It's not uncommon in Hawaii to hear a tale of a first-time visitor who steps off the plane and is so taken by the fragrance of plumeria, the unblemished blue skies and swaying palms, and, of course, the ocean, that he or she calls home and announces, “Sell my stuff! I’m never coming back."
It is not a story I had expected to hear in Joseph, Oregon.
We were exploring eastern Oregon, and we decided one day to drive to the southeast corner of the state to Steen’s Mountain and the Alvord Desert, which turned out to be two of my favorite places in Oregon. Afterward, we turned the car north and began slowly exploring the cities and towns along Oregon’s 400-mile border with Idaho. We went through Frenchglen, Burns, John Day, which we loved, Baker City, and then to Snake Valley, and into Joseph, which had been highly recommended to me by a Maui friend named Lois. It was late when we arrived, so we booked a room and retired for the night.
We awoke hungry the next morning and, after walking down the main road and meeting lots of good dogs (Joseph people tend to walk their dogs down the main road in the morning), we detected the wonderful aroma of eggs, pancakes, toast and coffee. It appeared to be wafting from a small, unpretentious breakfast place that some might describe it as a “hole in the wall,” but it was certainly an inviting, friendly one.
Most people in Joseph - and many of the small towns in Oregon - are white, but we noticed a fellow who was not, and he appeared to be managing the place. Coming from Hawaii, which has a mishmash of racial groups, we are usually good at identifying the different races, and so we looked at him and we both immediately said, “He looks Filipino.”
He was an excellent manager and very attentive, and, after a while, we asked him if he was Filipino. He said “yes” and added that he was from Hawaii. We told him we were from Hawaii, and he said he had looked at my wife and immediately guessed that she was an island girl. He said he was born and raised on one of Hawaii’s neighbor islands.
As we ate, we spoke to him when he was not too busy. He seemed to enjoy reminiscing with people from his former home. Eventually, we asked what had brought him to Joseph.
“Well, that’s a story,” he said. And in-between serving eggs and toast and coffee, this is what he told us.
His initial visit to Joseph was intended to be a short one. And it was in November, which is when the temperatures in Joseph are unimaginably cold to people from Hawaii. One day soon after he arrived, he was eating breakfast in a place like the one we were in, and, in fact, it might have been the same place. An old pickup pulled up, and an ancient fellow eased himself out and came inside. He left his engine running. Sometimes people in cold climes leave their engines running, but, being from Hawaii, we’ve never established a reason for this.
The old fellow glanced at the menu and proceeded to order. And then he sat down to wait.
Our new Filipino friend was observing this with some bewilderment and no small amount of concern for the elderly fellow. He knew what happens in certain Hawaii neighborhoods if you leave your engine running and go into a store or eatery. Before you’ve even finished your papaya, your truck is gone, bound for the nearest cane field to be thoroughly stripped. It might even be set on fire afterwards. This was something you absolutely never did in Hawaii unless you were a tourist and did not understand local customs.
So, he said, he sat and waited . . . and waited . . . and then he waited some more. He was possibly thinking, “Wow, Joseph must have unambitious meth-heads. Any enterprising druggie would be halfway to Portland already.” But no one stole it.
This was amazing to him. It was comparable to going to the Big Island and viewing the eruption of Kilauea.
Eventually, the old fellow received his order, got up to pay, and went out the door to his truck that was still where he had parked it. Then he eased himself behind the wheel and drove away.
Our new friend shook his head in disbelief, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed. And, at that moment, he came to a decision: “This is where I want to live," he decided. "This peaceful little town with all its goodness is where I want to raise my kids.” The island he was from had a drug problem and crime was rampant. He did not want to raise his kids in that environment. Not only had this fellow’s truck not been stolen, the fact that he would leave it outside with the engine running could only mean that he trusted the people in the community and knew no one would drive away with it. So, our new Filipino friend called home and announced he was staying. And bear in mind that this was November, when the average temperature in Joseph is in the 30s. In Hawaii, anytime the temperature drops below 60-degrees, the residents think the world is coming to an end. They bundle up in layers and think, “This is how Admiral Byrd must have felt when he crossed Antarctica.” And here it was 30-degrees, and this fellow had taken such an immediate liking to Joseph that he had already resolved to stay.
Eventually, our Filipino friend returned to Hawaii to get his wife and kids, and then they all returned to Joseph and never left. His plan was a good one. His kids grew up to be good and decent people who today are making a positive contribution to the world.
Before we finished our conversation, he said, “There is, however, something you need to bear in mind when you are in Joseph.” We nodded wisely. Now he would tell us about the things we understood. Now we would hear about the underbelly of the city, the back-alley muggings, the drug problem, the squalor and the sordidness. We leaned forward expectantly.
"First of all," he said, "you always need to keep your car locked." We nodded wisely. Probably car jackings, we thought.
“Joseph has good soil, and people love to grow stuff," he continued. "It's a small town and everyone knows each other, and people are kind. Therefore, if you don’t lock your car, you might come back to it and find that someone has left you a large carton of corn or potatoes or tomatoes . . . and you already have so much growing in your garden that you've been trying to give yours away, too.”
We were silent for a moment.
"Wow, that is . . . something," I said, tapping my fingers on the table. "I can see the need for concern."
"I'm surprised they don't warn people in the tourist brochures," said my wife, who was already scanning her phone for Joseph home prices.
And then we all laughed.
We ate breakfast there every morning for the remainder of our stay. And, after a week in Joseph, we were almost ready to call it home, too. A lovely place . . . but the winter weather is simply too cold for most Hawaii residents.
"If I wanted to be that cold, I would have done the Iditarod," said my wife.
But for those readers who don't mind the cold . . . and like vegetables, kind people, good dogs (lots of good dogs) and stunning mountains . . . Joseph deserves a long look.
Comments