Oregon Humanities

The Place I Call Home

There are some days that roll out like a promise. Other days you turn the corner to unexpected joys. And still others where the people you meet along the way surprise you into believing in humanity again.

Last summer, the time I spent in Eastern Oregon re-awakened my belief that preserving where we came from, charting where we’re going, and creating innovative ways to see the journey along the way are the essence of our humanity.

I witnessed volunteers who wear more hats than should be allowed on one person’s head and who still smile at the end of the day and raise a glass to the dream of tomorrow: when a child can witness live performances in a performance space designed for the purpose. I met another volunteer who is working tirelessly for the preservation of an old parsonage. And before that, visited a house made of stone, filled with the artifacts of a people, generations and generations later, lovingly preserved and displayed upon the passing of the loved ones. And a center dedicated to the traditions of the past, the stories of our future, and the conversations that join the two.

This is the cultural fabric of Oregon. This is the place I’ve chosen to call home. This place filled with the wonder of a sky rolled out for hundreds of miles. Of a people who once roamed the land to the tune of millions of acres, now relegated to a mere seven hundred acres to call their own. And the Vacaros who brought the horses and cows that now dot the land, and the Black pioneers that logged the forests. The Chinese doctor who brought the apothecary to heal the sick, and the Japanese farmer who planted the vast onion fields.

This is the heritage of Oregon. This is the place I’ve chosen to call home. Where a red schoolhouse, sitting across the road from what used to be a bustling railway station, now looks out on an open field. Where the students of that school learn the history of their town by painting the panels of their stories. And who gather artifacts from the field, lost remnants of a mill and a railway long gone, pieces of their ancestors’ past.

This is the art of Oregon. This is the place I’ve chosen to call home. Where a town is dedicated to painting a mural in their library. A library where two-thirds of the town come monthly to check out books, make copies, and work on the small bank of computers by the wall. This mural to document the diverse workforce that created their community out of sage brush and rock—the Indian, the Basque, the Latino, the Japanese—a story in pictures so the next generation will not forget this is who we are, this is what we’ve been, this is who we will be.

This is Oregon. This is the place I call home. These are the people whom I call my community.

About Kimberly Howard

Kimberly Howard is manager of the Oregon Cultural Trust.

26 April 2010 | Posted by Kimberly Howard in Inside O. Hm. New Ideas
Permalink | Comments? (1 so far)