Saturday morning.

 The weekend. Finally. Lately, the days mesh together with only Saturday and Sunday illuminating. Start off fresh. No responsibilities. No meetings. No emails. No finite plan. Just two days to do, well, anything. Wake up early and cook breakfast. No rush. Simply enjoy it. A house to myself. Space. Funny how I still crave an empty house in the middle of nowhere. Not that I don’t enjoy the company of Suzanne, just sometimes it’s nice to be alone. My thoughts on Saturday morning. The day. Alarm set for 8. Make a real breakfast. Moscow for biking. Coffee with Michele. Fishing with the Barnes. A good day. A relaxing day. Cherish these moments, it’s going to be a long week. “Beep.” I wake up. A deep breath. Stretch. Alarm off. I’m up. Home. I think of home. I often think of home at this time of day. “This feels like a New England Coffee type of morning,” I mutter to myself. Self-dialoguing becomes socially acceptable when not around other people. These mornings remind me of college. The cliff house. A morning ritual of sorts for Lynne and I -- cinnamon hazelnut coffee with a splash of vanilla soy milk. Divine. The perfect combination. This was one of those mornings. I miss those mornings. I need this morning. Food. Eggs -- scrambled. I hear the screams. Kids tackling chickens. I still can’t get over the chicken scramble at the fair. I shake it off. Fry the eggs. Eject the toast. Into my plate. Sip the coffee. “Clank.” The fork meets the ceramic plate like a mallet hitting a gong. I finish eating. Satisfied. Excited. No responsibilities. A day to relax. I hear silence. Nothing but the strange whistle as cars travel past. I descend to my room. I pack for the day. Noises. Feet. My mind races. Ears perk. “What the… it must be the cats. Yes, it’s the cats… they’re always fighting… no. It can’t be. That’s a person. Who the hell is that? Shit… this would happen… there’s no way that’s Suzanne. She left to Walla Walla only a few hours ago.” I pause. Frozen. My feet snug in my shoes. Spandex tight around my thighs. Ready to run. Ready to attack. I reach for the pocketknife. The cool metal causes my warm body to shiver as I clip it on my shorts. “Don’t mess with a masshole,” I mouth in the mirror. I’m prepared. I step out the door and tip toe down the hall. I continue to hear the rustling of bags, feet scurrying across the carpet above me. I peer out the window. No use. Can’t see the driveway. I quietly ascend up the stairs. I make my way around the corner, peering up. Nothing. I hear, but see nothing. The last step. I see the kitchen. I laugh. “Oh hey, Suzanne. You’re back early.” Relief? Maybe. Relaxed? Definitely not. I leave. No responsibilities. Enjoy the day. It’s going to be a long week.  

(While holding a beet...) Sometimes, life's just unbeetable!

I should start out by simply apologizing for my lack of blogging, but the real world takes a lot out of you! My eyelids have developed an automatic timer set like a garage door to shut at 9:30 p.m. And I struggle to keep them open any longer. In college, I always looked forward to a real job with an actual schedule and consistent paycheck. What was I thinking? Sure per diem life had it’s perks. When the phone rang and you recognized the number as work, you could simply let it ring, wait for the voice mail message to come up, then contemplate whether you want to go in. Of course if you waited long enough to call back, they typically already found someone. And in the off-chance they hadn’t, you could still say you have to bring your cat to Petco and couldn’t miss the appointment. In the full-time work world, too bad if Fluffy needs her nails trimmed, you’re going to work. Granted my life as an AmeriCorps ‘whatever’ (We’re still working on the right word to follow AmeriCorps. Typically we fill in the blank with ‘person.’) doesn’t nearly come with the hardships of triple checking your timesheet, but it can get complicated. Especially considering I have 4 separate places to journal my day to day tasks and 3 places to fill in my hours. But it’s all worth it. I absolutely love what I’m doing -- just don’t ask me what I’m doing. It’s rather difficult to describe and a bunch of miscellaneous jargon typically pours out of my mouth if you get me going. In a nut shell, I’m trying to motivate people to get excited about taking care of themselves and be healthy. How? By making really awesome posters and thinking of creative ways to convince people that sugar free chocolate tastes just better than Ghiradelli. Good luck, right? But each day, despite never ending computer issues and CDEMS (our chronic disease management program… aka, my new best friend) drama, I realize more and more how I am in exactly the right place. I absolutely adore the people I work with and I never go more than 10 minutes without laughing. My super supportive supervisor Susie (Hows that for alliteration?) always keeps me smiling and finding ways for me to get the most out of my experience. I really couldn’t ask for a better mentor or site supervisor. She even gets my sarcasm and my puns… I’ve been gradually working them into conversation. I’m not sure Pomeroy’s truly ready for the KFo jokes. It took Suzanne a good minute or so for her to get my “Hay! It’s your birthday!” card (it had a picture I took of a hay bale on front). Speaking of Pomeroy, I want to mention a little side note. So last week I went up to Spokane (one of the bigger cities in Washington) to get Edward serviced at the Volvo dealership. I dropped him off and decided to explore the area. You know, soak in the streetlights, commercialized city blocks, and graffitied underpasses -- all things I thought I missed. Thought, key word. Now, I can navigate anyone on the T and get you to most places in Boston. Typically, I get cities. Well if you saw me in Spokane you would have thought I’d never stepped foot in more than a 12 block town.  Being in a new place with no idea where to go lead me to require calling Michele, desperate to find my way back to the dealership. And I still got lost. I guess living in a place where there’s only one Main Street causing you to lose your sense of direction. Each step I kept saying, “I just want to be back in Pomeroy.” But this wasn’t the only thing I realized. As I walked down the city streets, I found myself in an almost meditative state. I really took the time to observe my surroundings and take in everything around me, and it hit me. For so long I’ve craved to live in the city, Cambridge specifically. I wanted to be in a place where everything could be accessed out my front steps and I depended on public transportation (Because the T is so dependable... insert sarcasm). I always considered big cities as a place where the need for volunteers surpassed places like Pomeroy. Hence why I applied for AmeriCorps positions in major cities around the states (and somehow Pomeroy fell into that category… hmmm). Yet as I walked down a street I couldn’t point out on a map, I realized I don’t belong in a big city. At least not with what I’m doing now. Sure the need’s great in those overpopulated areas, but it’s equally as necessary in places where your closest neighbors lives a quarter mile down the road… in both directions. And the thing is, when you live in a city you merely become another person walking down the street. In a small community, people wave and say hi even when they don’t know you. You hardly find that in a city. It’s just the opposite. Avoiding eye contact is almost regarded as a social norm because that typically means you’re too into the podcast playing on your iphone or stopping to talk would make you late for your daily ten word latte order at Starbucks -- no whip. And I won’t deny that when I’m in Boston, I sometimes get zoned out with my iPod in one hand and tall soy chai in the other. But when you’re trying to create change and engage with a community as big as Boston, you can easily get lost and become just another person among the crowd waiting for the ‘walk’ signal. That’s why I love where I am, and I knew this from my interview. I wasn’t just another applicant, or even Kathryne, I was Kate. And since I’ve arrived, everyone treats me that way. Already I feel so appreciated for the work I’m doing, and really I haven’t even done much. And one advantage, a large chai costs less than a tall chai at Starbucks and I’d debate that it tastes better too. So I might not be in a happenin’ or trendy place and I’m more concerned about a cougar or wolf attacking me, I’m okay with that. Essentially, I have everything I need at my disposal. Granted it takes a little longer to get there, but in reality it probably takes less time than waiting for a train or bus. All in all, I can’t complain. I mean, I even talk to our doctor about hiking and shopping at thrift stores. Seriously, the fact he acknowledges me and knows my name floors me. I’m used to developing tremors and heart palpitations whenever required to talk with a doc, anticipating they’ll either blow me off or say, “who are you, again?” So despite having to do a mental check every so often to remind myself, “Yes, this is real life,” at least I won’t be woken by sirens or neighbors music… just a cat’s “meow” so loud at 4:57 a.m. it wakes you out of a sound sleep. True story. 

It’s a serious afFAIR in Pomeroy!

For most rural farming communities, fair weekend is a big deal, and the Garfield County Fair in Pomeroy holds true to this tradition. Over the course of the past week conversations revolved around the fair, signs reading “See you at the fair” appeared on storefront windows, and traffic going through town seemed to increase -- but don’t get frazzled, it still wasn’t nearly as bad as Cape traffic during the summer. A sense of community spirit spread through town and brought with it a heartwarming feeling. I had the opportunity to volunteer at the fair and later enjoy it with Kate, and no I’m not talking in the third person. My volunteer duties involved manning the cabin with Susie and sucking up my hatred of balloons to keep the children happy and teenagers talking in funny voices. Somehow, I managed to survive the painful sound and unbearable feel of balloons. On a side note, the cabin actually has quite the history. The hospital acquired it some time ago and moved it from its original location to the fairgrounds. A family of six or so lived in this one room with a loft house thats about the size of medium sized bathroom, minus the toilet and tub. It became the joke that Suzanne kicked me out and I now live in the cabin. Better get some heavier long johns for the winter! On my off time, I did get to look around at the exhibits, animals, and events. And I surely enjoyed the majority of it. So what’s there, you ask? Well, there’s a showcase of farm animals including chickens, cows, lambs, sheep, bunnies, pigeons… you name it, they’ve raised it. And by “they” I mean the FFA and 4-H youths (we’re talking 6-18 year olds), as well as adults. And these aren’t just your standard moo-cows or roosters. Just about every breed, color, size you can imagine are well represented. It’s amazing to see how much work and dedication these kids put into raising and showing their animals. And I must say those kids look quite adorable in their cowboy boots and hats. Makes my childhood look rather unproductive. Besides the animals, displays of flower and wheat arrangements, photography, paintings, old tractors and farming equipment were spread throughout the fairgrounds… and then the lawn mower races. On Saturday night, Kate and I went down to the beer garden, located right beside the track for racing dirt bikes, ATV’s, and…. lawn mowers. These lawn mowers had some serious bunny speed, but unfortunately 6 out of the 8 didn’t last more than 2 laps and eventually all the lawn mowers broke down. Bummed, we called it a night for the fair and watched classic movies instead. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for Sunday’s festivities. The first event of the day left me seriously dumbstruck -- the chicken scramble. And no, it’s not who can make the best scrambled eggs. Picture this. Groups of small children separated by grade starting at elementary school. Three grown chickens. “Ready. Set. Go.” And the kids racing like mad to tackle the nearest chicken and claim their prize. Borderline animal cruelty? I’m not sure. But I can’t say I ever thought I’d witness something as absurdly bizarre as what I did. And this seemed to be a theme for the remainder of the day. Afterwards, we walked through the agricultural museum which Suzanne’s brother Gary has done a tremendous amount of work organizing. Inside, machines from the early 1900s and a full size kitchen equipped with antique utensils and appliances brought an eclectic spectacle of life in the old days. One of the more impressive displays, which we had the opportunity to talk with the artist behind it, was a wooden half-sized replica of a plow from 1918. Inspired by a picture found in a magazine, he spent 3 years intricately putting together this astonishing piece of work all by his own interpretation of how to create it. Then, the rodeo. So, I’ve never experienced a rodeo before other than what I’ve seen on TV and in movies. I honestly never knew what to make of it other than I felt badly for the animals and the riders getting trampled. Not my idea of entertainment, but with my “you can’t judge it until you experience it” attitude, I had to witness the rodeo for myself. So Kate and I headed over to the stands and saw a small town rodeo at its finest. The first event, sheep riding. Who rode? Four year olds, maybe pushing five or six? In my eyes, still too young to get bucked by a sheep. And yes, those sheep do get wild. Between all the odd events, roping took place. This pained me. Teams and individuals tried their hand at lassoing steers running around the course. I found the two person roping worst because the poor cow got pulled from the hind leg and horn causing it to split. And looking more like pulling its leg straight out of the socket. Horrible. I cringed at the sight. Then came the wild cow milking. Ready to pounce on the victims of cow trampling, I witnessed grown men chase cows and at times tackling them just to gain control and get some milk. I mean, I guess that sounds fun? Luckily, or more like amazingly, no one required medical attention. One individual just needed a new pair of jeans after the steer bounced all over him. The only mildly entertaining, and cute, part of the rodeo weren’t the men in cowboy hats, but the little kids who untied ribbons off goat’s tails. So needless to say, my fair experience brought with it some really interesting memories and things I never imagined I would witness. In the end, I’d do it again. But maybe minus the wind carrying the scent of hamburgers in my direction. And don’t worry, I refrained from saying, “Man, I could really go for a veggie burger right now!” 

The thrill factor.

When someone mentions “thrill” a few things come to mind. First, I think of my fear of the Michael Jackson “Thriller” music video. Yes, I still sleep with all my doors closed. And yes, my theory remains that since he died, the likelihood of his ghost finding me surpasses the previous fear of him locating me when he still moonwalked the earth. The next thought brings forward my nerdy side. Listening for a thrill with your stethoscope on a patient with a fistula. See, I paid attention in nursing school. But mostly I relate thrill to doing things that are completely and utterly, well, ludicrous. For instance, roller coasters. Here goes. So last weekend I tagged along with some of my coworkers and their families to Silverwood, the Northwest’s largest amusement park. It’s located in northern Idaho and you can’t miss it. Seriously. As you escape from Couer d’Alene and travel north, green pines and other tree species (a rare sight these days) line the mountain sides which are neighbored by grassy fields. Then, as you approach an Athol (Pun. Cue laugh.) and make your way around the bend, random as a bison in the middle of Times Square, there’s an amusement park. Fashioned with roller coasters and kiddy rides galore, it’s the last thing you’d expect to see...at least it was for me. Thinking back to trips to Six Flags or Disney World, the anticipation to arriving usually results in a “Whoa, look at all the rides!” when it comes into sight. With Silverwood, it’s a different “whoa” factor. It’s more along the lines of, “Whoa, am I hallucinating or is there seriously an amusement park in the middle of the forest?” My reaction exactly. Once again patience seemed to be the quality of the day, like most days, when we arrived. We had to wait for just about everything. Wait to get into the park. Wait to get into the actual park. Wait in line to go on the rides. Wait for your brain to return to your head after a roller coaster. Good thing I’m used to this by now. Our first adventure began on the kids rides so Michele’s son, Cayden, could see what the “big park” was all about. Paired up, me with Michele and Cayden with Steph (Michele’s friend), we rode the ferris wheel. Now, I believe the last time I went on a ferris wheel brings me back to Story Land or Santa’s Village in New Hampshire… and I sure don’t remember it being so traumatizing. Don’t get me wrong, the view was nothing to complain about. However, the whole swaying in the air in a metal box thing certainly did not excite me. Poor Michele. This simply only began a sequence of bad ‘thrills’. After Cayden piloted the helicopters, conducted the train, and sprinted through the giant treehouse, Jeff (my site supervisor) and Shannon (our hospital’s CFO) babysat him for a bit while Michele, Steph, and I went on the big kid rides. I should have stuck with those. The first ride, tremors, left me with my brain rattling for a good 10 minutes after the ride. This rackety wooden roller coaster not only whips through turns and plunges into the depths of an underground tunnel (which I did not anticipate dropping THAT much), but shakes your body around like a house in a windstorm. I could barely catch my breath as we walked away. Disclaimer: I have never been a wimp about roller coasters before in my life. I loved them as a kid! Not sure what happened since… Anyways, repeating, or maybe convincing myself, that “life’s about the experience” I decided to join Michele and Steph on the “aftershock” which makes a cliff hanger quite literal. As we approached the line, not far behind was Shannon and Jeff’s son, Tyson. Together we waited and shared the interesting experience of this couple in front of us dancing, as in a dance routine.  Perplexed by the situation, we stood back as to not interrupt their rhythm and observed. Interesting… After some time, my fate had arrived. Anxiety rising and breathing faster, I strapped myself in. I pulled the seat belt as tight as possible and ensured the harness would not let me budge more than a few centimeters. “Why do I do this to myself?” I thought out loud. Laughter from my fellow daredevils followed. Before I could catch my breath, we began to move… backwards. You know those scenes in scary movies when they start playing that eery music and you anticipate something popping out and when it does, you scream and spill popcorn everywhere? Yeah, that’s basically what happened except I had no popcorn. Making our ascent backwards, the clicking of whatever pulley system replicated that horror film music thus resulting in my repetition of the phrase, “I don’t like this game!” Michele’s response? “30 seconds! It’s only 30 seconds!”  Laughter from Steph and Tyson came from behind. Like I mentioned before, as a kid these rides gave me such a thrill. I couldn’t wait to go on them when we got to Universal Studios. And I’d even ride those high intensity coasters as many times as possible. Apparently age has demolished my ability to handle these extremes. Well, 30 seconds felt like 30 days, and after all the corkscrew turns, my fate in the strength of a harness, and constant screaming of profanities, it was over. Finally. Catching my breathe and ready to get out, of course had to make me suffer more and remained locked an extra minute while everyone else hopped out of their seats. Go figure. At this point it was time to meet the rest of our group for lunch, and our stomachs were telling us so. After filling up on a BBQ-esque buffet, one last ride remained -- the panic plunge. At first, I declined and decided to watch Cayden instead. Good excuse, I know. This ride pulls you up to about 140 feet and then drops before catching you (at least you hope) at the bottom. They say at a speed of 47 mph. Yikes. Compiling the nerve, and possibly my youth bursting through, I figured, “What the hell. Its only 30 seconds.” So I went on with Steph. Well, that 30 seconds I thought it would last felt more like 10 hours when they began lifting you up. You think you’re at the top then, just kidding! You’re still suffering until suddenly, DINK! Drop! Now, most people have never heard me scream. I don’t even think I’ve heard me scream. I screamed like a little girl being chased by a pack of boys with dodgeballs. Afterwards, my throat hurt like when you go to a concert and try singing louder than the speakers to every lyric to each song.  Needless to say, at this point we were all thrilled out. And for me, I think I reached my quota of amusement parks for another 10 years. 

Civilization. (a view of Lewiston, ID and Clarkston, WA)

The truth about Pomeroy.

Now, many of you have asked, "So Kate, what's life like out there? Do people have teeth? Are there tumbleweeds? Do they still have bunny ears on their TV sets? Do they know what the “internet” is? Are there still horse and buggies being used?" All valid points, and quite honestly... I asked myself those same questions when I walked around with the google man, and even more so when I drove through town the first night. So let me demystify this little place called Pomeroy for you and hopefully you'll have a little better picture... though it's hard to truly understand it unless you're here -- trust me.

Are tumbleweeds real? -  Yes, tumbleweeds aren’t just some made up Hollywood plant. They often get caught under your car, in your shoelaces, and the spokes of your bike wheels. These are much friendlier than the killer tumbleweeds. These malicious plants lurk on the roadside, waiting for bicyclists to ride over them so they can pierce through their tire. I learned this the hard way...

Do they still have dial-up internet? --  Not that I’ve experienced but, it’s no high speed either. You learn quickly when moving west the need for patience -- especially when it comes to the internet. Internet, wi-fi, e-mails, and even facebook have possessed the minds in the most remote places.  Someone told me that if it wasn't for the internet, the isolation you normally feel in this desolate place would surpass borderline insanity. Granted some older folks may think the world wide web is some hippie driven idea that brings our world together like a spider web to create an illusion of a world more peaceful because we’re all connected, well that's to be expected anywhere. Either way, loading google often takes more than the 1.53 seconds but like they say, “patience is a virtue.”

Is there really only one bar? --  Ready to bar hop? Well, I can guarantee everyone will eventually end up at the same place, because you have all of one to choose from, called the Up & Up. Ready to envision it? Imagine a biker bar minus the leather and Sturgis signs, add some creative broomsticks used for pool cues and a bunch of locals your Dad’s age and older… and there you have it. Oh, and you can’t forget the tire marked floors from when someone rode their motorcycle inside. So, don't expect to meet your true love there, unless of course thats your type. They have no draft beers but have a wide selection of budweiser, bud light lime, keystone, and coors... Maybe even busch light. 

What sorts of fun things can you do? -- Well, like most towns out west, fairs and festivals fill nearly every weekend. Pomeroy has the Garfield County Fair, and it’s a BIG deal. The whole town revolves around fair weekend. Book club doesn't start until after the fair, wellness committees 6-week health challenge starts after the fair... I'm surprised they don't start school until after the fair. Luckily, I get to experience it first hand! It's the weekend of September 17-19 and I'll be volunteering at the hospitals "cabin." I hear its quite the experience. Apparently they have chicken races which basically involves small children chasing chickens. Hm...

Are there really 11 churches? -- As you drive into town, from either direction, a small brown sign with a white cross sitting on top greets you. This sign lists all 11 denominations of churches in Pomeroy, and for a town of almost 2,000, I consider that a lot. So, you'll never miss mass on Sunday because if you miss the service at one, you have ten others to choose from. Here's where I'd like to make a point, though. As most of you know, I’m not religious in the least bit and frankly, I avoid it at all costs. Now, I received full warning of the 11 churches situation and I won't deny my nerves regarding whether I'd be lured into some religious cult. Small town, lots of churches, middle of nowhere... uh, Jim Jones anyone? People take religion seriously here, and I absolutely respect that. But what's great is they don't force it on you like I anticipated. Sure I've been invited to join a church, but I kindly declined without incident. And when Mondays come around no one asks, "Did you go to church?" Phew…

Does is smell funny? -- Actually, on some days it does. You see, I’m literally surrounded by wheat fields. Literally everywhere. Coming from the northeast, it’s hard to wrap your head around this concept. The first time I actually stepped foot on Pomeroy territory, I noticed the smell of grain first. I think the scent of yeast best describes it. And when you go into Lewiston, the smell of pulp overtakes you on certain days -- all depending on the weather and work schedule. You kind of get used to it.

Are there trees to hug? -- Barely. Now when I say the land ripples like the result of dropping a rock in water, I mean it. The rolling hills go up and down like roller coaster and you can see for miles and miles, mostly because trees don’t obstruct your view. Now there are some pines and other variations, but nothing like New England. The landscape looks more like the grass when we’ve had a heat wave and no rain for a few weeks. Very dry and hay colored. Also, I may not have experience Chicago wind, but it gets wicked windy out here! I mean, when I rode up to the Alpowa summit, I nearly blew over on my bike. 

What’s the highway like? -- Well, it’s no Mass Pike or 93 in Boston. Actually, it’s hard to define call it a highway. Traffic is hardly an issue unless you get stuck behind an 18-wheeler or tractor. Going into Pomeroy by the east, the speed limit changes from 60 mph to 40 mph to 45 mph  to 55 mph to 35 mph to 25 mph. Talk about bipolar, poor Edward. 

Do people actually go out on Main Street? -- Yes, it’s quite the bustling place during the week. Tons of cars passing through and people walking the streets. Things to know: Coffee shops exist in hardware stores. The Soggy Bottom officially reopened. Rumor has it there’s a liquor store in the flower shop. Lots of antique stores and bed and breakfast places. The library has DVDs and Inter-Library Loan (ILL… score!).

So I hope this answers some of your questions… and don't worry, people are normal and just like New Englanders except more outdoorsy and laid back. 

Beware of squirrels.

Now, I consider nothing better than spending a Saturday afternoon cruising around on Celeste and discovering new territory. With plenty of land to cover, I decided to check out the trails along the Snake River in Clarkston, WA and Lewiston, ID. I first stopped by Michele's so she could bring me down to the best parking spot and give me an idea of where to go. To preface, the trails along the Snake River almost identically match those beside the Cape Cod Canal -- relatively flat with a few hills and paved. She informed me I could access both sides by simply crossing either bridge as it has it's own bike lane -- pretty rad, I know. Ready to go, we said good-bye and parted ways. Setting off, I could feel my mind releasing itself and begin to slow, preparing to take in the new scenery I now call "home." As I rode along, the first thing I felt came from the sky -- the sun beat down on me and instantly I regretted not wearing my tank jersey. You see, the one thing I immediately caught onto about the west that parallels the east coast is the fluctuating weather patterns. You can wake up in the morning with the temperature around 55 degrees, then two hours later you find yourself ripping your layers off because the thermometer now reads 80 degrees. I am grateful for the lack of humidity, though! I find describing the landscape here quite difficult, the uniqueness of its beauty astounds me and often leaves me speechless. Anyways, I made my way down the path and came across a beach. Hold the phone. A beach?! Yes, you read correctly. No, it was nothing compared to the sand dunes and ocean you’re probably envisioning, but more like a 4-foot wide “sand” bar alongside the river. Regardless, I enjoyed the attempt. I rode past campsites filled with families sitting in camp chairs. Again, the familiar contrast of the golden hills and bright blue sky surfaced as I made my way into Hells Canyon State Park… and then the adventure began. Without much warning, the paved trail I had casually been coasting on abruptly came to a halt and lead to dirt road. Thinking I merely had to go down the road a ways and I would find myself back on the pavement, I continued. I looked around, and out of the corner of my eye I sighted a trail. Score! I made my way up the still dirt road and then before I could react, my tire sunk and I could go no further except onto the ground below me. I hit quite the pocket of sand. I began laughing. For the record, I haven’t fell off my bike with my clip-in shoes since the first 3 months of using them -- about 4 years ago. I decided that now would be the appropriate time to walk up the hill towards the path, and when I reached the path, disappointment overcame me. It was gravel. No way. I turned around and headed back on the path, deciding to go on the Clarkston side of the river. I made my way across the bike lane portion of the bridge without incident. When suddenly, and completely out of nowhere, a squirrel jets out in front my tire… within inches of committing squirrel-suicide! Startled, and again laughing, I had a feeling my bike ride would not be boring. I road to Asotin (pronounced like a Assonet and Stoughton, minus a few syllabus) and when the trail faded, I turned back. I saw a girl, probably around 4 years old, riding her bicycle with training wheels with her Mom. As I sped by, I heard her say, “I want to be like her!” Trying to hold back tears, a smile erupted. A ways down the path, I decided to dismount from my bike and take a stretch. After a few minutes, I got back on and “cling.” I stood up to investigate. A small rectangular piece of metal lie on the ground. I picked it up and attempted to figure out where it came from. With nowhere on my bike I could logically place it, I picked up my foot and realized it came off my cleat. Somehow the screw came loose… and it looked like I had a screw loose when I tried finding it! Luckily some cyclists road by, noticed my confusion, and kindly helped retrieve the screw. I continued riding since my shoe was secure enough I could do so, and came across another dilemma, how do I get across the second bridge? The “blue bridge” had no special bike on-ramp and somehow I found myself in the Costco parking lot. Clearly I made a wrong turn, so I managed to get on the sidewalk that went over the bridge and I ignored the sign that read, “Bicycling prohibiting on sidewalk.” When I got to the other side, I faced another situation, getting to the opposite side of the road. The busy, and confusing, intersection forced me to put my thinking cap on over my helmet. Needless to say, I made it to the bike trail, but not without nearly wiped out on the train tracks. And then, the geese! At least 20 just completely clogging traffic on the trail. I inched closer and they finally waddled out of the way enough for me to pass. After 24-ish miles, I finally reached my car with dirt and sweat covering my body. I opened the trunk and laid out and made some phone calls since I had service. Then, a man comes over and says, “Hey, looks like you got a bit of a problem here, huh?” Clearly confused, I walked over and noticed the front tire of my bike was completely flat. I could only laugh at this point and confess it had not been flat when I got off. So, with my screw-less shoe and flat tire, I called it a day for outdoor activities. 

Palouse Falls, La Crosse, Washington

This weekend, my new friend, Kate (great name, huh?) and I spent the day hiking around Palouse Falls and camped out at Lyons Ferry. Definitely a lot of fun and amazing scenery. Canyons, which were carved from floods that occurred a very long time ago from melting glaciers, surround the falls. We managed to see just about every vantage point, from the top (literally) of the falls all the way to the complete front on perspective. Quite incredible. 

Well, water* you doing? (*what are)

You're probably wondering, "Gee, KFo drove across country to some desolate place in the middle of the palouse, had a mild panic attack, lives in a place with no internet or cell phone service... what's going on?!" Amazingly enough, last night when I came home Jeremy (Suzanne's daughter's boyfriend), who happens to know a thing or two about computers, fixed the wireless fiasco! So I'm proudly sitting at the dining room table, connected to the rest of the world -- not just to the deer, gigantic beetle-like creatures, and lack of trees to hug. Onto the good stuff. The last few days have, entailed a great deal of briefing on what my position actually involves. My work calendar has found itself filling quickly with meetings and other appointment, and my desk now fully represents me. Needless to say, they're keeping me busy! My position at the Pomeroy Medical Clinic, technically entitled "Community Health Promoter", will deal with initiating the Health Home Strategic Plan. In the past year, the hospital received a grant to fund this project and partnered with the Washington Health Foundation campaign to make Washington the healthiest state in the nation (I'd like to say Massachusetts ranked 5 overall in 2008-ish). So, the Health Home encompasses more than just an individuals personal medical history, but broadly covers the community one lives in, socioeconomic status, and environmental factors which clearly impact health. From my general understanding, this project has been in the works for several years now at Garfield County Hospital as they try to pioneer the rural health system into encouraging their patients, healthy and those with chronic diseases, to be active in their health outside of the doctors office. They developed the Health Home website (http://www.healthhome.us) to provide the community a general location to locate information relevant to their health conditions. Overall, they want people to have a grasp on how to achieve a healthy lifestyle and know what’s out there for them. I will basically be doing some research on those with chronic conditions, specifically diabetes and cardiovascular conditions, and assessing their needs. I’ll develop a “game plan” workbook so they have an organized place to manage their health. Along with this, I’ll be making a “play book” which will list all the health related resources in the community, this will be distributed to everyone in Pomeroy. Eventually, they hope to span out to all chronic diseases and eventually preventative health, so identifying at-risk individuals and treated them early. I anticipate doing some patient teaching and community education, along with many other tasks to make this initiative get into action. Note: this is very general and loose description because, well, it’s the weekend. Hopefully it makes a little bit of sense. Needless to say, the hospital hopes to complete this project in the next 3-5 years… so as many people have told me, I’ve got a lot of work to do in 10 months! I must say, I am very excited to be on board with this project. They make me feel very official and emphasis the importance of my position and how much it will make a difference to those in the community, as well as making the hospital a pioneer in rural healthcare. So, I am prepared to “Get Things Done for America!” Go AmeriCorps! 

Hey, Mustard! Would you like to ketchup? (8/30-9/1)

The day had come. Reality arrived saying, “Hello, Kate. Today you begin your new life.” Our day started with getting things done for Edward. Being 1,000 miles over an oil change and since the Volvo dealership in Spokane had no openings, I decided to get it over with at Jiffy Lube -- bad life decision! Needless to say, I did not get an oil change and they certainly did not do anything for me when it came to getting me inspired about going to Pomeroy. “You’re going where?! For what?!” Feeling officially defeated and facing the tormenting reality of bringing my brother to board a plane to a place I wish I could return to, panic struck. “I need to escape” kept racing through my head. “There’s no way I can go back there! It’s so isolated! How will I survive? What if the people are weird?” These thoughts made me feel manic and, frankly, I began thinking I had gone crazy for making a decision such as this. As we approached Spokane International Airport, the waterfall erupted and poured onto the surface of my brothers shoulder shielded by a t-shirt embellished with some witty saying. Yet despite my impending doom in the foreground, my racing thoughts, and blurred vision, I noticed something I nearly forgotten -- my brother. I felt the closeness we seemed to depart from over the past few years and I knew his presence was more than just a living body. He told me how proud he was of me and knew I could get through this because he watched me grow into a strong, independent woman -- capable of overcoming any feat. He also assured that he would be on the next flight back to drive me home if needed. And when I later told him I missed him, he kindly informed me that those feelings would probably fade soon. For those few minutes, I redeveloped the respect, love, and bond with my brother I felt I detached from. Needless to say, if I gain nothing from this AmeriCorps experience, at least I can share it openly with Jay and have these new memories together. Now, the drive to Pomeroy. Well, grueling and dramatic appropriately describe that adventure! I pulled off the highway to fill up my gas tank and stayed there awhile longer debating how I could escape. My mind rationalized a plan, “Okay. I’ll drive there. I won’t unpack my car and say I’ll do it the next day. Then, if I can’t last, I’ll just leave and drive to Seattle, down the west coast, then back home!” This comforted me enough to continue driving to Pomeroy, and with a little help from my girl Fergie and the Black Eyed Peas, I made it. Being honest, and very open about my feelings and emotions, I called Michele (the woman in HR who has done so much for me since she called for the initial interview) along the way to let her know I would be arriving soon and I did not feel good… at all… about going. She comforted me and informed me she would most likely get there later than me, but they expected me at the hospital. Well, I drove around the town a bit and went into Pomeroy Foods (the local grocery store… about the size of the produce aisle at Shaws) and bought a banana and grapefruit juice because I hadn’t ate since the granola bar on our hike in Mount Spokane. I forced about a quarter the banana and gave up, so I went into the hospital, unsure what would lie behind the doors. I went to the front desk and introduced myself. “Oh! You’re Kate! It’s so great to have you here!” said the receptionists. This became a common theme. As I met Jeff, one of my supervisors, and we wandered through the hospital and eventually to the clinic, everyone knew me. I managed to keep my emotions in check and the more I met people, the better I felt, however this did cause my indecisive side to kick in. I met my host family-of-one, Suzanne, and later Michele came. Everyone inquired about my travels west and my story of life on the east coast. Michele took me on a mini tour of town and immediately I felt a connection. I knew I could express myself truly with her and felt comfortable doing so. She brought me to the library and invited me to the book club when she discovered I enjoyed reading. Most importantly, she emphasized if I had any concerns or worries to let her know immediately. This was exactly what I needed to hear. We departed with plans to meet on Tuesday and she would show me around some more and meet others in the hospital. When I returned to the clinic, Suzanne and I left soon after to get groceries for dinner and then headed home. She grew up in Pomeroy and her family farms locally, and is a very kind and hospitable woman. We arrived at her house, a few miles out of town, and she showed me to my room. Nervous as we descended into the basement, relief struck when I saw the large window. I have my own space with a bathroom and living area. Quicker than I anticipated, my things suddenly went from the car to my new room. I went to bed soon after dinner, without unpacking much of anything far from the necessities. I woke in tears. Frantically I ran from one corner of the house to the other, through the yard and almost desperately up the hill to find service on my cell phone. Nothing. I weepingly dialed home on the landline and spoke to my Mom. She urged me to simply come home, I didn’t have to stay. Yet something inside me grounded me and I wouldn’t budge. The reactions from the individuals I met the day prior reminded me why I chose to join AmeriCorps -- to follow my passion of serving others. I knew I merely needed time to adjust and I simply was overwhelmed with the drastic change. Part of me really liked it in Pomeroy, and I had not met one person I questioned their motives or left with an unsettling feeling in my stomach. Later, my Dad jogged my memory to the obvious fact that I am so used to being active and since I’m in a new place with nothing to do, I needed to do something! So, I followed this advice and ventured downtown to get a P.O. Box and there I realized what a small, rural community means. The woman working behind the counter quickly recognized I was the girl the hospital tried finding housing for. Another man, who I soon found out is the husband of one of the NP’s I work with, left and came back in saying, “So you’re Kate? I kind of figured because of your license plate.” I never experienced anything like this before. I left and decided to walk down the Main Street to see what the stores had to offer. Inside Meyer’s Hardware, a coffee shop! I had a delicious coffee-something-or-other, not quite sure what exactly I drank. I decided to see Michele and, again, she introduced me to more people. I kept feeling better and better as the day proceeded and she took me to the Umatilla National Forest, about 15 miles out of town. She invited me to dinner at her house and recited a laundry list of individuals I should meet. I accepted her invitation and figured I would check out “the Valley”, and no, not the latest MTV reality TV show, but the combination of towns, Lewiston and Clarkston. My confidence regaining speed, I hit a high when I saw the green circle with a strangely shaped mermaid in the center and the white letters “Starbucks Coffee” encircling her. “Okay, I can do this.” I thought, and when I entered and discovered their pumpkin spice lattes were back, I confirmed this. I got on my laptop and excitedly connected to the free wi-fi, another additional confidence booster (I’m currently without internet at the house I’m staying at -- hence lack of blogging). I had an excellent dinner at Michele’s, the first real meal I consumed all day. Again, my positive thoughts gradually returned and my smile came back. And for the record, I still have not met one person that greeted me with unwelcoming arms. I tossed and turned all night, excited for my first day at work. I woke without fear and felt more at ease. The day consisted of the typical orientation paperwork and I eventually ended up at the clinic where I began putting together my desk. Yes, I have my own desk with a computer and phone; I even have my own work e-mail! Very official, I know. They even bought a big smiley face balloon and plant, with a “Welcome Kate” note. The day progressed and I realized more that I made the right choice to try out Pomeroy. I feel at home now and attribute the easy transition to Michele, Suzanne, and the others kind hearted individuals in this unique city. I ended up riding Celeste down to the hospital after work for the board meeting. Wow, these roads surely are a great change from the pot hole ridden streets of Massachusetts. Nicely paved, except steeply graded, I embraced the wind as I broke through it. On the ride home, I rode alongside a perfect sky darkening behind the rising hills of golden wheat as I said to myself, “Oh deer, I love it here.” Ironically, I found myself racing deers galloping throughout the fields on the roadside at the same time. A perfect conclusion to a difficult, but reassuring, few days. To clarify, I feel 100% better than at the beginning of this long, drawn out blog entry, and am very excited to begin my work.