Coeur d

ReLook: Numero Hill & The Sinking City

It’s my first week at the University of Rochester. Since I’m adjusting to my new schedule (and homework-work-load), I thought I’d revisit some old blog posts. Some stories deserve a second telling. Some deserve a better telling. In a happy (yet horrid) affair, I edited, cut, and rehashed this post. I hope you enjoy! 

Numero Hill & The Sinking City

Think about this: You live in a small town; you’ve been there your whole life. One day, it just disappears, vanishes (maybe “Vanish” is too much; how about this: “It drowns”). The city drowns.

The waters rise. All you can do is head uphill.


Last weekend, I was asked to lead worship in Entiat, Washington by my friend Gar Mickelson who was guest speaking. The church’s usual “worship-person” was on a retreat. I’m not sure who he was retreating from; they didn’t tell me.

Gar gave me advice to keep it simple: “It’s a small church in a small town.”

On the three-hour drive to Entiat, Gar spoke to us—us includes my wife; Josh Hardy, the guitar and piano accompaniment; and myself—about some of the history of Entiat, WA, a tiny town along the Columbia River, near Wenatchee. “In 1960, most of the town had to move and relocate to higher ground, due to the Rocky Reach Dam, built just a few miles north on the river. This dam would be so powerful and so important, it would provide power all the way to Coeur D’Alene and beyond.”

The dam fulfilled its purpose and benefited many towns, unfortunately, at the cost of Entiat. The waters rose and she was of covered. The locals who stayed had to resettle uphill.

The Number Entiat

Pulling into the church parking lot, we noticed a steep and flat cliff on the side of a big hill which overlooked the town. “Numero Hill,” said a local. (more…)


Last Day of Work: Unemployment Eve

photoIt’s scary to leave a job. Even if you hate the job, it’s still scary. There’s the one or two days of “freedom.” You call your friends, maybe text, “hey, I’m free!” Then, after the smug clears, you realize there is no source of income. And all those people you complained about everyday, well you miss them.

I didn’t hate my job. I actually quite liked it. There were times where I did hate it, but that’s inevitable. Every job has its ups and downs; the real trick is to be able to see them through and laugh with your boss the next day.

Today is my last shift of a three year stint at Pilgrim’s Market in Coeur d’Alene, ID. My wife and I are moving to San Luis Obispo, CA on the first of the year for an internship.

Pilgrims is an entry level job. The second I announced my leaving, plans were made to replace me, and like that, I was replaced. Life goes on. Sometimes we like to pretend that our legacy is bigger than that. I don’t know. It’s a produce job.

I’d like to pretend I’m leaving behind some sort of void. I guess I’m narcissistic that way.

The other day, I overheard a new hire and the manager talking about what shifts she would take. “Well, after Kevin’s gone, Wednesday and Thursday will open”…

This must be how grandparents feel on their deathbed: lousy relatives rummaging through their things, claiming knick knacks before they’ve even seen the light.

“I can still hear you” I yelled.

It’s good to quit a job every now and then. It’ll test you, force you to do bigger and better things. We’ve done everything right: planned it, saved money, lined up future jobs, graduated schools…

It still seems shaky at best. It may just be that after all these years of entry level jobs, I’ve convinced myself that it’s where I belong. That maybe, I can’t do much better. I remember having the same nervousness the day I graduated high school. I forgot my sunscreen that day.

Here’s to three happy years at Pilgrim’s Market. A great job with incredible people. A place where I learned patience, kindness, and the difference between a turnip and a rutabaga. I will truly miss it.