Chuckanut Drive、My University

Reminiscence in rain

Driving on the freeway from Seattle, scenes on my sides became country-side, green and flat valley spreads as far as my eye sight could follow. 44 miles from where I was ten years ago. The road lead before me as if that invites me to the memory of time when I was still immature, young, poor, growing, and restless. Snapshots on my digital cam left flash-backs of would be memory of my visit that I may look back ten years from now. As I went into a tunnel of flashback deep into it, I checked in my memory each one of them and sorted them out, the ones that have transformed to the present time and the others that are time-capsule and preserved the way it was.

Turning on Burlington to Chuckanut Drive, the rain started harden more on us, showing off its long existence as the natural way of being. I hoped to show my wife the beauty of the coastline of the water reflecting the shining afternoon sun. Nonetheless, the winding road was mist covered and the pouring rain welcomed us to the heart of the Puget Sound.

Passed Fairhaven Park, I was indecisive to expect the old memory being right or the totally renewed town to come at my sight. Soon, I found right away the same old Fairhaven. Same Dos Padres, same Tony's, same old brick-styled buildings.
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Rain kept stubborn. No one but us had umbrellas. As if rain is just a way of living, as though just the same thing as daily shower they take on the morning. Parking at the south end of the campus, I found the same apartment I used to live. Remembered of the mean landlord and the small studio I used to study, learned to cook and spent my first-ever living alone. I have the black-and-white photo from 15 years ago on the front of the apartment with classic-looking convertible. If there was one right there, the photo would have just been like the 15 years ago. Just a minute walk from south end of the campus, we reached the three familiar dorms. That was a place for room mates, drinking parties, playing around, and having fun. Summer school seemed to have ended and remodeling projects were all over. Yet the same old brick building were standing there still.

The vines that covered the old main had been removed. It was like the chins after being shaved. somewhat looking shy, aside the remodeled Eden's hall, the old main still looked the symbol of the campus along with the lawn on the front and trees that guard the building. The artwork by Isamu Noguchi, the red iron frame, without rust looking over Puget Sound, was still another symbol of the campus.

We saw the football team playing on the brand-new field. I remembered the Vikings were a kin to the Western. Don't know why Vikings is the name for it, and realized that I had never seen them actually playing. Pouring rain didn't stop them at all. I took their photos with my umbrella on.

Some walk away, we reached to Fairhaven College, where I graduated. The same old tiny college was at the same place, covered with the trees, quietly but enjoying, and seemed to prefer to be there. I felt the same kind of feeling of down-to-earth. Diversity is one of their keywords of academics. Remembered the classes that I took sitting on the floor. Reminded me of the different dimension of the studying subjects that frequently used the words like gender, humanities, spirituality, etc. We bought t-shirts of Fairhaven college logo on them. T-shirt is for law and diversity program of the college. My teacher John had passed away. I remember being impressed with the one-armed old guy with tinted glasses surprisingly handling everything around him just like others. Though I almost failed at the end of my years in college, he helped me go through. Many thanks to him. Here I am, graduate of the college, alive, working, living well, even to the point where my tummy hangs on.
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Whatever changes, places never move to other places. It only vanishes when rebuilt, remodeled, or grounded. But many stayed the same. My old house on W. North St. was still there. Kind of run-down, but the same shape of the house was there. Different colored from what I painted myself, yet the same neighborhood, same front lawn, same car port, same backyard, same pine trees and the same apple tree. Lands never age though the owners get old. Wondered ten years from now-- Will the same house stand still there?
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I used to work for a pizza restaurant. I drove around the town for delivery, lead the time shift as a person in charge. The same old restaurant was there in the shopping center. Same old furniture, surprisingly same oven, same salad bar counter, same food, and same taste. Just the people's faces changed, and computer was in to take phone order. We ate in there. Same sauce, same crust, and same toppings: things I remember from 10 years ago. Weird feeling.

Style never changes; the way people walk, dress, talk, gather, eat, and drive. Nature also stayed the same. Trees, hills, sky, and air. Same place and same ways but different people. I am now confident that I can find the same scenes ten years and twenty years from now. And at least the same trees should be welcoming me whenever I visit there. I am sure that they will outlive me at the end.