Bald Hill is to me what Notre Dame is to the French. I go there to rejoice, to grieve, to heal, to find peace, to think, to stop thinking, to draw, to walk, to laugh, or to be silent and still. It’s a five minute drive from home. The trails meander through meadows and oaks, beside streams, up hill and down dale. Cows, or coyotes, or geese, take the place of Notre Dame’s gargoyles, glaring or ignoring me. And now, thanks to the Green Belt Land Trust and their recent acquisition of the farm, I can put to rest that whiny little voice that has always been with me when I’m there, that voice that always said, “When will the subdivisions begin to sprout…?”
Last night was a celebration, out in the middle of the pasture where sheep often graze. The Willamette Symphony braved a sassy summer wind and performed a lovely symphony, accompanied by crickets and tree frogs. They anchored their instruments and sheet music with feed sacks and clothes pins – like the emcee said, it’s amazing what you can rustle up on a moments notice from a working farm. The musician on the northwest end of the stage absolutely glowed as the setting sun turned his hair to silver. Local wine, beer, and crepes were available – I love Tyee wine! People walked, biked, or took a shuttle from the fairgrounds – so very Corvallis. I hope that the entire community can experience the Bald Hill that I know and love, and I look forward to seeing how stewardship of the land can work in our lifetime. Thank you, Green Belt folks. So much.