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..
Monday, September 26, 2011
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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