I think the rain came to Roseburg. Not sure, really. I’ve experienced more sunny days and misty days than grey, miserable rainy days. Oregonians must just be weak. Since I’m from a hardier Midwest stock, I’ve been gazing out the window at work, hoping and praying that I see a snowflake. No luck. So I’ve flown all the way back to Michigan in search of a real, live snowflake. Still no luck.
Actually, there is snow here, just not much. My friend Abby and I flew from Portland to Detroit Sunday and when we stopped at my favorite West Branch gas station (and pumped our own gas!) we jumped out of the car, ran screaming to the edge of the icy parking lot, and stomped around in the half inch of snow that sprinkled the ground. “Snow! Snow! Snow!” we screamed. “Whoopeeee!—Oh, dang, it’s cold outside. I’m going back to the car.” Oh yes, I have found snow, and cold weather, and at home in Petoskey there’s even a bit of the stuff here and there. But I hope to experience a whistling, mind-numbing, nostril hair-freezing, hair-wetting snowstorm while I’m here. Please, St. Nick, won’t you send a little snow? I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.
Back in Michigan for a couple weeks, I will recount some of the events that happened recently in Roseburg. First, I….uh. Hmmm. What have I been doing? Living? Being happy? Making Christmas cookies, Christmas wreaths, listening to Christmas music non-stop, annoying my roommates with my untamable Christmas cheer? Yes, all of those.
I’ve especially enjoyed this Christmas season because for once I finally have time to do fun things like baking and decorating. In college I was too busy and stressed to do more than piece together a hasty card for friends and could only dream about making cookies. Now that I have too much time on my hands, my domestic side has reared its big sugar-sprinkled head. We had a holiday potluck last week and invited old and new AmeriCorps friends over to our apartment. Usually I make too much food for our potlucks, so this time I tried to reign in my newfound cooking zeal. I decided not to make an entrée and let the others deal with that. Instead, I made egg nog, peppermint bark, and spinach artichoke dip -- I sense that I have inherited some of my family’s cook-and-eat-too-much-at-gatherings genes. I love being at the stove in the kitchen while guests arrive, just putting the finishing touches on dish X, Y, or Z. I love getting compliments on the food I make—the peppermint bark was almost a disaster (I burned the chocolate) but I salvaged it into something more than edible and I think people actually liked it. I’ve found my way of saying thanks, saying I care, and that’s through food, through hosting, through making people at ease and sharing hearty conversation over a hearty meal.
This culinary awakening shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. I’m starting to think I couldn’t have picked a better AmeriCorps position, and maybe it wasn’t as random an adventure as I thought. I spend most of my time cooking food and trying to get students to see the countless ways that making healthy, sustainable food can improve their lives and the world. Last summer, when I debated moving out to Oregon, I think the school garden’s juicy produce called to me across the country. I didn’t hear it with my ears, though. I heard it with my stomach. Or, more likely, my taste buds.
Oh yeah, although I’m obsessed with cooking, I do participate in other activities. Last weekend we drove to the coast and hiked around the Oregon Dunes. Beautiful, and bigger than Sleeping Bear, I hear—take a look at some pictures.
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