A few years ago, driving west on Highway 20, after rising out of Tumalo, a faded red barn stood not far off the side of the road, slouched there like some kind of colossal beast leaning its great and sleeping weight against the endemic sunshine. Like so many of its kind, the paw of gravity rested heavy upon it and it looked as if caught in the very act of falling down, propped up by nothing more substantial than an incorrigible will. Glimpsed even at 55 miles per hour, its humble lines and stately bearing were immediately recognizable—it stood, undefended, profoundly graceful in the center of its field. The barn is still there, but in recent years has been stabilized and now rises straight and true, its vertical board and batten siding severely established and august against the high desert sky. I can’t blame the owners for shoring it up, and even applaud them, but to my way of thinking, and once upon a time, the barn and its beauty were more sublime.

 

In case you weren't paying attention, both of the United States national team's first-half goals against Mexico in the Concacaf Gold Cup final soccer match were announced by loud cheering, bar banging and bell ringing at Sidelines Sports Bar and Grill on Saturday night.

This was appreciated, given that I missed both scores even though I was at the downtown bar on Saturday for the specific purpose of watching soccer. Luckily, the excited patrons and the slow motion replays on the eight TVs (all that I could see from my seat — I'm sure there were more) clued me in after goals from Michael Bradley and Landon Donovan gave the U.S. an early lead. I'm no Frank Deford, but it seems like catching a goal in a 90-minute game where scores can be few and far between would be a pretty easy task, even for a fan like myself.

I took a punch in the gut recently. First one in quite a few years and it hurt, hurt bad. What happened was the phone rang, I answered it, my wife told me the bad news and I made the decision not to throw up. I wanted to throw something at least, anything, and take a swing back, oh you bet I did, but I was on my bicycle down by the river and the geese had nothing to do with it. What a thing, I thought, a few words and the world turns upside down, inside out, and there's nothing you can do but hang on for the ride. And such a physical response, a visceral reaction.

What's ironic is that not long ago I had occasion to open a bottle of champagne. The reason is irrelevant, at least to this telling, but suffice it to say I'd received some great news and was in a celebratory mood. On that day, only champagne would do. For someone like myself, situations that warrant such excess are few and far between, so it's best to take advantage of them when I can, not knowing when the opportunity will arrive again. Getting sucker punched so soon afterward took the shine out of life, to say the least.

When Josh Hart arrived in Joplin, Missouri, after a four-day haul from Bend, he quickly realized that he hadn’t fully prepared himself for what he was going to see. And smell. Just a week earlier, the city of about 50,000 people had been devastated by one of the most deadly and destructive tornados in our country’s history. Hart knew this, but still, he wasn’t primed for the experience.

“When I got here, it looked like the tornado had just left. It’s indescribable. Everything is dirt and rubble for a mile wide and seven miles long. When you stand in the middle of it, you see nothing but complete destruction,” says Hart. “There are no words to describe the stench of rotting corpses, animals and food.”

The tornado – one of many that ravaged the Midwest this spring – hit Joplin in the early evening hours of Sunday, May 22. Currently, there have been 153 deaths attributed to the tornado, but that number could increase as remains continue to be found below the piles of rubble, many of which have yet to be combed through. The impact of the tornado hits home upon glancing through the obituary section of the Joplin Globe’s website, which is populated with far too many young faces of people killed on May 22. The videos of the tornado shot by survivors are also horrifying, to say the least, but not nearly as horrific as the devastation Hart witnessed, even days after the storm had left the city.

“There’s nothing a human can do to prepare themselves for what they can see here. These people went through a meat grinder,” says Hart, having just finished a long day of work in the oppressive heat and humidity that’s engulfed Joplin for most of the time following the tornado – providing just one more challenge to an already overly challenged community.

After six years of broadcasting at a mere two watts and barely reaching throughout the Bend city limits, our city’s community radio station, KPOV, has achieved a long-term goal and become a full-power radio station. This might mean there’s some rebranding to do, given that their signal, which can be heard at 88.9FM, will reach well into Redmond, Sunriver and other surrounding communities. The move to full power was the culmination of a massive fundraising campaign and thousands of volunteer hours that will surely escalate the presence of one of Bend’s best-kept cultural secrets. With the stronger signal, you have plenty of reason to tune into the eclectic, locally produced content that comes from the minds of KPOV’s volunteer hosts and DJs. Here are a few shows to get you started.

Open Air

Wednesdays 5-6 p.m., Rebroadcast Tuesdays 6 -7 a.m.

Her name might not be as recognizable as some of the other media types in Bend, but Dawn Newton, with her show “Open Air,” has become one of the more interesting journalists in town. Her interview show features a wide range of subjects, from authors to athletes and other notables, like Ed Asner, who she interviewed before he came to town last year.

“It’s really about giving people the opportunity to tell their story and the listener a chance to walk in their shoes,” says Newton, a mother of two who first dabbled in radio back in high school.