Day 2
Even though a plethora of my fellow choir members were so kind as to give me explicit details of the general format of homestead stays, I still didn’t know what to expect. Turns out it was just as my friends told me.
A lovely woman by the name of Raquel (ric-elle) Ewalt met Hannah Heinz and I in the sanctuary after the concert. She had dark hair, a black-brown color like fire-burnt wood, smooth skin that wasn’t quite pale but not quite tan. She was sweet-natured, the ideal hostess, ensuring that Hannah and I were well-fed and entertained. Upon arriving at her house, where we met her husband Kevin and children Jonah (5), Leah (3), Mical (2), and the newborn whose name escapes me, she introduced us to our room. Scantily decorated but comfortable, the room’s pale yellow walls welcomed us. A queen bed with minimal plllows gave us a place to set our things for a time. As if the room had the motto “don’t judge a book by its cover”, the mattress was quite cozy, much like the rest of the room. We moved into the kitchen while Kevin removed our suitcases from the trunk. All the while, Raquel conversed with us on multiple topics, making us more and more at ease. After a while, she set us up with her kids’ Wii, and I discovered the gloriousness of Mario Kart. That made me happy. J Soon afterward, Hannah and I checked our face books (our hosts were kind enough to offer their internet to us), where I posted my notes on Day 1. Then, we slept.
Back on the buses at 8:00 in the morning, after a pancake breakfast and a few sack lunches. The first of many turkey sandwiches, as I’m told. When we stopped for lunch at 12:15, I discovered a childhood memory that I had for too long forgotten. Inside my sack lunch, stapled shut, I found a note. It was simple- “Have a great tour! Love, the Ewalts”- but the many notes that my own mother had packed into my lunches as a child were resurfaced in my mind. Many “I love you’s” and “have a great day, honey’s” flooded my mind, and resulted in a huge smile on my face.
Thank you, Raquel.
And thank you, Mama. J
P.S. The scenery is getting better and better as we head North!!! Green trees, green fields, and haystacks. Who would have thunk we’d have such a thing in California?
It’s raining here in Redding, and everything is green outside. Becca Flint told me to be prepared for Washington, because it will most likely be raining the whole time we’re there. I’m excited! I love the rain! I’m just worried about the havoc it’s going to wreak on us ladies’ hair. Oh well… all we can do is the best we can do. Poufy, wavy hair isn’t the end of the world, right?....
Preparing for concert #2. Then, off to host home #2. Wonder what it’ll be like…
Okay, I know I’m only 3 days and 2 nights into tour, but this has GOT to be the coolest host family ever!!! Their names are Pat and…Cadesh?...whatever her name is, it’s polish. Oh just kidding- their last name is Polish. Her name is Pam.
As a reminder, I’m in Redding, CA currently, and it definitely has a country feel to it. Well, not a feel. It is country, compared to the Los Angeles suburbs I’ve lived in for the past 7 years.
I’ll tell you all about my stay here tomorrow.
Day 3
The hosts, Pat and Pam, must be in their 40’s or 50’s. The awesome part? The first room we walked into had a full band set-up in it. Drum set, full keyboard (with weighted keys!), microphones, amps, speakers... you name it. They are both in a band whose name escapes me currently- a SKA band. Awesome, right?
What struck me the most however, more so than the hosts’ hobby, was the home. There was no outstanding décor, no fine furniture, no new carpet or prettily-hung curtains. There were no paintings, or even framed posters for that matter. The living room and the kitchen were an arbitrary conglomerate of country knick-knacks, grandma-made doilies, candid family photos framed in simple wood, and shelves supporting a number of antique-store quality goods. Rugged greens and browns mingled homey-like with pinks, blues and reds. The walls were wood, the kitchen floor linoleum, and the worn carpet a sea-foam green. The band room was the only stand-out, with its wan yellow walls hung with band photos, a poster of Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby, and a variety of brass instruments long past their prime.
The best part was the wood-burning stove. The main source of heat, it must have been the newest addition to the home given its make and model, certainly purchased within the past 5 years. The heat it contained radiated through the house, touching it not only with heat but with a welcome hug-like warmth. The smell…oh, the smell. A light, smoky fragrance, trailing with it the memories of oak, pine, and redwood, bringing fresh to my mind the vision of the Leona Valley house. The home I spent 8½ of my growing up years in, heated solely by 2 wood-burning stoves. Memories of my father teaching me to build a fire, drying snow-wet clothes, and warming my hands and feet by the black stoves filled my mind. Needless to say, I was bathed in not only a pleasing aroma, but pleasant memories that I had nearly and so tragically forgotten.
I felt as if I belonged there, as if I were in a dreamworld where my grandmother was a warm and motherly individual, or I had discovered a magical hideaway that a long-lost aunt owned. The house was bedded in pine trees wet with rain, rich green grass, rustic red bricks, and an overfilled fountain that served as a birdbath.
The hosts themselves, despite their ska edge, were just as warm, just as welcoming, and just as comforting as their home was. They greeted us with open arms, encouraging us to scour the kitchen for any need we had. “Don’t bother asking us for anything,” Pam said with a wink in her eye, “I’m a mom. Get it yourself.”
Leaving their home, strange as it may seem, was sad.
On the road. It’s 10:32 AM, and we’re somewhere above Mt. Shasta and Salem, Oregon. EVERYTHING around me is green, lush, covered in trees, whose tops are threaded with scattered patches of fog, as if an oversized spider weaved a delicate web in their tops. The hills turned into mountains, and sometimes, I catch the glimmer of snow on a distant mountaintop. There’s no civilization to be found, but who needs the civil when God’s wild earth radiates His glory like no skyscraper could?
Day 7
It’s been a while since I’ve last written. I came down with a really bad cold on the fourth day of tour and haven’t felt up to writing until now. Let’s see… a brief overview of the past few days:
Day 4: Woke up with a head cold. I slept almost the entire bus ride as a result of some medicine that my host home gave me. The host home was amazing! The parents, John and Jonette, were very hospitable and thankfully clean. They had 2 children: Carson and, believe it or not, a 12-year-old girl named Riley, who plays the trumpet! They are a very involved family, participating in everything from sports to music. Carson, the 14-year-old boy, reminded me of my brother Travis, with his heart of gold, his servanthood, and his mad skills in everything from electric work to woodworking to dropping a transmission.
I had to sit out of the concert that night in Spokane, WA. I was feverish, complete with weak-feeling muscles, red eyes, and cloudy thoughts. I’m thankful I did- I think it lent to a speedier recovery, of which I’m still in the process.
Day 5: I stayed the night at an adorable elderly couples’ home with Candice. Dick and Marilyn were their names. I explained to them that I had come down with a cold, and they were kind enough to give me my own room. I experienced some panic the following morning, however. The Nyquil I took the night before caused me to sleep through my alarm, causing me to wake up 45 minutes past my set time. If it weren’t for Candice, who gently woke me with the question, “Do you need to be up yet?”, I wouldn’t have been ready at all. Through my hurry to leave the house, however, I left my bottle of Castille soap, which served as my facewash and bodywash. (Bummer.) We went to Montana that day, which was breathtaking.
I thought that I understood what “purple mountain majesty” meant, but swiftly realized I was wrong when I viewed the Montana mountains. They were steep and dramatic, the deepest purple lining the base, capped in heavy white snow tinted by the spacious blue sky with lavender. Fields of thick, long grass, greener than anything I’ve ever seen, covered the rest of landscape that wasn’t mountainous. As we drove further into the state, clouds became darker and lower in altitude. An hour after we arrived at the church, it began to snow heavily, drawing gasps from our turquoise-clad women and drenching anyone caught outside for a brief few seconds, including the guys already dressed for the concert. This church is where I lost my hairbrush. Needless to say, I did a lot of borrowing from my roommates, especially that night.
My Montana host home was amazing. The house looked like a Lincoln-Log cabin, had 3 stories, and an AMAZING view of the mountains. It was placed in the middle of green pastures, somewhat removed and isolated from the minute town of Hamilton. The generous hosts, who took in 6 of us girls, consisted of Less and Holly, Courtney, John, and another girl I can’t remember. The breakfast they presented us with was generous- homemade bread, toasted; eggs cooked to order, bacon, English muffins, and orange juice. So far it holds the record for the best host breakfast yet! Us girls stayed in the basement and in the loft, 3 to a floor. The loft is where I stayed, normally the 2 daughters’ room. It was carpeted in maroon, and held a myriad of craft areas and a walk-in closet that held multiple costumes. Cute decorating idea: the bathroom door was 2 saloon-style doors. J
Day 6: Left Montana, and again, slept a lot on the bus. The terrain we passed by for the second time, through a mountain pass, was gorgeous, blanketed in glorious pines, snow-capped mountains, and an innumerable amount of rivers, streams, creeks, lakes, and waterfalls.
We arrived in Wenatchee, WA, where we sang at a Free Methodist church. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I can say that the host home that took me, and 5 other girls, wasn’t the best I’ve had, however, I can gladly report that I was well taken care of, fed well, and still had a great experience. Peter and Beverly Black hosted us, and the entire time they only talked about themselves and their families, no questions directed towards us. Disappointing, but nothing to complain about, and certainly tolerable.
Today, we are on our way to Seattle. We just stopped at a town called Levinworth, a quaint German-style tourist town tucked away in the Cascade Mountains. People walked around in German clothing, styled after yodelers and the like. Gingerbread lined the roofs of the buildings, and the shops were quaint and homey. A festival featuring local artists and a live band, playing music authentic to Germany, lined on of the streets. By the grace of God this adorable tourist trap had a pharmacy, where I was able to purchase a new hairbrush and facewash. I’m again a happy person. J
Now, we’re passing through the Cascade mountains, and the picture outside my window reflects God’s creativity much like the Montana landscape did. Pine trees, a rushing river inspiring me to white water raft again, open pastures and patches of snow pass me by from my home on the bus. I’m going to cease writing for now, not only to chat with my bus partner Jordyn Gonzales, but to admire God’s handiwork in the state of Washington. Seattle, here I come! J
