Every January during the long MLK Day weekend we trek east from Portland to Joesph, Oregon. It's a great little town sitting at the northern end of Wallowa Lake and the base of the Eagle Cap Wilderness, serving as both a wilderness gateway and home base for local fisheries and forest service workers. A unique of mix of artists, cowboys, hermits and retirees, it's the type of town that would be ruined by never-ending ice cream and trinket shops if only three hours closer to Portland.
Teresa (pictured, center with the blue cell phone) owns the Embers Brewhouse on Main Street. A nice mix of local hangout and cozy winter watering hole, it's not divey and has a ton of beer on tap. Every year Teresa hosts what used to be the Wallowa County Jalapeno Eating Contest--now the Hot Wings Eating Contest after one too many complaints about the nastiness of the pickled jalapenos they served up for the competition. Maria Ellis--my partner--was actually the first woman to win the inaugural contest, eating 10. Since then, winners have averaged 50 as it became more popular. Every year, amidst the "you're from Portland eh?" snickering that we usually get during election seasons, Teresa remembers us, goes out of her way to say hello, and always tries to convince Maria to throw her hat in the ring again. I took this shot of Teresa just as the 2017 Hot Wing contest started. I met Mel and Kayla on a stormy February afternoon at the coast. I was in Lincoln City for work capturing stories for work and met these two at a community room in a local apartment complex. Mel is an affable and gracious 90-year-old World War II veteran now considered legally blind and Kayla is his lifeline to the outside world serving as his home visiting care provider. Kayla is a single mother of four who lives day-to-day with bipolar disorder but manages her symptoms and makes it to work everyday through medication. Mel lost everything he owned in a house fire a month earlier, but on this day he was excited to have had a cheeseburger with Kayla at a local lunch spot even if it was overpriced. As I spoke with them, it was easy to tell that they shared an earnest bond rarely seen in today's relentlessly polarized and cutthroat climate--one of endurance and courage in their willingness to share, and unapologetic honesty and selflessness in their desire and will to help one another.
Maria Isabel Ellis bought me a new Sony a6000 camera for Christmas and I took it to the streets for the Portland Women's March. We're living in a unique and challenging time of transition, and it's our job as communicators and brand ambassadors to capture the small moments that paint a bigger picture and reflect the future. As I walked over the Morrison Bridge to Waterfront Park, these two young women provided the canvas for conveying both support for your fellow human and a dynamic day.
This exchange was a complete miscommunication, even with his friend nearby who spoke some English. I tried to explain that the Trail Blazers--"mi casa y mi equipo"--were my team in Portland, Oregon. He had just finished work and gave me this look, not amused and not interested. He just wanted to sit on the sidewalk and talk to his brother and friends, and not necessarily an excited white tourist talking jibberish about American basketball. Hoops are huge in the Dominican Republic, and I never found out why he was wearing the hat. A relaxed, Blazers-hat-sporting-Dominican is as much an Oregonian as anyone I know. Just a shame that the language barrier (on my end) kept this exchange from playing dominoes over beers on a white plastic table in the street.
Lexi left Netarts for southern California in her teens because she couldn't stand the "one-horse town anymore." After traveling the world, renting million dollar homes for pennies in the days before house-sitting and Airbnb, and chasing one too many boyfriends, Oregon called her name again. She rents a tiny cabin near the beach and runs a well-known thrift/knick-knack store called Lex's Cool Stuff (Google it, it's an institution). Her landlord is 103 and said that he doesn't want her hippie stuff there when he dies, so Lexi is taking it one day at a time. She wrapped brownies up for me to take on the road and I bought a $25 guitar because I couldn't say no.
More than anything, Lexi's wackiness gave me a template for how to approach this blog. I was struggling with who to capture and how to do it without being intrusive. She taught me to throw that aside if I find the right story. It's about the story, she said. Not about filling space. Wise words from someone, who very humbly didn't understand what a blog is. I met Jim at a small store near Lee's Camp off of Oregon Highway 6 as it weaves over the Coast Range, connecting outer suburban Portland and the Oregon coast. I planned to interview him for a forest history story, and what was meant to be a quick meet-and-greet turned into a four hour conversation about life, love and Oregon grit. Before paved roads took tourists to the coast, Jim's dad would walk 20 miles to the town of Tillamook almost weekly. He told me that he'll never understand why newlyweds shove cake in each other's faces or why anyone would spend $30,000 on a wedding. I agreed with him. I think he was initially skeptical of me, as a young-ish Portlander driving a truck.
"Tony," he said, pausing, very serious. "Promise me that you'll never shove cake in your bride's face. And know that it's not about the cake. It's about respect. And if you choose to have someone in your life, you have to respect them. If you don't respect them, don't have them in your life. Simple as that." Wise words from Jim Reeher on his rural property 45 miles west of Portland. |
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