Thanksgiving far from home

Katie D.

November 28, 2008 - 5:23 PM

It's hard to celebrate a family holiday hundreds of miles from home. When I called my family yesterday (Thanksgiving), I interrupted Guitar Time, the family tradition during which Dad and various cousins play guitar, various percussion toys, and sing. This particular Thanksgiving there's a new factor in the festivities: Dad got a harmonica and holder so he can "pull a Bob Dylan" and play guitar and harmonica at the same time. What I wouldn't give to have seen that...

I am supremely blessed with wonderful Oregon friends, including one who welcomed me to her home in Portland for Thanksgiving for the second year in a row. I get to be a part of another family's Thanksgiving traditions and jokes, including feeding potatoes to the fat Labrador retriever and the kids falling asleep on the couches after dinner. We also got to start a new ritual: trying to prove oneself to be the most possessed of extraneous knowledge. We spent a good chunk of Thanksgiving dinner thinking of questions to text ChaCha for them to magically text back the answers. (Really-you send a message to "ChaCha" or 242242 and they will text you the answer.) We nearly stumped them with "What is the name of the boxer that appears on the cover of the Beatles album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band? (If you want to know, you'll either have to text yourself or call Paul: he consistently had the answers faster.)

It is wonderful to be home with my friend, and I love to feel like a part of another family. I love getting to spend more time with her bumming around in Portland. It is truly a blessing to get to be a part of someone's childhood traditions and family quirks. And this particular family has been so incredibly gracious and welcoming.

But it is hard to be away from home on Thanksgiving. I miss Colorado and a good Thanksgiving snow. I miss my family and our traditions, including my grandmother's silver goblets we use just once a year and the yearly card games and music sessions.

I've come to really love Oregon. I knew that I would: it's beautiful, progressive, and opinionated in a really funky, funny way. I'm so happy to be at school here, and there are wonderful things about being an out-of-state student. Even if days like Thanksgiving and family birthdays are hard.

I've been learning Oregon for the past two and a half years. For example, I've learned that certain Halloween costumes that would be perfectly acceptable at home (like the hippy look) aren't impressive here (you wouldn't believe the number of people who asked where my costume was). Things that are unacceptable at home in Littleton, Colorado, like Tibetan prayer flags on front porches or extensive homemade lawn art in front of homes, are not only unremarkable in Eugene, they are also an essential part of its "Eugene-ness." I love all the bikes on the streets, the obvious efforts at conservation, the multitude of little coffee places, and other little sweet quirks of the place.

And Oregon is so beautiful. I need a regular visit to the ocean to fill my soul, and Colorado is mighty short on ocean. I love the Oregon coast and the drive there on Highway 99, and try to get various friends with cars to take me as often as possible. I love the fog in the mornings and the huge array of colors in the fall. I am continually shocked by how well things just grow here, like it's no effort and nothing to get excited about. But if you've tried to coax a garden out of the baked clay that is Colorado's natural soil type, the exuberance of the weeds here becomes something to celebrate.

Eugene also has this wonderful attitude of chilled-out welcome. People are very nice here. Not uniformly, of course, but I find people are likely to approach me, especially at places like the farmer's market or the alternative grocery stores around town. People seem to be excited to be where they are, and excited I'm here too.

One big adjustment I experienced in my move to the UO was the shift from a school and student base that was largely religious fundamentalist and conservative to a group of students who were mostly religious skeptics. Bringing my progressive Christianity into the conversations in class suddenly made me the "conservative" voice, rather than the defender of the progressive side as I had back in high school. This experience was a very exciting and freeing one for me: suddenly I was another face in a liberal crowd, able to look deeper into my beliefs instead of constantly being forced to defend the Left and Progressive Christianity against all of my peers at once.

Eugene has offered me a place where I can chill out; join the hippy groove, experiment with new ideas and ideologies. It is a beautiful place to study and live, and every morning I love to see the hills of South Eugene, and Spencer's Butte rising up out of the fog. When I walk home from campus I pass houses that would fit right in at home in my suburb south of Denver, with paint in shades of beige and two-car garages, while right down the block there are trees with tire swings and cargo net tree house, IMPEACH W banners and rainbow paint that would never fit in my parent's neighborhood. Everywhere I go there are signs that read PEACE. I wonder, sometimes, if this place is as exciting, as beautiful through the eyes of someone raised here, or if you have to see it through the eyes of an out-of-stater to appreciate what's around.

Today is the day after Thanksgiving, and I'm in a café in Portland with my friend, making use of the WiFi and, as always, searching for the perfect cup of hot chocolate. (This morning's was the most beautiful I have ever run across, but not as good as my favorite in Eugene. I'll keep you posted.) Anyway, as we were walking up to the café I noticed a truck out front with a bumper sticker of the Colorado mountains. It said "I'm not a NATIVE but I got here as fast as I could." It made me simultaneously nostalgic for Colorado-the mountains, the people, the ridiculously large trucks, the whole deal-and also made me think that I really feel that way about Oregon these days: that the Northwest is the place for me, not by birth but by natural, easy fit. That I am meant to be here with these quirky, liberal, and prayer-flag-type people.

Even on Thanksgiving weekend.