OPENING THE PACKAGE

While I’m working on the stories of Highway 99, I end up visiting each of the towns along the way. Physically as well as with whatever written history I can find. When I first thought about doing the stories, I didn’t realize what differences I would find in the towns and cities. It’s not that one whole generation does such and such regardless of where they live. Maybe in some part of their lives: the music, a fashion fad, or one activity but still the community itself influences each generation. And, there is at least one key underneath the history that makes every community different. Discovering that key (or keys) and the doors it unlocked make each place exciting.

Who would have guessed that Ashland, a somewhat isolated logging town would grow into a cultural center and worldwide tourist attraction built on the dream of a young English professor during the depression.

Or that two donation land claim settlers in the Rogue River Valley would join together and give land where there was nothing to the Oregon & California Railroad with the vision of creating Medford, a business center for the valley. The Railroad and businesses came–in a hurry. Even towns along the highway with similar physical features, nearly surrounded by mountains or on an almost flat valley floor, didn’t develop into similar towns or cities. Ashland, Canyonville and Cottage Grove with some common features are nothing alike just as Medford, Grants Pass, Roseburg and Eugene are very different. There is one key element that connects them. They were all on the path of the native Americans 10,000 years ago, then the wagon trains, stage coaches, railroads and highway. I had one naturalist approach me during a presentation to tell me I was beginning too late. It was actually the Elk who made the trails for the Native Americans. It’s probably possible but not something in my realm.

When I first begin the research in each new town, before I even start to collect the highway stories, I open the package to discover the flavor of the surprise I’ll find inside. Every time I’ve found more than I could have expected.

This week I made the preliminary visit to Cottage Grove. Not a new town for me. I taught there a couple of years when I first moved to the middle part of Oregon, I’ve gone to lunch and the theater there, have my books in a shop and have friends who live there. Until now I’ve never fully opened the total package to see what makes it special. The first glances through a book put out by the Historical Society already has words and ideas not mentioned in any of the other towns I’ve visited: Hoedads, Hebron, and Bohemia. Driving through and then walking around down town, I realized much of the history I’m going to be reading about is illustrated in the beautiful murals visible all over the center of town. They are newer than when I taught there and didn’t get my attention when I was focused on an appointment. Not quite true, I had noticed the Opal Whiteley mural when I was headed to the bookstore but not the others. I didn’t even have to open the first book to find the first surprise.

I’ll be back there next week and off and on after. Whenever I find someone with a story to share. Just in the one afternoon I was there, I found more places I need to go back and explore and a few people I want to talk to. I also drove Old 99 from Cottage Grove to Creswell. Hard to remember when I thought that was a very good road, a long time ago. Still, I didn’t find it difficult this time and it was very interesting.

I often car pooled from Springfield to Cottage Grove when I was teaching there and one of our drivers preferred Highway 99 for the commute. It was before every family had a pickup and I hadn’t had any experience with them until this same driver showed up with one he’d just purchased. The ride to school was uneventful but, to go home, I put the stack of papers I was taking to grade in the back before I got in the passenger seat. We were out on Highway 99 before I realized the papers were blowing out of the truck. I convinced him he needed to stop while I got out and collected the scattered papers. I was lucky we hadn’t been on the freeway. I don’t remember any unhappy children the next day, I must have collected all of their work.
I am wondering if I’ll encounter any of those children while I’m scouting around town. On the other hand, they were in first grade and probably wouldn’t remember a teacher they had that long ago. Still, it’s a fun possibility for a special surprise.

Copyright Jo-Brew
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