week seven: highs and lows.

Apr 3

You can find my “Week Six” post here.

Sunday was Georgia’s last full day with me. I would be on my own again, for the first time since Charlotte, NC, a month and a half ago. We started the week off leisurely that morning, recuperating a bit from the excitement of the past several days in California. Georgia, Michael, and I grabbed coffee at The Beanery from around the corner and made sure to stop by the Farmer’s Market. There was a quiche vendor stall that grabbed our attention and I figured my options for breakfast had been narrowed dramatically. We took our time refueling and eventually joined the folks lined up along Market St. to witness the Pride parade, full of cars pulling cheering corporate parties and local organizations. It had been a cheerful day, and we managed to unwind at Dolores Park again before calling it a day.

And then it was time to part ways. I knew I had a day of driving ahead of me so I got into the comfiest joggers I had. We grabbed a final coffee with Michael from Gus’s Community Market that morning and said our goodbyes. I couldn’t believe we were done in San Francisco. Despite not having figured out how I felt about the Bay Area, I definitely wanted to have spent some more time there. Georgia’s flight from SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA, gave us a short buffer of time, so we drove across the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge we had seen from the Ferry Building a few days ago, and made our way to BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA, where I had wanted to check out Mrs. Dalloway’s Bookstore. It was a cute part of town that reminded me of Chapel Hill/Carrboro, back home. The bookstore had many botanical motifs and distinct sections for books related to cooking and plants, which led me to believe that the Berkeley community was really into gardening and fresh foods. Soon enough, we arrived at Sacramento International Airport and after a long embrace, I said goodbye to Georgia, wishing her well travels.

*Saying goodbye to Georgia, in Sacramento, California*

And suddenly it was a lot quieter in the car. I hadn’t been alone with my thoughts—or alone in general, for that matter—in a long time. I suppose I could listen to whatever stupid songs I desired, and go or not go to as many places as I wanted to now. As I pulled out of the airport, I could feel my social battery sputtering, like flashing red lights telling me I needed to withdraw for a little bit after having crossed the paths of so many folks last week—or last month. It had been a very long month. Was I tired?

“I can’t be tired. I’ve got five more weeks of travel and interviews left before I can feel tired.”

That was when I realized I had an important matter to attend to first—where I would be sleeping that night. Last night, when I had been making sure I was all set to be camping at Shasta-Trinity National Forest on my way to EUGENE, OREGON, I had learned that some restrictions had been put into place on the campsites and I would have to create an alternate plan. Three hours later, just driving north from Sacramento, hoping an idea would pop into my head, I pulled into Lassen Volcanic National Park’s Visitor Center. Tall, conical trees covered the valleys between the heaping mounds, and a subtle breeze whistled throughout the landscape. The area was gorgeous, of course, but I wasn’t able to appreciate it under the time crunch of finding accommodations. After a bit of surfing on my laptop, I managed to find a reasonably priced Motel 6 in ARCATA, CALIFORNIA. With the difficult part over, I decided to call my friend Beth, and catch up with her, although I kept breaking up because I was losing signals in the mountains. I suppose I can spend this time calling people. I didn’t have to be alone if my friends could keep me company. On my way to Arcata, I stopped at Whiskeytown National Recreation Area; the name itself drew me in. I parked my car in the lot and looked out across the massive lake, the golden hour sun rippling across the water. Temporarily, the pain of losing $125 to the San Francisco transit folks and the mixed feelings about being alone faded, and I was present, thankful for a beautiful evening. As I drove through the winding roads and watched an orange sun completely behind the silhouette of dark trees, a fog settled in and it all felt very Twilight for a bit. A few hours later, I arrived at Motel 6, exhausted, just eager to hop into a bed and conk out. I wasn’t so lucky. While checking in, I had to interact with an older Indian man who felt the need to educate me at 10 pm and tell me how to pronounce my own name correctly as he handed me the keycard. I smiled and nodded and quickly went to bed. Even the yelling and arguing from the family next door couldn’t stop me from drifting off immediately.

The following morning, I couldn’t get out of Arcata faster. Fortunately, my path to Eugene led me right through the Redwoods, and I was suddenly driving through the forest moon of Endor. It was time for the windows to roll down, and for the cool air to put a smile on my face. I couldn’t imagine living in the Pacific Northwest, having the most beautiful forests in my backyard all the time. But then again, there was beauty back home. I suppose things go unnoticed after you get used to them. I would have to change that when I was back, and find ways to let the outdoors of North Carolina wow me more often. As I drove through this part of the forest, I would break into bits of coastal roads occasionally, where I would stop at my heart’s desire to take photos of the gray waves crashing against boulders in the distance.

I had time for a quick lunch at Panera in SPRINGFIELD, OREGON. After gobbling up my glorified hospital food, I finally arrived in Eugene. My friend Will, who I had met up with in Charlotte and Nashville, had mentioned stopping in Eugene when he had been out west doing conservation work last year. I parked outside of Tsunami Books and went in to meet my interviewee.

Tsunami Books

EUGENE, OREGON

Owned by Scott Landfield in South Eugene, Tsunami Books is a treasure trove of stories. “We like to think for the progressive mind,” Scott said. “Sets the standard: the arts, spirituality, literature...” The name of the store comes from Scott’s fascination with the term and the way the clouds seem to roll over Spencer's Butte—a 2,500 ft mountain nearby—in massive waves. Historically, the space has served its patrons with a large selection of used and new books and has brought the community together with recitals, plays, and live music on a homebuilt stage in the heart of the store.

How would you describe this bookstore in one word?

“One word… unique. No other store like it, for sure, in America. I haven't seen the world...”

Although Tsunami Books provides titles for people of all ages, Scott’s noticed more and more young folks visiting the store—and they’re on a mission.

“They're all coming in, gem hunting,” Scott explained. “And that's what they call it. They've seen them on their parents’ shelves, or on a professor's shelves, or somewhere, you know. They've heard about it, and they come up to the counter with stacks. Stacks of nuggets, used things, you know, one of a kind… all treasures. So, that's been very exciting to see.”

According to Scott, younger generations have grown up in a very cold, corporate world—one they’re tired of. Tsunami offers a reprieve from that world, offers something personal and refreshing, from the comforting vibe of the store to the traditional, old-fashioned check-out method at the counter. Over time, Tsunami has been everything from a forum for political candidates to a special music venue. Scott would like to see more people make memories at live performances in the store in the future.

“It's a great memory,” Scott said. “And you're sober when you're experiencing it. You're at the height of your sensitivities and in an enclosed area. I went to see Bob Dylan in front of 2000 people the other day I was in the sixth row. The sound was terrible. And I thought, ‘sorry, Bob… it would have been perfect in here. It would have been perfect.’ Do they even have the guts left to try something like that? I really respect the people who do and we've had some special ones.”

Scott was recommending…

Tsunami managed to power through the pandemic, kept every crew member, provided curbside pickup, and even published a book selling 5000 copies in 2 weeks. These past few years brought the Tsunami team closer together, all the while maintaining the services they’ve provided to the community in a safe, health-conscious manner.

“People learned how to read… in the pandemic,” Scott said. “Those who did read upped their game. They're better readers than they were… much better. And so, their tastes are interesting now. Very good taste.” I certainly felt that I had re-learned what it feels like to enjoy a story these past few years. The energy of the store spoke to me. I had no doubt that some epic performances had rocked the stage we were sitting on. Every poetry slam, every band, every open mic—an expression of love for the arts and for Tsunami. What I found most endearing about this place was a sense of hope in the way Scott spoke about the future of bookstores in America, and how people increasingly need places like Tsunami—places that can take them anywhere.

I let Scott go for another meeting he had. “Make sure you check out our bathroom,” one of the employees said. A wonderful collage in there led me to take another lap around the store, eyeing the posters and personal touches that covered the walls and ceilings, as if a tsunami of historical artifacts capturing the spirit of Eugene had washed through.

PORTLAND, OREGON, was only a few hours away from me, and I had planned on staying there for a few days to rest and gather enough energy to catapult me through what I knew would be long drives on western roads. I was staying with my friends, Eric and Martha, who I hadn’t seen since March when I had been visiting pals in HILO, HAWAI’I. I had told them about the road trip then, and they had generously offered to host me if my travels ever took me through Portland. I took them up on that offer. That evening, we caught up over dinner at The Old Market Pub & Brewery before returning home, where they had set me up in the living room. That couch was lightyears ahead of the motel room from last night. And I didn’t get up off of it for two days. For some reason, I listened to Soak Up The Sun, by Sheryl Crow on repeat. Maybe I was missing the Cali sun, but it was just stuck in my head, so I ran the course and listened to it a few hundred times. One morning, Eric and Martha took me on a short walk up to the top of a hill in their community, and I could see all of the mountains and hills for miles.

That Friday, I managed to break from the shackles of home comfort and got ready for my next interview. I was still a bit tired, but I chalked it up to my body catching up with any sleep debt I had accumulated thus far. The excitement was up that morning. I couldn’t believe I had managed to secure this chat, but I was to meet with a team member at Powell’s City of Books—the largest independent bookstore in the world.

Powell’s City of Books

PORTLAND, OREGON

A landmark in downtown Portland, Powell’s City of Books comprises an entire city block and is the world’s largest independent—new and used—bookstore. Opened in 1971, by Walter Powell, and his son, Michael Powell, the store is now owned by Michael’s daughter, Emily Powell—a third-generation family-owned bookstore.

Here, I had the pleasure of speaking to Emily Brotovitz, the marketing coordinator at the time. Emily kindly agreed to take the time out of her schedule to chat with me before the store officially opened for the day.

How would you describe this bookstore in one word?

“Vast. We say we're the largest independent new and used bookstore, we know that for sure.”

That title has never been treated as a pedestal or held the store back from wanting to improve and adapt to better serve the community every day, even through the tough times brought upon by the pandemic. Over five decades ago, when Powell’s opened its doors, they uniquely shelved their used and new titles together, side-by-side, allowing customers to find any copies of a given book together. Now, they have recently resumed book-buying in-person and online, which brings in some rare gems from time to time. Powell’s also sells books to local schools and frequently works with nonprofit organizations and local businesses to give back to a community that has given them so much. All of the things that make Powell’s a beloved part of the community have come from keeping the customer at the forefront of their minds.

“It's, I think, an honor to work here because it's such a cornerstone of the local Portland community,” Emily said. “I mean, 51 years… You can see this neighborhood is built up all around us. But this was more or less an industrial district 50 years ago—20 years ago, for that matter. And so, people would come here just to go to Powell’s.”

The strong support of the community and the uptick in online orders allowed Powell’s to bring back many staff members to keep up with the influx of business during the pandemic. But where does support like that come from? Emily suggested that customers see themselves in the store. Their friends work at Powell’s. Their kids took their senior photos at Powell’s. Their neighbors got married at Powell’s. They met a local artist or an author featured at a gallery or event at Powell’s.

“We ended up raffling off private shopping sprees because the store was closed,” Emily recalled. “You could win a $200 gift card and a trip into the otherwise completely empty—apart from a few staff members—store if you made a $10-or-more donation to a local charity.”

Emily was recommending…

*Fight Like Hell: The Untold History of American Labor*, by Kim Kelly

Powell’s also partnered with different charities on a weekly basis for months, raising roughly $60,000-$70,000 for nonprofits through a book drive. Recently, the store partnered with SMART, a local literacy nonprofit, through a mural project celebrating children’s reading, and a fundraiser with the Black Sovereignty Coalition for Juneteenth, raising $19,000 for black families in need of support in the Portland area. For Powell’s, these partnerships are more about using their platform to amplify community voices.

“So, we hope we provide a service for the city that is beyond just getting your books because bookstores are all about that sense of community,” Emily said. And with that, I felt she captured the spirit of my project.

*Outside Powell’s City of Books, in Portland, Oregon*

After I was done at Powell’s, I walked around the Pearl District and ordered a latte and croissant at Coava Coffee Roasters for a little pick-me-up. Downtown Portland was packed with every type of cuisine you could imagine and wide sidewalks and parks to stroll around in. There were some older-looking, stone-brick roads snaking around town fit with tracks for a tram. It was also a very biker-conscious area. I walked around for a bit longer before I remembered that my parking spot was set to expire. Things took a turn from the high of the morning, though, when I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me. Something’s definitely wrong. Suddenly, the laziness I had experienced the last two days on Martha’s couch and the slowness from that morning was being reframed in my mind, when I considered that I could possibly be sick. I wanted to be sure, just as I had in Aspen. I didn’t have Kathryn’s calming reassurance this time. I called a clinic nearby after making an appointment to confirm that my health insurance would work there. There were no CVS minute clinics around me, so I was a little out of the familiar territory. When the healthcare official confirmed that I had COVID-19, my heart froze and a million fearful thoughts crept into my mind. How could this happen? This was just my luck. Why didn’t I get tested before? Why didn’t I have any symptoms? I wasn’t just tired? Where did I get it? Oh, no. How am I going to tell Eric and Martha? Are they going to hate me? Should I head to Seattle to quarantine early?

“Damn,” I said, with a disappointed frown. I tried to get out of there as quickly as I could to call my mom, and then Eric. The good news was that Eric was extremely understanding on the phone. When I returned home, and Martha had been filled in, they were incredibly sympathetic and accommodating to someone who had brought COVID into their home. I felt really bad, even though I knew I had brought about the complication unintentionally. They were happy to keep me for as long as I had originally planned on staying, and we all remained masked up in each others’ presence. The bad news? During the rest of the week, I remained glued to the couch, resting and drinking fluids constantly. I was thrilled to not be experiencing any symptoms. I observed fatigue as my only side effect. It was a bit tough to feel absolutely helpless—I was a problem-solver by nature, and not being able to immediately “fix” myself was frustrating. On the flip side, I wasn’t missing any interviews and my project was on track. Having an excuse to lay and watch Netflix the entire day was something I hadn’t had in a long time, so I did my best to go easy on myself and just focus on recovering. The night I found out, Eric and Martha brought me back some delicious donuts from Voodoo Donuts to cheer me up. I devoured a goofy, alien-shaped one.

This week’s food for thought

“They’re very decent people. You walk into a bookstore and you become decent. People check, you know, you gotta give them a little space when they first walk in because they feel different. They just naturally do when they walk into a bookstore. We have people from all over the world who’ve come to settle in Eugene. Quite... a vortex. And people have come from all over the world to live here. And not too many of them, yet. So, just to see these people with their books. And of course, I built, you know, I had a hand in the building of every inch of this place. So, I can feel the memory… you know, feel the artists, feel the woodworkers, feel the wood, from where it came from… the books, of course. So, that feeling is overwhelming at times. Very pleasant.”