Let it Snow!

Two weeks after the desert heat of southern Arizona I wake up to find snow on the ground. I roll out of bed, pull some clothes on, and wander into the kitchen to find a hot cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast waiting for me. Sitting at the table with J.D. and our host Phil, I thankfully eat my breakfast. Before I have time to say “no thanks,” another egg has found its way onto my plate courtesy of our hostess, JoAnn. Thus began each and every day for us in Mill City, OR.

Mill City, as its name would suggest, is a former mill town hunkered down in the Cascade foothills about 30 miles east of Salem. A town of about 3,000, Mill City finds itself listed among other Northwest towns whose fates have been determined by the logging industry, for better or worse. For now, Mill City seems to be surviving, but I don’t know the whole story. What I do know is that I like Mill City for at least two reasons.

First and foremost, I love Mill City because it looks and feels like home. After months in the plains and desert, getting back to the Great Northwest feels good. The air is thick and rich, not skeletal like the thin, dry desert air or the dusty air of the plains; I want air with meat on its bones, fed by the sea and thickened by the dense, green vegetation. The trees are skyscrapers, their bows providing shelter and comfort. The gray skies and drizzly rain, although tiresome when forced to suffer through them for months on end, provide respite from the clear, sunny skies of previous weeks. The hills are close and green, not distant and naked like mummified remains. And coursing through town is a turbulent river, its clear, glacial waters tumbling down towards the sea. What a beautiful town.

The other reason is the people. Well, at least the kids. We had less than thirty in our cast and it was wonderful. Since January, we have had a full cast every week and to only have half what we usually cast was great. The kids were talented, they were fun, they listened, and they put on great shows. They made our job relaxing and joyful, not a common pairing in this line of work. Backstage during the show I rarely had to remind them to be quiet. If only every week could be like that.

On the other end of the age spectrum, our hosts Phil and JoAnn, a retired couple, were hospitable to the point of fault. Feeding us like kings with hot cooked meals morning, noon, and night and taking a keen interest in all that we were doing, Phil and JoAnn felt more like grandparents than strangers. Although one of their Rottweilers was rather fickle in deciding whether or not to like me, I didn’t hold it against them. And since their son went to school with Barack Obama, they were eager to talk politics and lend me their copy of The Audacity of Hope for the week.

Now we’re in Tacoma, even closer to home for me. In fact, I’m staying about five blocks from the house my dad grew up in. Next week is an unplanned week off which we’ll spend in Olympia, then we’re off to Alaska for two weeks. For those geography buffs out there, we’re headed to Stebbins and St. Michael, two small predominately Eskimo towns south of Nome. After Alaska, it’s just three more weeks until I’m done. Doesn’t time fly?