Thereβs a certain kind of longing to being raised in the Wild Wild West of Oregonβone that settles deep into your bones and never quite lets you go. Itβs in the sound of the wind pushing through the tall pines, the way the mountains stand watch like old, faithful cowboys, and the quiet certainty that this land knows you as well as you know it.
Growing up here is a blessing I didnβt fully appreciate until life got louder and the world got faster. Oregon has a way of slowing your pulse down and reminding you who you were before the noise creeped into our bones and the callouses in our palms. Long gravel roads, cold creeks, cattle moving across golden fields, fishing along the banks for mighty steelhead salmon draped in the morning fog hugging the valley floorsβthese were my childhood guidance. Steady, uncertain at times and yet packaged in the reality taught in grit, gratitude, and a deep love for the simple, sacred things, the daily things that seem mundane, like a drive to the mountains to learn from the mountain top you can breathe a little deeper.Β
Itβs easy to take beauty for granted when youβre raised in a place where the sunsets put mountain ranges into silhouette or where every backroad feels like a page torn from an old Western novel. But lately, Iβve been reminded just how fortunate I am to have grown up here. This land shaped my work ethic, my heart for community, and the dreams Iβm chasing todayβwhether Iβm serving coffee from a horse trailer or building a little family legacy at Wheat Brothers Farms.
Oregon isnβt just my home state
Itβs a gentle rain on a tin roof beneath the Catalpa in my yard.Β
A decent and kind reminder that life is fragile and unknown. So, pack light, but still go. Do it scared. I always have.Β
A reminder that the best stories start somewhere, if you're brave enough and that the wild inside us is often a reflection of the wilderness we were raised in or the lack thereof to determine our common ground.Β
Iβm grateful for every dusty trail, every childhood summer spent outside until dark, playing hide and seek with my cousins, in every mountain range of the Cascades that framed my view of what was possible. Iβm grateful for this life out Westβwhere beauty and grit walk hand in hand, and where I learned that the simplest things can often turn out to be the most extraordinary.
Oregon. Beckoning me always to the simple beauty.Β
To home.
And to the wild blessing of growing up in a place that still feels like the last frontier of wonder.
1 comment
WM to WBF
Two words come to mind, WOW & AMEN. I could have not said it like you did. Oregon has become my home the only state I would live in till my last breath. Itβs true life is scared and unique and take each day as a blessing because you never know what might happen the next day. Life is fragile. The friends I have made here locally have become like family, OHANA. When you need time, to reset or clear the mind, take a drive up on a clear crisp day morning up the mountain to a place called Pride Rock over look the beauty of the Rogue Valley, breathe deep her air, slow the heart rate down and know everything will be okay just fine not because what you see but what nature is telling you.
My friend WBF is been a great pleasure to come to know you and family and be considered part of the family sharing your space, time, words of encouragement, food and drinks (yes I tease but thatβs your guy WM)
From the bottom of my heart
Tapadh leat (Gaelic for thank you)
WM