While this column nuzzled into the pages of this paper more than one-year ago, I was at home adjusting to being a new mom and still adjusting to little ol’ Roseburg.
A girl who was used to expensive late-night dining, black cocktail dresses, checking email while driving, waving down taxis and a mall bigger than Riddle had to quickly adjust to a pickup that wouldn’t allow for all her luggage, a husband who didn’t know how to text message, a town that starts buzzing at 3 a.m. and a lot of hickory shirts, Carhartt jeans and even worse — Beaver fans.
Granted, while a lot of these adjustments were town-oriented, I also believe God moved me here in order to slap me with reality before I became a mother.
This wasn’t easy, and I’m not only talking about the new definition of “late-night dining” I had learned being a new mom. It wasn’t easy adapting to a small town while also having to listen to everyone in the city say, “I can’t believe you live in Roseburg,” or asking “When are you moving back?”
I even had people ask me if I was going to have our baby in the city. They figured there was no safe place in little Roseburg. Yes, we all know how those small-town children turn out — I married one — and don’t tell anyone, but I think they turn out even better than the others.
Well, opposites make the best relationships, don’t they? If Roseburg would have been the big city I planned on living in, I would have found myself bored and probably very broke. Like Carrie Bradshaw said, “I would have literally been the old lady who lived in her shoes.”
I also wouldn’t have found what a diamond in the rough this county is.
For instance, I had no idea that real friends actually bring you soup when you are sick or throw you a surprise baby shower. They call you just to see how you are doing or tell you that you are completely normal to eat a whole box of brownies or bawl during that television commercial.
I also had no idea how faithful one community could be, always opening its arms and offering its prayers.
I didn’t know there was food that existed that was so incredibly delicious and yet so high in cholesterol. Home of the Indians? More like home of the casserole. You ladies sure can bake.
Ah, Roseburg, you are a pretty special place filled with very unique people. And I don’t mean how-many-beer-cans-or-couches-can-you-collect-in-your-yard unique (by the way, please clean those up). I mean unique as in if it were me against the world, I feel like this community would be at my defense.
Thank you, Roseburg, for providing the best group of friends; thank you for keeping the faith; thank you for still reading your newspaper — and for some reason, reading this column; thank you for putting in a Costco; thank you for not having traffic; and most of all, thank you for giving this city girl a chance.