When I first entered Corvallis, the city’s population size sign was one of the first things to greet me besides the beautiful panorama. The sign says 56,535, but as of this week, this number can be increased by a whopping… wait for it…one! During a seven-day adventure from Connecticut to Corvallis, my dog Grover and I encountered an assortment of interesting obstacles and stunning scenery, including pronghorn antelope, the occasional free-ranging cow, a blizzard over a mountain pass, what felt like hurricane-force winds (creating white-knuckled driving and relentless mirror checking to insure the gear strapped to my car was not sprawled across the highway behind me), high altitude deserts, majestic canyons, towering waterfalls, and even a double rainbow off of I-5 between Salem and Corvallis. This was a harbinger of good things to come, for Corvallis was at the end of the literal and figurative rainbow.
Beautiful Corvallis. Population 56,535…make that 56,536.
For seven years it had been a dream of mine to return to the West. Previously, I had made several solo national park-hopping trips around the country and lived in Wyoming, Montana, and California to work on large carnivore research projects, including Pacific fisher, cougars, bobcats, and wolves. Why the seven-year delay? Langston Hughes’ popular poem “Harlem” warns us as to what may happen to a dream that is deferred. Being there for the birth of my two nephews, spending time with my grandmothers during their last days, graduate school, a teaching opportunity, my debut into the land trust community- all of these experiences enriched my life immensely, and I am grateful for these truly invaluable opportunities. Underneath the surface, however, the drive to return to the West kept tugging on my shirt sleeve. Its pull was gaining a strength I could no longer shrug off or delay. I knew that despite my family being on the East Coast, home for me is in the West, but not just anywhere.
Trapping, radiocollaring, and tracking bobcats in California as part of a long-term study.
You may experience the same connections to the Willamette Valley or to Oregon in general. Simply envisioning this region conjures up vivid and beautiful landscape imagery- big unobstructed views of the sky outstretched to the horizon, spired conifer forests, rolling foothills shielding majestic snow-capped peaks, bucolic farmland dotted with charismatic livestock (but watch out for those lamas!), vast green meadows with seas of wildflowers, the migratory birds announcing their seasonal passage overhead, the smell of the cold rain showers interspersed among the welcoming warmth of the sun, and juicy bites into rich and fresh local foods. This imagery touches the five senses that are operationalized for us in kindergarten- sight, smell, touch, taste, and hearing. In our day-to-day lives, we are often on habitual auto-pilot and are not fully conscious of these things as senses; we just go along with the flow and respond to stimuli subconsciously. If something striking heightens our awareness- an awe-inspiring vista, a pungent smell, the softness of a unique fabric, a rich food, a loud noise- then we become more aware of our senses.
A swath of Oregon fawn lilies (Erythronium oregonum) in full bloom at the Bald Hill Natural Area.
The sense we are often not directed to, but yet somehow feel deep down, is our sense of place. Call it a sixth sense or a feeling in your bones or your soul. It is something that moves you emotionally and causes you to physically migrate to a place that feels right, that feels like home. We all have it and we all feel it, but our sense of place is often unappreciated unless its dissatisfaction creates a rumble deep within to which we must direct our attention once this sound becomes too deafening to ignore. While senses like sight, hearing, or taste (I personally have a big sweet tooth!) seem to dominate our lives, I argue that sense of place is of equal importance and it influences our lives in more ways than we realize.
Grover enjoying the mountain views from the Bald Hill Natural Area
My move to Corvallis was of both strategy and luck. I had been looking for a job in Oregon for quite some time. I never had the privilege of living here before, but I had driven through Oregon during a cross-country road trip my mom orchestrated for my older sister and me when I was ten. I fell in love with the area and longed to return. Rather than this dream withering away in the sun like Langston Hughes’ raisin, this dream is alive and well and, better yet, fulfilled thanks to Greenbelt Land Trust! Moving to Corvallis and the Willamette Valley is like coming home.
This is the place where I have a sense of place- I feel comfortable and like I can breathe, be myself, and can be a part of something larger than myself. I have space to move and explore. I live next to biking trails that take me to work and to a large network of hiking trails. I live close enough to work that I can take Grover hiking in the morning, take him out at lunch, and even go on a second hike after work. On the weekends, I can explore the coast, go backpacking and camping in two mountain ranges, hike through old-growth forests, and paddle rivers. I enjoy being able to take advantage of educational and cultural opportunities and live in a diverse community with friendly, open-minded folks and people more my age (single 30-somethings). I feel a shared sense of purpose living in a place that has a general culture of conservation. I love having access to a variety of restaurants, local foods, and living near and supporting local agriculture. I appreciate the local and state pride that Corvallisites and Oregonians have. All of these things combined lead me to think that the grass really is greener in Corvallis. And all of the rain makes this true!
Blog Post By: Rebecca McKay Steinberg, Membership and Outreach Coordinator
