Smells of the Pacific Northwest and other memorable geographic smells

My brother hooked me up with some music in college by The Young Fresh Fellows "Sounds of the Northwest." The introduction sounded like something from a filmstrip or an old tourist film--with tracks of seagulls, crashing waves and a ferry horn. I loved listening to this while in my Midwest exile, as it reminded me of home.

Today I was reminded of the smells of the Pacific Northwest as my olfactory nerves drifted me toward memories from the years of traversing the lands of the South Puget Sound. The landscaping material known as "beauty bark" sits in huge mounds in my rental complex waiting to be laid out. I smelled the stuff long before I saw it on a walk this morning. I thought of all the smells that I smelled here, different from all the odors of South Dakota and other places in the Midwest.

+ Tacoma Aroma (a distinct and pungent odor, maybe something like "Sex Panther" cologne)
+ A faint smell of the various evergreen trees combined with the dampness after a rain.
+ The air of the Salish Sea, a bountiful combination of sea life and brine--yet not quite as strong as the ocean.
+ The powerful spring blossoms of April and May.
+ Fresh scones from the Puyallup Fair.
+ Fish and clam chowder cooking at Ivar's.
+ The thin coolness of the Alpine air in the Cascades.
+ The powerful smell of hops coming from the many local breweries over the years. In my youth, it was Olympia and Rainier. Now it's Red Hook.

I could live without Tacoma Aroma (it's not as bad as it used to be in the 70's and 80's), but the bark, dampness and evergreen scent takes me to a better place.

I am also reminded of the smells of my Midwest exile:

+ The smell of hog processing at the John Morrell plant in Sioux Falls (aka "The Morrell Smell).
+ The smell of heat, corn and humidity all over East River South Dakota.
+ The smells of harvest time--processing hay, corn, soybeans, wheat and other grains--it almost inspired me to think of whole grain breads and a stew full of vegetables. That smell helped me find joy, exhilaration and relief for finally feeling a chill in the air after 6 months of heat.
+ Manure
+ The overwhelming smell of grasses that go absolutely crazy in the spring after laying dormant all winter.
+ The almost complete lack of odors (outside of manure) during a harsh winter.

The only time I enjoyed the smells of the Midwest was during the harvest time--about an 8-week period where I watched the hard work of people who help provide our food. People worried, celebrated and toiled with passion. I disliked the smells for the most part, and the harvest time almost made up for it. I appreciated those smells, but the smells of the Northwest can never be replaced.

Politics (entry #6 in the Madhouse Gazette South Dakota Lexicon)

South Dakota has a strange love affair with U.S. Senator John Thune (at least as seen by the rest of world). Many people can't understand why South Dakota would vote out Tom Daschle, someone with seniority, clout, influence and good leadership (okay, he had a hard time doing his taxes, but what politician doesn't), and vote in John Thune.

For any South Dakotan, the political move from Daschle to Thune makes perfect sense. The folks of the Northern Great Plains strongly believe in their values and way of life, yet they struggle with their image when their perspectives move to a national stage. This conundrum of belief and identity are residual effects of the Scandinavian concept of Jante Law. Jante Law is an interesting variable considering Daschle's political fall: I remember that South Dakota public discourse and conventional wisdom said that Daschle was getting "too big for his britches." He needed to be voted out. It didn't matter that Daschle was Senate Majority Leader, accomplished much for South Dakota through his position, and was a marginal presidential candidate--Daschle had to be taken down a peg or two. It didn't help matters that he was a Democrat, either.

The love being articulated for Thune sounds a little like Brokeback Mountain, with which people in the state tried to distance themselves through vitriol and condemnation. I had to laugh when I read the commentary on Thune's rising prominence in the aforementioned link. While I lived in South Dakota, I found the politics maddening. Now that I'm on the outside looking in, South Dakota politics are interesting.

Thanks to Allison Kilkenny's recent blog post referencing Thune for the inspiration to reflect upon my life with South Dakota politics.

Autumn (Entry #5 in the madhousegazette South Dakota Lexicon)

Autumn in South Dakota is a season that can produce some of the most glorious colors on the planet--about every 6 or 7 years, or if you don't blink during a few choice days in the month of October. South Dakota specializes in Earth tones, especially Eastern South Dakota--with the dearth of evergreen trees and lack of sizable aqua-topography--one has to learn to appreciate Earth tones or go crazy.

The leaves changing color can be quite beautiful. However, multiple variables must align:

1. Wet summer. Possible.
2. Cool and/or low wind September. Less likely than #1.
3. Low wind October once the leaves actually turn color. Almost impossible.

In order for autumn beauty to last more than 3 days, these three variables must align. A stiff wind (almost constant) can take down awe-inspiring color in about 3 days. I remember being thankful to be in South Dakota during the autumn months--when the cool down finally comes (ahhh)--then I have my hopes dashed with the first big wind from the Northwest comes and the leaves fly through the air in a Technicolor (fall version) display (amazing in its own right) and the landscape turns to a depressing drab that is only moderated and made peaceful and calm by the first beautiful snow.

I didn't realize the brevity of glory in a South Dakota autumn until I returned to the Pacific Northwest, where the fall colors have surrounded me in what seems to be like strategic stages of color turning for about 3 weeks--with one tree on WA-16 that continues to greet me in varying lipstick shades of red for going on 2.5 weeks. I keep waiting for the autumn glory to be complete, but it keeps on going. South Dakota colors are comparable, but maybe their short annual visit has made me appreciate my return to the PNW even more.

Favorite Autumn Drives and the Fall Soundtrack

I have driven copious miles recently. Some open road driving with my family (about 3500 miles) and the most frenzied set of back and forth, traffic-weaving, kid-toting, commuting I've ever done. What keeps me more than sane in that environment is my favorite time of year--the fall color display. I will plan my life around seeing some fall colors. Sometimes I take pictures, sometimes I soak in the cool atmosphere with those I love. I could easily say the Northeast US has the best fall colors (always great, but somewhat impractical for me), but I also have other favorites:

+ Northern Minnesota around Bemidji
+ The Minnesota River Valley between Mankato and New Ulm
+ The Cumberland region in Middle to East Tennessee
+ Virginia, especially around the Blue Ridge Mountains
+ Heading toward Northern Wisconsin from the Milwaukee metro toward Ripon and Green Lake.

I forgot how great the fall colors could be in the Puget Sound region. WA-16 on the Kitsap Peninsula has quite a display of fiery orange and red fall maples with a nice contrast to the evergreens. This display reminded me of how much I did take for granted--Mt. Rainier with the Puget Sound, color burst maples, evergreens and the Olympics--all mysteriously cottoned with fog, as if Bob Ross and God worked together to burn the images in my brain. My photography can't do this justice. I need to stop and at least try.

Some songs play better for me during the autumn months. I like bluegrass this time of year and almost anything with steel guitar. I don't know why. There's a few other songs that seem to register as well. My Fall Soundtrack:

Let Me Touch You For Awhile--Alison Krauss
Gravity--Alison Krauss
Jessica--Allman Brothers
Ramblin' Man--Allman Brothers
September--Earth, Wind and Fire
Avenues--Whiskeytown
Best of Luck--Nickel Creek
Lonesome Wind Blues--Rhonda Vincent
It'll Never Be Thru With Us (Until It's Thru With You)--The Wilders
That Old Time Religion--The Wilders
Green and Gray--Nickel Creek

Getting ready for another vacation

After almost 6 weeks of solid work in the office and the community, I'm getting ready for another trip. Six weeks of working outside the home has turned me back into a morning person. I am way too tired at night to function. I gather rally my gumption and give the girls a quality evening for bath time, homework, reading and prayers. I could barely bring myself to fold any laundry last night. I feel like I'm making up for lost time in adult conversations--so work energizes me at this point, even though I'm an introvert. I haven't earned a vacation in terms of time served, it will be good for pacing to get away. I'm glad my congregation gave me some grace so I could travel back to South Dakota with my family. My dear wife has a reunion to attend, so we're making a family trip out of it.

Thinking it's been almost 6 months since we came to the Pacific Northwest, it sometimes feels like a long time, yet other times--we just departed. Days have rarely flown by for me--I don't know if it's a gift I have, something I have yet to experience, or what it is about my brain that gives me an even pace to my days. I'm looking forward to seeing a few friends and watch my dear wife enjoy the glory of her college days and friends.

What needs to be accomplished before departure is what feels oppressive.

+ Dog needs a major health check up and prep for being kenneled.
+ Honda Element needs new tires. Especially with all the mountain snow across the Cascades and Rockies in recent days.
+ My home office is in a shambles. I barely know which end is up in there.
+ Small thing, yet still time consuming--I need a haircut, for what hair I have remaining.
+ Pack for the 1500 mile drive--kid provisions, dog provisions, contingency scenarios, temporarily cleaning the vehicle.
+ Communicate with service providers and educators about absence.

I will be adding to this list, no doubt.

I've learned enough lessons over the years that I provided a preaching-free zone for 2-3 weeks around my trip so that my all-consuming weekly task of speaking in front of 400-plus people, plus a television audience, will not eat me alive while I try to haul my family across hundreds of miles. I'll be glad when we actually get in the car--but it's really time to buckle down.

I think my Husky elation has turn into deflation, then maybe to wisdom

Almost nothing could diminish the joy of watching the UW Huskies beat USC in person. I think it would end up hurting if they didn't win another game the rest of season and that win ends up merely in upset lore among my football brethren, like Mississippi State beating Florida a few years ago and getting Ron Zook fired. I don't want that game to be only a fun victory in an otherwise lost season.

The game today against Notre Dame was a dagger, because the victory over USC is looking more like luck all the time (though I really don't believe that). The Huskies have the talent at QB and receivers, and a mere few on defense, but it's not enough to play with the big boys. To secure momentum, they almost have to win next week at home against Arizona. The games don't get any easier. I want them to give Arizona a beat down and get some momentum back.

Though my life doesn't hang on the Huskies success, it's fun to follow the UW and gives me a little bit of reflection about from where I come. It represents my Granddad and his GI bill, a dream, and being the first member of his family to graduate from college, my father and him scraping by to build some vocational hope through his education, young men learning about responsibility, work ethic and grit. Husky athletics represents some pride in a region and a particular way of doing things. Husky athletics represents the higher education experience. I know from my own personal experience as a collegiate athlete about the dark side of athletics, but I will always come back. Even if I feel deflated for a few days.

My kind of beach

The beach always ranks as a top destination spot for my family and me, but to what kind of beach shall we go? I have traveled to beaches in Southern California, Nicaragua, Virginia, Massachusetts, Florida and Rhode Island. I will always love the lower development cool, drizzly, and cloudy beaches in Washington. Sunny and warm is my least favorite weather pattern. If you're looking for sun 'n' fun, I would recommend going somewhere else.

My family made fun of Moclips, Washington, growing up. We drove there once for I don't know what reason--our destinations of choice involved places that had more services available, like Ocean Shores and Long Beach. As a kid I lived for the trip to the Ilwaco Bowl bowling alley. I prefer Moclips now. Even though we saw people walking along the beach and even saw a wedding party a few hundred yards to the south of our little spot, it felt like we had the place to ourselves. My dear wife and I escorted our children to their favorite kind of outing in the world. It doesn't matter if we hit the Puget Sound or the Pacific Ocean--they can spend hours at the beach running around, picking, digging and exploring. The boundaries are natural and wide. They run, and we kind of follow them.

However, this trip to Moclips was also about family gathering and celebrating milestones--this time, my parents 40th wedding anniversary. I once had this image that perfect family gatherings were possible, if not at least expected. I observed in my childhood that this was a fleeting desire. An attempt to hit a moving target. Family gatherings are not perfect. We all have our imperfections and brokenness, and we do our best to recognize the blessing of family and enjoy the presence of one another. We prepare meals, we play cribbage (my youngest brother trounced me), watch baseball, share stories, and of course--play at the beach. My parents got to watch the whole imperfect, but blessed conglomeration of relationships that is our family.

The reason I like going to Moclips and the Washington beaches is I get to be in my favorite weather and contemplate the gentle yet powerful process that is erosion at work, and I get to do it in a peaceful way. It's the best witness to God I've had in a long time--the evidence of God's action is all around us, yet so subtle, like the undercurrent as it peels the sand away from the bottom of my feet. I can't do a thing about that sand that moves from under my feet. With that movement of sand, I am reminded that my time of two years of part time ministry, full time parenthood and their gently rhythmic yet powerful day are coming to an end. I return to full-time employment tomorrow. I have written more than I have in years, and I've realized that writing is a foundational activity for my balance. I've learned that writing is not a good activity in and of itself--most message boards have made "the pen is mightier than the sword" concrete. Where my writing will go from here, I do not know. Though the erosion may take away the resources from one place, surely they will be deposited somewhere else.

Some places cannot be adequately described by words or photos

Crater Lake National Park epitomizes a great destination spot for me, and more often, my family.

1. It takes a certain kind of effort to get there. It took tenacity to take young children and my older (but also tenacious) in-laws to get there. We had to find an ideal place to rest our heads and accommodate the special needs of daughter #1.

2. The effort also needs to involve traversing a maze of highways that requires some map savvy and at least one, but preferably more "blue highways."

3. The more first-time traveled roads, the better.

4. A destination with beauty that takes my breath away.

5. A destination where stories of the region are available and shared through a combination of reading, imagining, or sharing a conversation.

6. A trip where relationships are strengthened through shared experience.

7. An event that displays some of the best of God's gifts and the human experience.

I'm not sure any destination can meet all seven of these points, but Crater Lake was close. Crater Lake is on the edge of nowhere--and we traveled copious blue highways to get there. We hit the wonderful Bend, Oregon, and its Whole Foods Market to stock up on minimally processed and zero artificial additive foodstuffs to feed our troops for the journey and relaxation.

Crater Lake can only be described well by the best of photographers and writers. I am almost embarrassed to post these photos. I am reminded through my photos what limited perspective I have on the nature of the universe, even when the best of it is staring me in the face. I want to return to this site with my dear wife, and explore some of the more remote places of the park. Hiking Wizard Island (an even more involved trip) is the big destination and points in the desert to the southeast. I am thankful I was able to see this site at least once in my lifetime.

Reliving the field trip through tourism

In some places I have lived, some points of the city were only viewed when visitors came from out of town:

Twin Cities, MN: Mall of America
Copenhagen, Denmark: The Little Mermaid

The Milwaukee, Wisconsin, metro had good things to do, but not in the classical tourist sight-seeing fashion. In Wisconsin, cultural tourism is the way to go. Some of the best times my dear wife and I enjoyed during our 2.5 years there involved basic activities that locals enjoy as well: eating brats/sausage, cheese and the abundance of beer; fish fries (amazing cultural activity--I once read Wisconsin is the highest fish consumption state in the country), enjoying the beautiful autumns, walking near the lake shore, attending sporting events in Madison, Milwaukee Brewers baseball, and Lambeau field. All of these places involve good interaction with locals, something that cannot be promised at a particular tourist destination. I'm not anti-tourist (though I can only handle being a tourist in small doses), I like to find places to visit where I can talk to locals about life in that place.

Seattle has more sights similar to Copenhagen and the Twin Cities. With some visitors coming to town recently, we were off to the kid-friendly stops, the Seattle Aquarium, Pike Place Market and the Space Needle. The Seattle Aquarium is an interesting conglomeration of school/summer camp field trippers, tourists, and local families. I attended at least 2 field trips to the Seattle Aquarium as a child, and visited there on other occasions. I know field trips still occur in these days of slashed education budgets and increased standardized testing, but my anecdotal observation says field trips are dying as an educational experience. That makes me feel melancholy about education. Ultimately, my children will know much more than me in their lifetimes, but I believe in the field trip education experiences I had as a child. The girls and I thoroughly enjoyed the aquarium that day--the best part being that they could touch sea cucumbers, sea anemones, sea urchins and starfish. If the place wasn't crawling with street urchins, I could have hung out there poking and gazing at the sea life for hours--ah, to explore without a schedule--but we let the girls spend the most time there. If I could have been any kind of scientist, it would have involved oceanography.

Of the non-touching exhibits, we liked the jellyfish and the seals the most. We see a lot of jellies on the Puget Sound, but at the aquarium, we were able to examine their intricacies in clearer water behind Plexiglas. Watching seals in captivity is a love-hate experience. They interact with the humans like no other sea life I have seen; they were hamming it up and made us all laugh several times. I wonder about mammals in captivity. I'm sure plenty of people are appalled by the whole enterprise, but I also value the appreciation and awareness about God's creatures that comes from a visit that my girls take to the Seattle Aquarium.

The Space Needle is a place for great views of Seattle and the Puget Sound, but it's not the only viewpoint available in the region. If you want to dodge people taking pictures of one another, purchase expensive provisions and kitsch, the Space Needle is for you. It deserves one or maybe two visits in a lifetime--it might have been enjoyable if the girls weren't so hungry and cranky. I think I got whiplash from keeping my head on a swivel all day--keeping track of two busy girls in a big city takes significant effort, which is probably why my parents didn't take my brothers and I to downtown Seattle on a regular basis.

Now that I have just about squarely hit midlife, I'm the one providing direction and guidance more often in more settings--this little tourist trip represented a shift of roles for me as a Pacific Northwesterner. Our visitors provided me with an opportunity to refine my cultural attache routine for whomever makes the trek to the Seattle metro. Come on over!

The heat wave has finally abated

Back in college, a good friend used to chide me for paying attention to weather forecasts: "Why do you worry about something you can't control?"

I may not be able to control the weather, but I can adjust. Since returning to the Northwest, I have enjoyed reading University of Washington Atmospheric Science Professor Cliff Mass' blog. I thought about his post regarding humidity and realized I did not recognize the humidity with the heat. Indeed, we had a high dew point for the region, but I remember those days in South Dakota and Kansas where I walked outside and sweat with minimal exertion. I loathe that feeling. I love to sweat when working out and dressed to do so, but merely sweating is not my favorite bodily function. It is one reason I would think long and hard before ever taking an opportunity to live in the South. I would be constantly cranky. Even in my more svelte days, I couldn't take the humidity.

I guess I lived long enough in the Midwest that I didn't notice the humidity during the last heat wave. I am shocked.

Our 2 days in triple digit heat

1. We took Mommy/my dear wife to the airport. Though I don't like to drive around for its own sake, the air conditioning in our vehicle is an alluring intoxicant.

2. On the way home we stopped at the mall to get some physical play for the girls on a mall playground. I also don't like going to the mall for its own sake; shopping as an avocation puzzles me on many levels, a new level created after watching TLC's Clean Sweep a few times.

3. We laid low for the afternoon, trying to move as little as possible. I set up a fan triangle of sort on the downstairs level of our townhouse as a marginal oasis. We don't have a thermostat in the house but I'm guessing the temperature inside was somewhere in the 90's. I didn't want to leave because I'm concerned about our geriatric chocolate lab of fragile health. He's never been in this kind of heat. I didn't want to leave for more that 2 hours or so.

4. I hit a wall in heat toleration around 6pm. Though I don't like to take the girls to our pool alone, I thought we needed to get in the pool to cool off. Getting a 6 and 2 year old ready for the pool is a project. My dear wife usually handles hair and general corralling. We finally walked up to the pool at 7pm, only to discover our pool was closed. This was absolute cruelty. I thought we still had some time to travel to a spray park about 30 minutes away before it shut down for the evening. The girls love this place, and we arrived just minutes after it shut down. The girls were crestfallen, and I was getting a bit crazy. All was made better with the promise of ice cream. Walking through the frozen food section at WinCo Foods provided nirvana.

5. We all took cool showers and baths and called it a night over the 1990 full length movie The Jetsons.

All over the world, people deal with high temperatures. For many people in this world, cultural patterns make adjustments for the heat reality. I remember an article about how air conditioning has developed into a middle-class boundary in India. If I was in the air conditioning business, forget the United States, I'd set up shop in India.

Extremes in unexpected places produce stories, as I have witness many local conversations about the "Blizzard Of (insert year)" or the "Drought of (insert year)." An old episode of the Vicar of Dibley satirizes this conversation well. In Cascadia, stories will be prefaced by the Summer of '09. Though Cascadia residents are given to hyperbole in weather extremes, there's some science behind this outlier. I recently found the blog of University of Washington Professor of Atmospheric Science Cliff Mass. This triple digit weather is not merely a point of interest for us weather drama queens, but scientists as well. This map Mass posted of temps southern Thurston County and Lewis County yesterday show some truly crazy temperatures. He even wondered if 114 could have been a realistic reading.

Today we're going to my grandmother's and her air conditioning, but I'm still not going to leave the dog alone at home too long.

Stay cool, Cascadia, the slow descent into relief starts late tonight.

Preaching for August 2, 2009

Exodus 16: 2-4, 9-15
Psalm 78:23-29
Ephesians 4:1-16
John 6:24-35

Preaching in heat is absolutely draining, not just for the preacher, but for the congregation. Some contextual factors probably shouldn't matter to the proclamation of the Gospel, but I think it's an issue. I need to keep my message brief, lest the goodness of the message is lost on people wondering when they can get out of the sanctuary for something cool to drink. If I was a long-term pastor in a congregation, I would start a discussion about air conditioning, or at least provoking a discussion for serving smoothies or bringing in a giant water cooler.

I am thinking about focusing on Exodus this week, mostly because I am once again drawn toward the topic of complaining. Here the Israelites are in a wilderness setting with tenuous provisions. The complaining crescendos--and God produces. Why have I not noticed this before?

If I was God, I wouldn't let my followers benefit from complaining. I don't like to let my own children benefit from complaining. I am less likely to give them something if they whine; on my daughter's responsibility chart, she receives a gold star for days when whining/complaining is eliminated or minimized. After participating in many funerals over the years of ministry, on the list of compliments for the deceased, "he/she never complained" is probably in the top 10. Why is complaining seen as a character flaw outside of legitimate claims of injustice? Even in cases of complaining against injustice, complaining is still not embraced.

Should it be taken into account that the Israelites are complaining about basic provisions? Does God respond to complaints relative to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs? The higher one moves up complaining related to Maslow's chart, does it make it more likely that God will smite people?

Complaining is a strong theme in Wellman's book comparing different ends of the Christian spectrum in the Pacific Northwest--the liberal Protestants are the ones doing the complaining about ministry in the Pacific Northwest, Wellman found in his research. I have assumed complaining is the bad posture--and I've preached 2 sermons this summer interpreting Bible passages toward the deterioration that comes from complaining in the life of the Church.

But here in Exodus is a passage that rewards complaining with abundance, but the abundance of the foundation of Maslow's Hierarchy is called "manna (translated: what is it?)" I think the response to complaining doesn't necessarily speak to a complete giving in by God to complaining--because there are boundaries to dealing with "what is it?" Gather only enough for the day, except for Friday, where you can gather double--which covers God's resting day.

I will be doing a word study on complaining this week, and hope to deliver a refined message on the meaning of complaining for the community of faith, because I think American Christians are particularly adept at complaining. I can complain with the best of them, especially about the heat. My character is severely flawed in the world of Christendom.

Religious geography in 90 seconds

I'm not exactly sure about the accuracy of this sweeping piece of religious geography and history, but for those of us with short attention spans, it's fun and pretty viewing.

Here comes the heat wave

Surfacing reports indicate a heat wave is coming to the Pacific Northwest.

I am looking at this heat wife like a Midwest snow storm in some ways--preparation mode. The comparison to a Midwest snowstorm doesn't really work--the Midwest adjusts to weather extremes far better than any place west of the Cascade mountains. My preparation mode began earlier this morning--I have a cool overcast morning with which to work, and I am cooking on the stove now to avoid turning it on later during the unbearable temperatures. I've cooked some chicken breasts, pasta and macaroni and cheese; some will be used for the microwave, some will be mixed in a salad. I'm getting out my camping grill later (packed in a box somewhere) so I can cook something else in the next week. I want to be able to feed my family a decent meal while still following The Frugal Rule. It would be oh, so tempting to go out to a nice, air conditioned restaurant during the heat wave, but not really cost effective.

I remember big snow days in the Midwest--we had/have a good vehicle for getting around, but why take a chance going into a ditch when it isn't necessary? When I knew the storm was coming, I made sure we had hot meals ready to make, milk, and some food to easily prepare if the power went out because of an ice storm.

The heat wave is my least favorite weather extreme for which to prepare, but I also like testing my expanding home economist skills. My next big test will be if I can get going early enough in the morning to get in my long run before it gets too warm.

The excellent rain

While taking the dog out this morning for his morning constitutional, I felt a cool, light and wet feeling on my arms. The air has been so dry this summer in the Pacific Northwest that I looked around to see if I had unknowingly walked through a sprinkler. From an overcast sky, I received the refreshing blessing of a rain I had not felt in years--the rain mist that doesn't get you wet. I felt the rain, but there was no evidence of rain on my skin or clothing.

As Timothy Egan points out in his great book, The Good Rain, Seattle is not even close to being a top city in the U.S. for rain (though its neighbor on the coast, Quillayute, is #3). There is still a perception of rain culture in the PNW that cannot be shaken.

Maybe the rain perception has something to do with the overcast skies, the moderate climate, the method of dress for locals, even the way the locals name a huge festival after an English colloquialism for an umbrella (a festival that celebrates the region a few weeks before the rains come for another 8 months or so). Maybe it has something to do with feeling a rain that I have never felt anywhere else in my travels.

The rain this morning reminded me (quoting a friend): "my feet felt like they belonged." It rained, but my feet didn't get wet. It's almost like Moses with the burning bush (Exodus 3:2): "[Moses] looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed."

I stood under the rain, yet I was not wet: a Pacific Northwest odyssey.

Downtown Owl: my new sub-hobby as a Chuck Klosterman apologist (as if he needs one)

Regardless of book quality, rarely do I complete a book in less than a week. Granted, Chuck Klosterman is relatively easy to read--sometimes I find it easier to read Klosterman than the comics section.

Why do I find him so easy to read these days? Klosterman feels like a pseudo-friend as I read his work. I don't think I have the life, time or energy for many friends these days. I don't necessarily lament this, I live a blessed life. However, there's a distinct quality and added value to reading (hearing) something about a philosophical shared experience. Though I wasn't born in the Northern Great Plains (NGP), I recently lived there for 8 1/2 years, and those years left an indelible imprint on my life. Klosterman no longer lives in North Dakota, yet he writes in a way that attempts to extract meaning from his life in North Dakota that only distance provides. As I am neither a book critic or well-read, I wonder if Klosterman is unique in his depiction of the NGP, one who understands the cultural characteristics of NGP life and actually names them with a bit of critique and an abiding affection (Klosterman dedicates the novel to "Melissa" and "North Dakota." The only author I can recall who comes close is Garrison Keillor (is Klosterman a sort of Gen X Keillor? I'm waiting for Klosterman's new book in October). The major difference I would note is Keillor's distinct use of sarcasm is mostly absent in Klosterman. Where Keillor gave me humorous insights to cultural quirks in the NGP, Klosterman has helped me extract meaning from my experiences in the NGP over the past 8 years.

As a pastor in the NGP, I served in places like Owl, North Dakota, but I never lived there. I always went home to the big city to sleep in my bed with my dear wife. I attended basketball games, I ate at the local cafes, I observed teenage socialization, I observed particular family dynamics, I participated in senior citizen philosophical symposiums in church basements and local eateries. After all of those years in NGP ministry, I learned that though I had a passport into strange places in people's lives that few (if any) other people had, most people behave differently in the known proximity of their pastor. Therefore there was much I didn't see in people's basic lives. Klosterman provided plausible and interesting depictions of characters with whom I interacted in the congregations I served--but I also didn't get to know. Klosterman filled in some curious gaps for me. Even though Klosterman claims his work is not autobiographical, he is writing about what he knows. Though Klosterman creates an omniscient narrator for Downtown Owl, I feel like the novel represents getting together with a friend to compare and contrast life in particular towns of which Klosterman knows.

After reading reviews of Downtown Owl from Entertainment Weekly and The New York Times. Both reviewers critique Klosterman's level of omniscience, that Downtown Owl reads too much like a Klosterman essay, with nimble cultural commentary that is sometimes distracting from character development. This critique may or may not be valid; I suppose it may depend on why you're reading the book. Though I didn't necessarily care about all of Klosterman's cultural commentary from the narrator, I'm not sure Klosterman cares if a reader resonates with all of his references. I believe that is his style. He gives his readers too much to think about, but writes in a way that says, "enjoy what you can, gain insight from what you can, toss aside the rest. It doesn't bother me." Sure, some of Klosterman's social commentaries may have been superfluous to character development, but it didn't take away from my personal resonance with the characters and the general observations about Owl compared to the rest of America. I was still able to extract meaning in light of my own experiences that made me laugh and think on multiple levels. Few authors have that kind of cache with me, which is why I finished the book in a week.

If you want to learn more about Klosterman, check out his two-part podcast appearance with Bill Simmons from ESPN (look for June 28-29). My big learning from these podcasts was that the only way Klosterman was able to get his novel published was that Downtown Owl was part of a two book deal, the other being a book of essays (to be released October 2009). I'm glad Klosterman has the kind of leverage that he can write out of his own creative place and not merely what some believe the market will bear. I hope that Downtown Owl sold enough books that Klosterman will write another novel.

Post script on books: Klosterman was about the only reading distraction I had to finishing Tess of the D'Urbervilles this week. In the quest for something new, Christopher Hitchens "god is not Great" was available at my local library branch. Though somewhat interesting, Hitchens won't eclipse Tess on my priority list. But something else may come along...

More on the hot topic of North Dakota

Yet another reason why North Dakota is cool.

An evolving relationship with coffee (part 3)

Just when I thought coffee culture couldn't reveal any more to me, I was thrown a curve ball. As a young adult seminary student and intern, the coffee klatches were merely apoplectic about my avoidance of coffee. As a pastor, elderly women of Northern European descent became outright evangelistic (though with differing techniques) about coffee consumption.

Some statements by the Coffistas created a nuanced persuasion that I somehow missed something in my earlier experiences with coffee:
"Nothing tastes as good with a pan of my turtle (or insert any type of cookie or bar) bars like a cup of coffee (watch out when you find a Coffista Food Pusher)!"

"Sure, you may have tried coffee, but you've never tried EGG coffee!

I didn't want these elderly evangelists to know that I did taste their egg coffee. I don't think the egg does a damn thing to the taste (it still tastes like crap), but for them, adding the egg makes it a special occasion--which I think is the most important aspect of this recipe. The coffee tastes like licking the bottom of a recycle bin because the ultra-cheap coffee (coffee brands with names like Butter Nut) sits for hours in their 40-year old metallic percolators. Maybe the egg knocks down the beverage toxicity around five percent.

Sometimes the coffee evangelists took on a Big Brother tone: "You'll be drinking coffee before you leave this church." This type of statement from the Coffistas of the NGP/UM annoyed me more than any other, and made my anti-coffee stance even more resolute.

There was also the side of coffee culture that made me laugh. One day at a local cafe in which I used to frequent, I inquired about the status of Oliver's day. His reply. "Oh, I've been here most of the day talking with my friends. I'm on my 7th pot of coffee."

Seventh pot of coffee?!?!?!?!?

Here I learned the lesson about coffee strength. My loved ones tend to go for deeply black coffee that looks like gas tank sludge. The darker color speaks to coffee efficiency--the beverage remains a social lubricant, but also operates as a charge for the day. No drinking seven pots here. Conversely, Oliver and his ilk use a coffee not so much concerned with efficiency, but it's warmth and drinking motion that fills the time gaps and provides space to think. This type of pregnant pause to drink and swallow allows time to prepare statements and responses that solve the problems of the church, world, and discussing "prayer concerns (aka gossip)." Drinking coffee provides a tactile motion similar to prayer. I still struggle with the arithmetic that 90-year old man can drink 7 pots of coffee in 4 hours. In this equation I discovered a new paint color or J Crew clothing fabric hue: "Old Man Lutheran Coffee." This "coffee" is almost the shade of Lipton tea, but is not quite as red. Old Man Lutheran Coffee is almost transparent; certainly one can see the bottom of the cup when the coffee is poured. I don't marvel at the weakness of the coffee, but that a 90-year-old man would be willing to urinate with the frequency necessary to consume 7 pots of coffee.

Since Oliver is now sipping coffee with the heavenly court, maybe I'll figure out the mysteries of this culture on the other side of heaven when he greets me in heaven's basement. Heaven's basement wouldn't be hell, just the place where Oliver probably prefers to be after a full day of praising God.

I served in 7 congregations throughout the NGP/UM Lutheran Holy Land, walking a wide enough circle around the Coffistas to be able to observe coffee culture with a bemused detachment. Until 2009.

An evolving relationship with coffee (part 2)

I thought the cultural attachment to coffee in the Northern Great Plains/Upper Midwest (NGP/UM) strange as I moved more deeply into congregational life. The relationship to coffee appeared different in the Pacific Northwest in my simultaneous regional observations. In the early 90's coffee developed into a heavy commerce/status/survival commodity in the Pacific Northwest. Commerce, because coffee stands sprung up like rainy season mushrooms all over the PNW, in any old place. As a non-coffee drinker, I saw it as a status/commerce thing at the time. However, after repeated visits to the PNW, my dear wife commented that coffee was more of a survival drink, offering a means to get through mind-altering and numerous overcast days. I found that argument persuasive, though I still could not relate. So much money and effort placed on something that tasted like something brewed from dishwater, dirt and acid.

Coffee in the NGP/UM Lutheran culture became annoying--it was a social ticket in any congregation with which I came in contact. I literally received gasps when I refused coffee. What does one do with their hands and mouth during a conversation? How does one stay awake during an Adult Bible Study on a Sunday morning? I joke that I almost wasn't ordained or graduated from seminary because part of the examination period involved being offered a cup of coffee. If I didn't accept, I failed and would be removed from the program. This joke was not completely baseless; I had one instance where I thought I was failing on my internship because of coffee. A local pastor was visibly offended when I refused coffee at a meeting and insisted multiple times I had a cup. "What do you MEAN you don't drink coffee (can't Baptists enter into anything without judgment--I'll have to talk with my friend Theobilly the Baptist about this one)?!??!???" Having a weak self-esteem bubble, I gagged through a cup and 1/2 and felt a racing heart mangled taste buds the rest of the morning.

Marriage offered me no shelter from coffee culture--my dear wife loves her coffee. Few things solidify and care for our marriage like the dependable cup of coffee brewed in the morning, it speaks something about the commitment of love. She taught me the art of working with espresso--and I have developed into a decent amateur barista. We've worked our way through two espresso machines in nearly 12 years of marriage, and are in need of a third. I attempted to resurrect our last machine, but broke it beyond repair in that attempt. The Frugal Rule is so strong that we are holding off on a new machine purchase until our budget can help us acquire a higher quality device. But we have our basic Mr. Coffee to get us through the interim period. My dear wife has never been a militant coffee activist. She has never derided me for my simple freedom to reject coffee--only that I tolerate her simple(?) pleasure and not look down on keeping it as a household staple. No problem there. Though I don't like the taste or smell of coffee, it doesn't evoke the gag reflex like the banana or paper mache.

After ordination and graduation from seminary, I became more resolute in my personal rejection of coffee, but it wasn't merely the coffee institution, but the entire idea of caffeine. I wondered about the need for such a stimulant. A very good friend of mine used to carry large gas station containers of java wherever he went at the seminary--I could identify a place he landed, because he left his coffee jugs all over campus with his papers and books. One day in a real smart-aleck tone I told him--"I don't need coffee, I just sleep. It works a lot better for studying." Part of this declaration involved what I learned trying to pull all-nighters...but I still had (have) a lot to learn.

An evolving relationship with coffee (part 1)

I live in a borderland region between idealism and pragmatism. Nothing has made me realize such borderland living than raising children.

Life in idealism says that I have control in my life. I do not need the typical human aides for day to day life. Life in pragmatism says that I need to make choices that will allow me to uphold my values even when those choices may go against personal preferences in the short term. I do not write of a deep ethical deliberation, I write about my evolving relationship with coffee--from the place of idealism to pragmatism.

The prominent adults in my life, except for my father, began their day and jolted their mid-day with a terrible product I knew as Taster's Choice instant coffee. The brown crystalline powder smelled of landfill dirt laced with acid. My Mom and Granddad drank it, and it was the one drink in the house (besides booze) that it was easy from which to keep me. Despite its mysterious aversive qualities, that green or red decorated glass jar was a morning icon of sorts. This instant coffee, in all its putridity, signified grown-up culture. The grown-ups knew something that the children did not know. For all I wanted to know about being a grown-up, this coffee substance was a mystery for which I had no complaint. Occasionally I tried to drink from this mystery, only to send shudders throughout my nerve endings. It was something that my love for straight sugar could not serve. Though I could eat straight sugar cubes and spoonfuls of brown sugar, not even piles of sugar at the church coffee stop could make that dirty liquid taste appealing, even with a deep desire to be a grown-up myself, it still tasted terrible.

I avoided coffee throughout most of my teenage years. When my friends started drinking coffee on late night trips to Denny's or local coffee houses, I discovered a more palatable bitter beverage. Earl Grey became my bitter beverage of choice--it provided an enjoyable jolt and for some reason I enjoyed its bitter better. I think it may have tasted better because it became the beverage of my ever expanding ideas of the world--late night discussions with friends.

For some reason, I moved away from Earl Grey during my undergraduate days at the University of Kansas. Somehow the name Earl Grey doesn't match Kansas. While some drank coffee at all night study sessions, I surmised I needed to make the cultural leap toward coffee. At the church that opened its doors to late night studiers with coffee and donuts in Lawrence--I took a sip of coffee and thought I needed to find something else--all of the awful memories of this drink did not change. The commercials for General Foods International Coffees gave me an image of hot cocoa with a jolt. This beverage still tasted putrid to me. I moved on to Mountain Dew to get me through the study session. After attempting 4 all night sessions, falling asleep during one of my Russian History final examination, I learned that studying throughout the semester and sleeping well was a better equation for academic success than stimulant beverages.

When I continued my academic career in Minnesota, I was more immersed in Lutheran culture than ever before, and that jokes about coffee culture that I thought were exaggerated were not tall tales. Some said that along with Baptism and Communion coffee was the "third Sacrament." Coffee appeared to be a social pillar like cigarettes or alcohol--I wondered if a group of Minnesotans couldn't get together without sharing coffee. I loved Minnesota, and it represented a huge positive shift in my life, but this was a cultural institution I wanted to avoid. Looking back, I still wanted to maintain my own identity in this powerful cultural milieu. If you don't believe that Northern Great Plains/Upper Midwest Lutheranism is not a powerful cultural milieu, consider Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion. I once believed this was a comedic exaggeration I would never understand, but learned in 16 years of living in the heart of Northern Great Plains/Upper Midwest Lutheran culture, that it is no comedic exaggeration, but only highlighting cultural idiosyncrasies with gifted storytelling with a willingness not to take self too seriously. Avoiding coffee was my way of still maintaining self in the midst of strong formational cultural presence. These cultural distinctions appear not to matter much, but I think these cultural interactions we witness in the midst of a mobile society offer all kinds of points about how we create culture and how we as humans build relationships and societies.