That Time I Met The Mayor

July 4th, 2019, Whitman County, Washington – the home of the Palouse Hills, Steptoe Butte State Park, and the town of Oakesdale. Can you believe this landscape is real?

It was my favorite day of every year, and I was bound for the Palouse Hills of Washington, aka the reason I mapped out and embarked on a 3,427-mile road trip—my biggest ever. It was the number one sight I wanted to see in the Pacific Northwest, and it did not disappoint.

But before I got there, I pulled over for a pitstop in a town called Oakesdale. With a population of 422 spread out over about one square mile, it felt like mini Main Street USA. I guess that's what drew me in and made me stop. There was a beautiful, hand-painted American flag mural, green grass, more flags, and fresh flowers, and the only thing open in town was Crossett's grocery store for last-minute 4th-of-July fixins. The town was quiet. Unhurried and peaceful. But that patriotic pomp that pumps me up, year after year, was flowing freely all around. Silent, but stimulating. 

I parked against the curb in front of a 1983 blue and white Ford Ranger that had been decorated by the decay of time but kept well-loved, nonetheless. It was parked with windows wide open. And I was enchanted by the idea, or rather the reality of a town so safe, its locals could feel comfortable enough to leave their vehicles that way. But glancing in the passenger window, something shocked me. The key was in the ignition. Read that again. The key was…in the ignition. As in, the truck's key…the key that turns on and operates the truck was in the ignition – the place where once turned, it makes the car moveable and stealable. I think when I saw it, I felt a quick, swift kick to the chest – an "Oh, god!" reaction. But then I peered out from my New York self that was raving like my paisans on Arthur Avenue and remembered, I'm in small town USA…it's safe here…this is the norm here…it's ok to do things like this here…not that I, a native New Yorker, blood type: paranoia, spidey senses always tingling, ever, ever would, but this is a peaceful place…with a practically nonexistent crime rate and about 422 locals (give or take a few) on any given day. No one's stealing trucks. But I still couldn't believe what I was seeing. I did a quadruple take and a serious eye rub. In my 30 years, I had never witnessed such a sight. It was some of the coolest culture shock I'd ever experienced. 

I continued wandering along North 1st Street – half catching Pokémon, half taking pictures of this cute little town when I spotted a distinguished-looking older gentleman carrying some boxes into a storefront. He smiled at me from across the way and called out, "Museum's closed, but you're welcome to stop in and take a look if you like." I quickly replied, "Hey, thanks a lot!" Maybe I will, I thought. My New York mentality crept in, "Well, but you don't know this man, this place and the museum is closed…is it safe? Maybe you should get back on the road. It's a little after 11:00 am, and the Palouse Hills are calling." Then my free spirit, solo-traveling self replied, "Hey, slow down... what's your rush? You've got plenty of time. It's a new opportunity, and you're in a place where people leave their keys in their cars! Plus, it was so kind of that man to invite you in when the museum isn't even open! Just think what you might learn in there!" 

And so I went. I crossed the street looking both ways—a totally unnecessary force of habit at 11 am on a holiday in rural Eastern Washington—and I approached the McCoy Valley Museum with one wide-open door and a great big "Closed" sign on the front. The man who invited me in was chatting with another man, but before I had a second to wonder whether I was interrupting, they spotted me and welcomed me in with warm smiles and bubbly greetings. "Come on in! Happy Independence Day! Take a look around! Enjoy the place!" I was instantly comfortable with them and already happy I decided to stop in. I thanked them so much for inviting me in when the museum was closed. "Oh, sure thing! Take your time and enjoy. We've got a water cooler in the back, and restroom's just that way if you need it. You can start in here and make your way through that room back there…take your time and enjoy!" 

Two great rooms were lined with wood paneling and filled with irreplaceable artifacts from days gone by. All kinds of antique memorabilia; framed photos, local business signage, John Deere collectibles, rotary phones, oil lamps, a cash register that had to have been at least six decades old, and so many more items that told the tales of the town's history.

So I circled the room, admiring the many layers of time, one at a time, and eventually made my way back to the two kind gentlemen who were talking shop. I think they were friends and perhaps business partners as well. "So, what did you think?" Dennis, the gentleman who invited me in, asked enthusiastically. "Oh, it's fantastic! Quite the collection you have here! And what a privilege to have the place all to myself!" They were genuinely glad I enjoyed it so much. Then came the inevitable, "What brings you to Oakesdale today?" question. I told them I was on my way to Steptoe Butte to see the Palouse Hills then heading to Walla Walla for fireworks. The Palouse Hills were the main attraction for folks zooming through Oakesdale, as it's situated right on the Palouse Scenic Byway.

They told me how much I was going to love it, and I told them how I was a travel writer from New York on my first-ever self-navigated tour of the Pacific Northwest, and they were just fascinated to hear all about my journey. "WOW, all the way from New York!" I explained how I hadn't driven all the way from my home state, but flew to Seattle, rented a car and set out on a many-mile loop through the best of the Northwest, the Rockies, the roads less traveled, and all the National Park sites along the way. And they weren't any less impressed. We gushed for a while about our love of America and all its boundless natural beauty. I told them how puzzling it was for me to see a truck with open windows and the keys in the ignition and we all laughed. Dennis said, "You're in Mayberry now!" 

"Well we're just so happy you decided to stop here and pay us a visit. We don't want to keep you—know you want to get to those hills—and boy, you don't want to miss 'em! But please do sign our guestbook before you go." "Of course, of course!" I replied, "And I noticed you have some t-shirts over there, I would love to buy one or make a donation to thank you so much for inviting me in when you were closed today, but I don't have a dollar on me — only credit cards. I don't suppose your machine is up and running…" In perfect synchronicity, Dennis and Jeff turned to each other then around to the table covered with shirts. "Oh, these!" Dennis exclaimed as he spotted them and remembered their existence simultaneously. My two new friends hurried over to find a good one for me in a way that almost said, "How could we not have thought to offer one to her already?" Dennis called from across the room, "What size is best? We've got 'em all! What's that? Small? Perfect. It's yours." Dennis handed me a folded baby blue "Oakesdale Old Mill Days" t-shirt and insisted that it was free. I couldn't believe it. I asked a few more times, but he persisted, "Consider it a thank you for stopping in. From Oakesdale to you." 

I was so tickled by the whole experience. These kind men, how they invited me in on a holiday when they were closed, their gift to me, them being so interested in my travels, our great conversation. I promised them I'd write about my experience there and how wonderfully unexpected it was. I'm still so glad serendipity enticed me to stop. 

I left my information and some notes in the guestbook, and as Jeff was leaving, and the Palouse Hills were calling, I told Dennis, "Let me run to my car quick and grab my business card for you!" "Oh yes, let me grab mine for you too!" Dennis replied, so warmly. On separate sides of the street, Dennis and I both looked for our business cards. I ran back over to give him mine and he had two for me. "Now this one here's my personal one…has my home phone…and this one's my business one …it's got my email, cell, work, home…so you just take these…and—"I had to cut him off…printed plain to see on the front of his business-business card was the title, "TOWN OF OAKESDALE MAYOR"!!! Yup, that's right… I'd just received the royal Evergreen State treatment, a free t-shirt, an exclusive tour of a closed museum, all courtesy of the MAYOR of Oakesdale, Washington. 

I wish I could remember exactly what he said when I interrupted him to exclaim, "Oh my god, Dennis, you're the Mayor!?! I can't believe—I'm so—wow! I've never met a Mayor before! And now I'm even more honored to have toured your museum! This is so cool! Thank you so much, Mr. Mayor!" He was so modest – not the bragging type, so naturally, it wouldn't be the first thing he shares when meeting new people. What a mensch! I was so blown away! Still am! And all on my favorite day of every year. I wished Dennis a very Happy 4th of July, promised to write to and about him and the hospitality he showed me – he told me to be careful and have a great time. And then I was off to explore some more.

As I drove out of Oakesdale and into the rolling hills of Eastern Washington, I got to thinking about the nature of different places and how they nurture different people in different ways. Little towns like Oakesdale nurture me in a way very different from big-city thrills and frills.

Some places are set up for spectating, like watching the parade that is everyday life in New York City. Or catapulting right into it, if you're brave enough. Wearing your favorite oven mittens on a stroll around town, singing Christmas carols loud and out of tune in July – embracing your inner everything, but on the outside. Places where you feel freer to be so unapologetically you, have a unique beauty all their own. 

And other places; tucked away places, free from the pressures of rat races — places that feel as though they were manifested in a dream. Places "where a man can slow down to a walk and live his life full measure*." These are the places that just might invite you in with a personal invitation once you're already there – make you feel a sense of belonging, a level of comfort you're surprised to find in a place you've never been. And the folks who invite you, show you their way, just by being, and they're just as eager to learn about your ways, hear about your journey and your stories, and offer you an ice tea and a rock on a front porch swing. 

Places like the ladder feature a life less labored, a life more laidback, and in turn, they tempt me into early retirement with every visit. While places like the former, invigorate me and inspire me to reinvent myself and swing from the rafters, making the scaffolding my monkey bars. And herein exists one of the few cases in my life where I don't feel favoritism for one place or one way over the other. I admire and appreciate the experience of each for exactly what it is and what it isn't and for the unique effects each has on me.

What kind of effects do different places have on you? Do you feel the same in different cultural climates? Do you detest wide open spaces or being confined by concrete and steel? Do you like having neighbors within earshot and eyesight? Does something about only having grazing cows close by appeal to you? If you're not sure, get out and find out. Because you never know, you just may discover you belong in a place like the Palouse Hills.

*Quote from S1E30 of The Twilight Zone: A Stop at Willoughby. (One of my personal favorites.)