Oregon My Oregon: A Valentine's Day Card For The Beaver State

She Flies With Her Own Wings

Mt. Hood. Way Good. Photo by author.

Note: This first ran last year and quickly became one of the site’s most-read stories. With many new people joining us since then, I thought it might be fun to revisit it. FWIW, the book I mention in the story still sits unfinished. Maybe next year?

KA—

Good Morning!

Today, we’re heading west to a Pacific Wonderland for something a little different.

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If you’re of a certain age, you’ll remember: Taking a shoebox (or, if desperate, a Kleenex box), covering it in wrapping paper, and placing it with giddy anticipation on the corner of your desk.

You’d wait with bated breath for cards from everyone in the class. Doubly so for the boy/girl you had a crush on. Little affirmations that came in cellophane boxes a harried parent invariably picked up at the last minute on the way home from work. That, too, was a gift. Some just had a name; others had a note- those told you whose parents had more time on their hands. Most of us just came home with a class roster mimeograph and a mission to knock these out as fast as possible. We loved gettin’ em. Making them, less so.

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But those few minutes before everyone began their lap around the classroom! The wait was almost too much- especially if you were a kid who could optimistically be described as “husky” and had a penchant for wearing the same 2-3 shirts for a month. This was our their time to shine.

Anymore, it’s easy to see that sort of thing through a cynical lens. Everyone had to make one for everyone, lest there be hurt feelings. The cards were grabbed from Safeway en masse, not picked out for each person or handmade. At some point, candy was prohibited (ostensibly for nut allergies, more likely for the teacher’s sanity).

As young adults, we were firehosed with ads about diamonds. Everyone knew what “He went to Jared” meant. Shane Company ads were ubiquitous. Maybe they still are. My employer has co-opted it as the day they issue profit-sharing checks. After all, what better way to say “I love you” than to return some of the “shareholder value” your employees worked to earn, right? No wonder so many of us glance askance at Valentine’s Day.

Love is for lovers? Indeed, dear reader, indeed. But for those who want to celebrate something else today, allow me to offer you an option:

Oregon’s 166th birthday.

I live in Wisconsin now. I am infatuated with this state. Every year, I get a state parks sticker, but that’s just a cover story–really, I want to see what’s on the way to each of them. To find Main Street. To discover a 4-calendar cafe. I got ~30k words into writing a book about doing just that during COVID. I should probably finish it. My wife is from here. One of my sons was born here. I live here.

But it's not home.

That place is 1800 miles to my left. A place with mountains, deserts, and an ocean. And a Gorge. The license plates used to say “Pacific Wonderland.” That wasn’t false advertising. I was raised by PDX, and the city gave me everything. Mt. Hood? Way good. And you can see it from anywhere in town like a kindly sentinel watching over you. The best views of both are from the Marquam Bridge's top deck; if you time it right, you can share the experience with 1000s of your closest friends. Free parking starts back in the Curves. Even the airport carpet has taken on a life of its own. Can JFK or LAX say that?

No, they cannot.

I once heard someone half-jokingly describe the state as “God’s preview of heaven,” and never once have I dared argue that. I’m not a man of faith, but I have to imagine that the feeling you get on Mt. Hood on a Bluebird day is akin to a religious experience.

503 natives are like Crossfit fans and vegetarians in that they never miss a chance to work it into a conversation. I get it. But Oregon is more than a geographic boundary; it gets in your veins. It’s in your bones. It’s who we are.

And that’s not something you’ll find in an aisle at Target.

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The clip below shows the state song, ‘Oregon, My Oregon.’

This clip is Mat Kearney’s love letter to the state and also to the greatest university/football team in the land- the Oregon Ducks. It never rains at Autzen Stadium.

#Scoducks

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Thanks for being here,

Kevin—

P.S. Coming Friday: Back to business as usual, as we take a trip to the other end of I-5 to check out a brand new band with a typical origin story and instruments that are anything but.