of overly reserved people who make me forget how to talk.
4. What is the proper way to pronounce “Oregon”?
Contrary to popular (Michigander) belief, “Oregon” is pronounced “Ore-gun.” I still maintain that the game, however, is called “Ore-gone Trail.” I live with another volunteer from Michigan (Traverse City, actually) and she has also had to adjust her pronunciation to avoid being made fun of when referring to her new home state.
So, that's my life so far, minus a lot of stuff that I haven't had the time to talk about yet. But there's more to come..
My brain hurts. There are thunderclouds in my brain from all of the brainstorming I’ve been doing lately in my new job. Since my mind is so hazy, I’m having a hard time figuring out where to start with this whole “read about my new life” thing. So I’ll skip the creative intro hook and just start with some boring FAQs.
1. Why am I in Roseburg, Oregon?
In case you missed the memo, I graduated from college last spring. (I know, I didn’t really tell anyone, because I didn’t think it was much of an accomplishment. Doesn’t everyone graduate from college these days?) So anyway, I graduated with only a vague idea of what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to do something involving food, the environment, and helping people. So I applied for AmeriCorps, hoping to explore a different part of the country and get some experience. Consequently, I’m now volunteering in a school in southern Oregon, teaching environmental education and figuring out new ways to use food from the school garden. (I’ve been at it for a week, and so far I’ve spent most of my time thinking up activities and reading up on food preservation…hence the brain fatigue.)
In the next eleven months, I plan to do lots of camping, hiking, and getting over my various irrational fears and insecurities. Then, on to the “real world” if that really does exist.
2. How did I get here?
Since part of my post-college plan was to explore a different part of the country, rather than head off to another continent right away, I took the opportunity to make a road trip out of my move West. My best friend Katie and I fulfilled our childhood fantasy of taking the Oregon Trail and trying our luck against the rivers and rattlesnakes. We couldn’t find any sunbonnets, and rode in a modern station wagon instead of the traditional covered kind, but our journey was exciting nonetheless. We drove through endless cornfields of southern Minnesota and South Dakota; roasted in the dusty, strangely beautiful Badlands; looked at musty artifacts in a slightly authentic 1880s town; stopped for some nasty (but free) water at Wall Drug; found a REAL jackalope; and snapped some pictures of Mount Rushmore. (I really enjoyed looking up George Washington’s nostrils).
My favorite word during this trip was “terrifying.” Let’s just say Boyne Mountain ain’t got nuthin’ on the Big Horns, or any mountain range out West, really. By the time we reached Cody, Wyoming, the gateway to Yellowstone, I had acquired some colorful new vocabulary and a closer relationship with God. Once we assured ourselves that my car (and my nerves) would survive more mountain roads, we drove through Yellowstone and into the Grand Tetons. Yellowstone was awesome, emphasis on awe. It’s HUGE. We planned on zipping through in a couple hours and taking a peek at Old Faithful, but ended up spending most of a day there. We kept stopping for buffalo/bison (what is the difference anyway?) trying to cross the road (or cross a bridge that Katie happened to be standing on…terrifying moment #56), stopping to take pictures of buffalo/bison, stopping to take pictures of geysers, stopping to take pictures of elk in the river…you get the picture. Although it was beautiful and wild, I felt like a character in Jurassic Park, driving around a preserve behind other cars on an automatic track—there were tons of people in Yellowstone. Kind of took away from the “natural” feeling, but hey, that’s tourism. Can’t avoid tourists when you are one yourself.
We camped a night in the Tetons and visited one of my study abroad friends who is working there this summer. The campground worker advised us on how to avoid attracting man-eating bears, so we spent the whole night worrying about being eaten by bears. The next morning we woke up (or really just got up, since we weren’t sleeping anyway) and went horseback riding, then drove on to Boise, Idaho. We got some much-needed R & R staying with my cousin Elyse in Boise and walking, not driving, around the town for a day. After Boise, we drive to Oregon, taking a route that followed the original Oregon Trail, arriving (finally!) at the Pacific Ocean. We wanted to keep driving west, but couldn’t. So we camped at the Northern tip of Oregon for a night, frolicked on the (cold and misty) beach, put our feet in the (frigid) ocean, and then drove some more (unable to fight the urge to keep driving). We toured the Oregon coast, got some (squeaky!) cheese curds at the Tillamook cheese factory, and then headed back to Portland for our final night.
As soon as I dropped Katie off at the airport, fear of the unknown gripped me, but I functioned well enough to drive three hours south to Roseburg. There, I discovered a town about the size of the Soo, with a slightly depressed looking downtown and lots of sprawl. My first night in Roseburg, I locked myself in a hotel room, cried and called my mommy for moral support. I knew I would get over the fear of moving eventually, and just had to wait it out. Luckily, I attended AmeriCorps orientation at a camp in the woods for three days at the start, where I made new friends and let myself relax enough to finally get excited about the year to come.
3. What kind of town is Roseburg?
Roseburg is not what I expected when I envisioned living in Oregon. I assumed everyone would be eco-friendly, wear earth tones, and decorate their LEED certified houses with Buddhist flags. Not the case. I haven’t lived here long enough to really “know” the town, but here is what I know so far:
Roseburg calls itself the “Timber Capital of the Nation.” Rightfully so, I think. The area is full of conservative-minded folk and giant Douglas Firs. They’re beautiful and everywhere (the trees, not necessarily the people), and logging them sustained this town for a long time. Unfortunately, relying on a single industry (which has since peaked and declined) has made Roseburg a town of 20,000 with a lot of poverty and the services of a much smaller town.
For example, the public library is scheduled to close next year because there is not enough funding to keep it open, and it has been deemed a “non-essential” service. It’s more important to use tax money to pay for services like fire trucks, police, and…free trash? Yep, that’s right. Douglas County is the only county left in Oregon that has a free dump. I keep telling people stories about my parents going to the dump to see the bears in Paradise. I didn’t know there were still places that had real live “dumps.”
4. There is a big meth problem, though apparently not as bad now as it was a few years ago.
But don’t worry; it’s not all negative. The people here are really nice. I swear, this town is going to rob me of all of my hard earned, less than minimum wage stipend just by being so nice. The cashiers and service people keep charming me into buying more than I need. My friend and I had a great chat with a Rite Aid cashier and she was so nice that I couldn’t help throwing an extra doodad into my cart. I got my oil changed and they duped me into spending too much money on “preventative maintenance” (but hey, that’s nothing new. I always end up spending too much getting my oil changed). But what's really amazing is that the mechanic referred me to another mechanic to get my break lights fixed, and that mechanic puzzled over my car for half an hour and fixed my lights without charging me. (Turned out it was just bad light bulbs, but he spent a lot of time figuring that out, and could have charged me for labor, but didn’t.)
Pretty much everywhere I go I end up telling complete strangers way more information than they probably care to know. Roseburg is the reverse of Aix – overly friendly people who make me talk more, instead of overly reserved people who make me forget how to talk.
4. What is the proper way to pronounce “Oregon”?
Contrary to popular (Michigander) belief, “Oregon” is pronounced “Ore-gun.” I still maintain that the game, however, is called “Ore-gone Trail.” I live with another volunteer from Michigan (Traverse City, actually) and she has also had to adjust her pronunciation to avoid being made fun of when referring to her new home state.
So, that's my life so far, minus a lot of stuff that I haven't had the time to talk about yet. But there's more to come..
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