Corvallis in December

There are not enough deciduous trees with spunk in them. They are fine to bear leaves in harmony, but when it comes to display – I travel past two decade old saplings spaced even from each other along popular tourist pathways. In competition to succulence of the Appalachian Range I grew up in, there is a slaughterhouse filter I placed in my brain when downcast comparisons pass over.

The Willamette Valley is alright. It is narrow with short grass, moderate health, and more noisy opinions than it can handle. Oregon State University is here, caged within the boisterous chatter of short fused natives, who hope to wall their small town in from eternity (if they can muster the group effort).

To be honest, I am teasing this culture of Oregonians with their miles per gallon Prius's, Natural Foods Cooperative cards, and 401k plans. To give credit, their rank of livability and educational grouping is above the American average – reining in hordes of out-of-state license plates that have chosen to retire here.

"My wife and I looked all over the state – because we said we wanted to live in Oregon – and when we came through Corvallis, we knew this was it."

The smile just explodes from their face and sets a display within the atmosphere that drips culture all over Benton County. The weather is temperamental, but that is expected of the northwest, where it rains such a large percentage of the winter. Leaves have fallen from the walkway ornaments while fog blankets the coastal range of conifers that drip what feels like rain as you pass under. Oh, wait – that is rain. 

In conclusion, I am a part of the catered populous of locals – but just in the physical constraint of a home address. Above all, I am a son of God, and that is my identity. But, O is it hard to not get upset when you see adults act like children do. Truth is, I am just as human, and it’s easier to judge people than get to know them. Thanks be to the love of God that reminds me of my responsibility to be salt for a bland taste.