7-26-2015
La Grande, Oregon

I know, you’re probably asking, “La Where?”  But my trip to this place had some sentimental purpose.  You see, my dad was a surgeon in this Eastern Oregon town back in the 90’s.  It’s where I lived out my childhood.  I haven’t been here since then.  In other words, this is my first time seeing the place since the late 90’s – it’s been nearly 20 years.

The majority of my trip up here was on Highway 97.  It was a long, terrible, near 10-hour journey.  I can’t stress enough how desolate that stretch of road is; just know that you should only travel on the 97 if you have no other options.

When I arrived in town, I checked into my hotel and went to dinner at the Ten Depot.  I’ll do my best not to judge the place, seeing as I just came up here from Santa Barbara and Monterey where culinary excellence is more…renown, but needless to say, it’s about what you’d expect from a small town steakhouse.

Dinner that night was probably the first time that I noticed how nice the people here were, though.  This is not a small town like Red Bluff, which is where I’m from.  In spite of being a college town (home of Eastern Oregon University), this is a “holy crap this is a small town” small town.  The kind of town where everyone drives with the window down and waves nonchalantly as you pass by.  The kind of town where complete strangers see you and start up a conversation, asking who you are, what you’re doing here, and where you’re going.  The kind of town where you feel loved and welcomed…just for existing.  It’s kind of nice actually.

The next morning, I went to mass at the old catholic church where my family used to go when I was a kid.  I’m embarrassed to say that I snuck in a bit late as a result of some false advertising on the church website about when mass started.  Nevertheless, the people there were kind and welcoming.  After mass, I talked with a few parishioners, one of whom remembered my dad.  Another was the wife of a judge here in Union County, and told me that in spite of its outward sheen, La Grande was a small town suffering from the same ills as every other small town in America: a place where meth and transiency flow just beneath the surface.  The group also explained to me how they weren’t surprised that my dad moved away from here, and that it was a common theme actually.  The doctor, generally a male, would fall in love with the wild ruggedness of the area; the spouse, generally a female, would get tired of its isolation and eventually pressure the doctor to move away.  And so they would have a turnaround in doctors every three years or so.  The story sounded familiar.  Anyways, did I tell you that the church is like something out of a storybook?

After church, I went up to see my old family home.  It looked exactly the same as it looked when I was a kid. Another storybook image, which I’m afraid to say, is now nothing more than a relic of my past.

I keep talking about storybook images.  A note on that: this place is truly timeless.  As in, it hasn’t changed a bit since I was here back in the 90’s.  Unlike the drastic changes that I saw in Isla Vista earlier this week (and which almost gave me a heart attack), this place is the near polar opposite: a place untouched by age.  It’s almost creepy, coming back to a place you haven’t seen in forever, and realizing that you have changed more than it has, but that is what I experienced.  In any event, it didn’t take long for me to remember just why I had such fond memories of this place as a kid.  The place is gorgeous.  It’s art.  And the people here are just waiting to take you in…trust me.  I had one lady who literally saw me walking on the side of the road, pulled over, and started up a conversation with me.  Complete stranger.  Nothing like it has ever happened to me before in my life.  She then proceeded to tell me where she lived and that if I wanted, I could hike up behind her house to access some trail leading to a canyon.  I actually took her up on the offer, but the canyon really wasn’t all that exciting.  But seriously, how can you not fall in love with a place that looks like something off of a Sigur Ros album?

After touring around a bit I stumbled on a place called “Tap That Growlers.”  They served (predictably) a host of beers both local and far reaching in a sleek, modern setting.  I really liked the place, and the owners.  I was the only customer there, and after a while, we decided to get Mexican food for lunch out of a food truck.  Can’t go wrong with a place whose owners want to go in with you on Mexican food from a food truck.  I wished the owners luck, and I really hope this place does well over the years, because they had a really neat thing going.

About halfway through my second pint at Tap That (as I’m calling it for short), an old friend of mine from when I was like…12 years old…showed up.  TJ.  We caught up a bit, and then he invited me over to his parents’ place for dinner.  When I got there, my jaw dropped.  His family’s place is spectacular…at just under 12,000 square feet, it’s basically my dream home (anyone’s dream home really), complete with 25+ acres of pristine wilderness surroundings, an indoor pool, commissioned oil canvases adorning the walls, and just room after room of style and sophistication.  We drank wine and took in the views from their outside patio.  Oh, and the dinner we ate: one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.  I have a soft spot already for middle eastern food, but this homemade Lebanese meal came complete with some of the best hummus on this side of the globe, fresh pita bread, dishes I will avoid spellings on in order to avoid offense, and discussion on TJ’s mom’s old tabbouleh recipe (although that legend of a dish did not make this night’s table).  I absolutely loved this family as a kid, and it was great catching up with them: they were so hospitable, I almost feel guilty.

After the meal, TJ and I talked philosophy a bit before eventually parting ways.  Although La Grande may not have been the most exciting travel destination in the world, it was great reconnecting with an old friend, and realizing that my family name has more pull than I thought in the world, drawing in nods and “oh yeah, I remember Dr. Taylor”s in places far from home even to this day.  I’m glad that I stopped here, but at the same time, I’m looking forward to the trip ahead of me.  Tomorrow, Joseph, Oregon and Wallowa Lake.

Cheers,

Rob