Heart of the Valley

I'm haunted by the last two sentences of my last blog post. I was trying to compare my commute to a river, and went with the analogy, and the river spilled back to Corvallis. I wrote that, wondered where it came from, then left it. Do we all return to Corvallis?

Now, a week later, I reflect on the last few days. I've run into former students, three of them, and they're all on different points on the same cycle. One wants to leave Corvallis, one is going to school back East, and one is back in Corvallis, having left an eastern school. They all find their way home, like salmon. I also have this anadromous impulse.

This was a good Friday. Leaving class as the final bell rang, the students filed out merrily, with the typical high-fives and laughter. They asked me if I was going to the boys basketball game. I said no. They asked me if I was going to the OSU gymnastics meet. I said no, I lived in Wilsonville. They wondered what I was doing.

I blinked. I thought of strip malls, traffic, and parking garages. I don't know, I told them. Where I live isn't like Corvallis.

Tomorrow, Saturday, I'm heading back down I-5 to the Heart of the Valley.