Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Exactly What It Should Be

I so absolutely love our little town--the one we were all raised in, same as our dad, same as his dad...and so on.  A small rural town surrounded by grassfields, cornfields, blueberries, hazelnuts (or filberts, depending on who you talk to), cows, Christmas Trees and million dollar views.  We're nestled in the gorgeous countryside between the state capital and the state's largest city--just far enough away from the 'city' to be arrogantly relieved but close enough for things like Costco and state-of-the-art healthcare and airports.  The ocean is a mere hour and a half drive, the desert two, and the mountains one. 

And it's exactly what it should be.

On Friday nights the pizza places are jammed before and after the football game.

We rally behind the family who loses a home to fire.

A bond enables the high school to be a safe, stunning, and educational work of art.

The local FFA hosts a 'drive your tractor to school' day and the town itself has a Poetry Festival, Fine Arts Festival, Founder's Festival, Strawberry Festival, a Pet Parade and truly believes and celebrates that Santa lives in our town.  

Our families boast astronauts, state legislators, NFL players, and internationally renowned doctors, researchers, and writers.  We have food carts and are the gateway to two of Oregon's top tourist attractions. 

And yet we're still exactly what we should be.  

With penny parking meters, antique stores, and a Homecoming Parade that shuts down two state highways.

We're proud of our town.  Believe it's the best.  And wouldn't trade it for anything.

This last weekend when my little family and I were sitting at a wooden picnic table at one of the festivals, eating a Hawaiian Chicken Bowl, Elephant Ear, and Root Beer Float, one of the food carts was blaring a country song that made me look at the moment through a different set of eyes and whether it was the pregnancy hormones, or the picture I'd seen on the news of a father using his body to protect his infant son when the bomb sirens screamed over his Israeli town, I was incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude for how lucky our family and our little town are. 

And so I teared up (re: sobbed) and my husband freaked and we got another elephant ear and that country song played in my head the rest of the night as images from the day constantly replayed in my head.

 When you hear twin fiddles and a steel guitar
You're listenin' to the sound of the American heart
And opry music on a Saturday night
Brings a smile to your face and a tear to your eye






Sing the rain on the roof on a summer night
Where they still know wrong from right
Sing a song about the Heartland
Sing a song about my life




Sing a song about the Heartland
The only place I feel at home
Sing about the way a good man
Works until the daylight's gone





Sing the rain on the roof on a summer night
Where they still know wrong from right
Sing a song about the Heartland
Sing a song about my life
~Lyrics compliment of Gentleman George

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Road Race Rivalry Renewed! ~submitted by Tony



Annual autumn festivities unearthed the embers of enduring rivalries that had most recently taken the form of the Oktoberfest Road Race.  The prior contest had seen one head held high in euphoric triumph, while others exhibited the tightly set jaws and narrowed eyes of the determined defeated.  The battleground was revisited by returning veteran combatants set on proving themselves through blood, sweat and tears…okay, mainly just lots of sweat!  The tales of heroism and conquest drew in new volunteers, eager to take part in the 5000 meter struggle and slice off a piece of victory pie.  This day would be remembered forever by the inhabitants of Mt. Angel as the day the Fenn Clan overwhelmed the road race participants by force of numbers and the indomitable spirit which binds us together and spurs us on to greatness.



This season’s contest would prove to be a Vegas bookie’s nightmare as the favorites fell short of pre-race hype.  No amount of facial hair or spandex garments would avail this year, as Gabe’s warrior spirit shined through, burning pavement on the home stretch to leave Paddy in his wake.  Greg and Tony were front row witnesses and saw the whole thing from just a wee bit further back… Before we could even finish catching our breath, Mighty Mo was making short work of the women’s division with Therese just seconds behind her. Naturally, the rest of us stood by the finish line to declare our support with roaring cheers loud enough to drown out the timekeepers! 
 

The post-race water squirting race:



 And the post-race brother-mounting and nope, not gang-signs flashing but race completion documentation sign flashing:




Heck of a group effort.  Let’s see how we can top this one…