Growing up
This past weekend I was in Athens, Ohio, for a business and personal trip. The business part was to write up an article on the flooding that hit the area mid-May. The personal part was to attend and speak at a retirement dinner for my campus pastor.
This was the first time I drove back Athens on my own, which makes the six hour drive not the most fun. I rented a car, and they gave me this little Suzuki Aerio tin can that actually handled the mountains along I-68 in Maryland and West Virginia fairly well. I thought sure the tiny hamster-run engine would start smoking and die going up some of the mountains, but I made it. The drive out there is beautiful,at least.
On Friday I headed up Route 13 in southeast Ohio to follow the path of flood destruction, and I met some interesting people. Stopping by one local Salvation Army flood donations center in Glouster, I hoped to chat with some workers. I got much more than that.
As I walked up to the front door, this guy sitting out front immediately goes, "Well, you must be a reporter."
I laughed and said that I was, was it the notepad and camera bag that gave me away?
He ended up being a fantastic person to talk to, and we talked for over an hour about everything from flood relief to his run for county commissioner to his idea on how to make welfare and Medicare better programs.
From there I headed up to Corning, Ohio. All these small Appalachia towns are so interesting. Their tiny downtown sections look like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, although many are also run-down. But I loved looking at all the old storefronts. And at the time, I hated how my cell phone got absolutely no reception out there, but looking back, that was also kind of cool. I had to scrounge up some quarters and stop at the local gas station to call up my local contacts.
That made me really appreciate the town more. I got to stand at the pay phone and look around town. People-watching is something I really love doing -- and in this case, it gave me ideas about the how the towns worked and felt. Hard to describe, but things just moved much slower, which is a nice change from the craziness of the Baltimore/DC area.
After Corning, I traveled up and over a big mountain and headed down into the tiniest of tiny towns, Hemlock. This was definitely one of those towns that if you blinked, you would miss it. In Hemlock I had to get over my nerves of approaching disaster survivors while not being with another local. Does that make sense? It's much easier to talk to disaster survivors when you are with someone local who knows the area and knows them. It's like an approval thing.
Anyway, my local contact wasn't able to be there with me, but told me to check out this one house that had been pushed off its foundation during the flood. The house wasn't immediately obvious to me, but I found one that could be it.
So I got out of the car, and the homeowners came to the front door before I could get there. They seemed stand-offish at first, but I name-dropped and stumbled about how I was writing for a faith-based news site, etc.., and they let me take a look at the damage. A fairly uncomfortable conversation ensued, but they were at least friendly enough to let me ask them a few questions and take a few pictures.
I always come out of these on-site stories feeling sad. This area of Ohio is the poorest in the state, and the survivors I spoke with were definitely living in hard times. Almost none had flood insurance, many couldn't even live in their homes, and most weren't sure how they were going to move on from now. The whole experience definitely keeps me grounded and grateful for what I have in life, and grateful for the people and organizations who work 24/7 to help those in need. The experience also makes me grateful for my job, which helps out people that get forgotten about after disasters -- people like the folks along Route 13 in southeast Ohio.
Back down in Chauncey, Ohio, I stopped at another gas station. My cell was back in service again, so I checked in with my editor, and then grabbed a burger from the gas station food section. I ate in the car, with the driver's side door open and my feet on the pavement, watching folks move around the station and enjoying the light rain that had just started falling.
I keep meaning to take a picture of the inside of a reporter's car when they're on-assignment, as it's sometimes humorous and always an organized mess. Well, at least that's what my business trip rental cars turn into. The passenger side floor is the garbage can/storage place for stuff that you may use soon (maps, CDs, etc...). The passenger seat holds all things that are important right now (maps, camera, notebook, cell phone, snacks, CDs, etc..), and the items placed there will be switched between the passenger side floor and the seat. Anything in the back seat will not be touched until you leave the car for the day -- which means it will probably just stay in the hotel room until needed.
Back at the hotel for the weekend (which was an extra room in the home of a college friend), I banged out an article, emailed it off, and then switched to me-on-vacation.
I spent Saturday wandering around Athens with a good friend who also came in town for the retirement dinner. We had a really good time chatting about jobs, significant others, complaining about how college students dress these days, comparing how the college looked now to how it did back in our day, and just about everything else.
We both realized that we're growing up, and talked about the thoughts of buying our first homes and if we'd ever have kids. I told her I knew I was growing up as soon as our furniture not only started to match, but also that we were its first owners. She said it was her recent meeting with a financial planner to discuss retirement savings that scared her.
That night we headed over to the retirement dinner, which was fantastic. I saw folks I hadn't seen since graduating four years ago. I was also honored to be one of the few speakers, and my speech went over very well. It's funny, I've done improv for several years now and been on stage many other times, but I was still nervous to speak this time. Maybe because I really wanted folks to enjoy my speech and honor the retiree.
But people liked it, and one guy even asked if I ever wanted to come back to Ohio and run for office. I told him I'd think about it.
And then just like that, the weekend was over. Early Sunday morning, I got back into the Suzuki tin can and headed home.
Driving time is good thinking time. I've said the following to many folks and lots agree -- I think one's 20s are meant to be spent figuring things out. I know other life decades also include figuring things out, but each is significant. The 20s is usually first real jobs, maybe marriage, maybe buying a home, some have kids, etc...
I don't have everything figured out -- and I don't think I ever want to have everything figured out at any time -- and I'm perfectly happy with that.
This past weekend I was in Athens, Ohio, for a business and personal trip. The business part was to write up an article on the flooding that hit the area mid-May. The personal part was to attend and speak at a retirement dinner for my campus pastor.
This was the first time I drove back Athens on my own, which makes the six hour drive not the most fun. I rented a car, and they gave me this little Suzuki Aerio tin can that actually handled the mountains along I-68 in Maryland and West Virginia fairly well. I thought sure the tiny hamster-run engine would start smoking and die going up some of the mountains, but I made it. The drive out there is beautiful,at least.
On Friday I headed up Route 13 in southeast Ohio to follow the path of flood destruction, and I met some interesting people. Stopping by one local Salvation Army flood donations center in Glouster, I hoped to chat with some workers. I got much more than that.
As I walked up to the front door, this guy sitting out front immediately goes, "Well, you must be a reporter."
I laughed and said that I was, was it the notepad and camera bag that gave me away?
He ended up being a fantastic person to talk to, and we talked for over an hour about everything from flood relief to his run for county commissioner to his idea on how to make welfare and Medicare better programs.
From there I headed up to Corning, Ohio. All these small Appalachia towns are so interesting. Their tiny downtown sections look like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, although many are also run-down. But I loved looking at all the old storefronts. And at the time, I hated how my cell phone got absolutely no reception out there, but looking back, that was also kind of cool. I had to scrounge up some quarters and stop at the local gas station to call up my local contacts.
That made me really appreciate the town more. I got to stand at the pay phone and look around town. People-watching is something I really love doing -- and in this case, it gave me ideas about the how the towns worked and felt. Hard to describe, but things just moved much slower, which is a nice change from the craziness of the Baltimore/DC area.
After Corning, I traveled up and over a big mountain and headed down into the tiniest of tiny towns, Hemlock. This was definitely one of those towns that if you blinked, you would miss it. In Hemlock I had to get over my nerves of approaching disaster survivors while not being with another local. Does that make sense? It's much easier to talk to disaster survivors when you are with someone local who knows the area and knows them. It's like an approval thing.
Anyway, my local contact wasn't able to be there with me, but told me to check out this one house that had been pushed off its foundation during the flood. The house wasn't immediately obvious to me, but I found one that could be it.
So I got out of the car, and the homeowners came to the front door before I could get there. They seemed stand-offish at first, but I name-dropped and stumbled about how I was writing for a faith-based news site, etc.., and they let me take a look at the damage. A fairly uncomfortable conversation ensued, but they were at least friendly enough to let me ask them a few questions and take a few pictures.
I always come out of these on-site stories feeling sad. This area of Ohio is the poorest in the state, and the survivors I spoke with were definitely living in hard times. Almost none had flood insurance, many couldn't even live in their homes, and most weren't sure how they were going to move on from now. The whole experience definitely keeps me grounded and grateful for what I have in life, and grateful for the people and organizations who work 24/7 to help those in need. The experience also makes me grateful for my job, which helps out people that get forgotten about after disasters -- people like the folks along Route 13 in southeast Ohio.
Back down in Chauncey, Ohio, I stopped at another gas station. My cell was back in service again, so I checked in with my editor, and then grabbed a burger from the gas station food section. I ate in the car, with the driver's side door open and my feet on the pavement, watching folks move around the station and enjoying the light rain that had just started falling.
I keep meaning to take a picture of the inside of a reporter's car when they're on-assignment, as it's sometimes humorous and always an organized mess. Well, at least that's what my business trip rental cars turn into. The passenger side floor is the garbage can/storage place for stuff that you may use soon (maps, CDs, etc...). The passenger seat holds all things that are important right now (maps, camera, notebook, cell phone, snacks, CDs, etc..), and the items placed there will be switched between the passenger side floor and the seat. Anything in the back seat will not be touched until you leave the car for the day -- which means it will probably just stay in the hotel room until needed.
Back at the hotel for the weekend (which was an extra room in the home of a college friend), I banged out an article, emailed it off, and then switched to me-on-vacation.
I spent Saturday wandering around Athens with a good friend who also came in town for the retirement dinner. We had a really good time chatting about jobs, significant others, complaining about how college students dress these days, comparing how the college looked now to how it did back in our day, and just about everything else.
We both realized that we're growing up, and talked about the thoughts of buying our first homes and if we'd ever have kids. I told her I knew I was growing up as soon as our furniture not only started to match, but also that we were its first owners. She said it was her recent meeting with a financial planner to discuss retirement savings that scared her.
That night we headed over to the retirement dinner, which was fantastic. I saw folks I hadn't seen since graduating four years ago. I was also honored to be one of the few speakers, and my speech went over very well. It's funny, I've done improv for several years now and been on stage many other times, but I was still nervous to speak this time. Maybe because I really wanted folks to enjoy my speech and honor the retiree.
But people liked it, and one guy even asked if I ever wanted to come back to Ohio and run for office. I told him I'd think about it.
And then just like that, the weekend was over. Early Sunday morning, I got back into the Suzuki tin can and headed home.
Driving time is good thinking time. I've said the following to many folks and lots agree -- I think one's 20s are meant to be spent figuring things out. I know other life decades also include figuring things out, but each is significant. The 20s is usually first real jobs, maybe marriage, maybe buying a home, some have kids, etc...
I don't have everything figured out -- and I don't think I ever want to have everything figured out at any time -- and I'm perfectly happy with that.
posted by H at
1:29 PM
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