Stood Up in Yakima
But at least I learned how to pronounce it.
Julie and Don could be Pennsylvania Dutch: modest, industrious, and uber-connected within their town.
She played in the symphony and teaches music lessons to children, just like my next door neighbor Lorie used to do for my kids and just like my daughter Hannah now does for others’ kids in Denver.
He runs their doughnut shop a mile away called Doolies, a portmanteau of their first names.1
Together they raised several enterprising kids and turned their small mid-century home into a hospitality side hustle.
The only way through is through.
Something’s Very Familiar Here . . .
The signs of home instruction confronted me as I entered the front door.
Julie had turned their living room into a musical laboratory, evidenced by a keyboard, colorful plastic bins for do-dads, and a bookshelf holding mugs for “Ash, Benjamin, Willa” etc.”
Go ahead and say it:
Too cute!
My Airbnb room was through the workspace, which offered a brief stop on memory lane as a homeschooling parent.
The guest room was adequate and private, a perfect place for me to get my bearings, catch up with Becky on FaceTime, and check for one important message.
To Explore the Great Northwest
It was May 3rd, 2022. I had been in Seattle for a conference, after which I rented a nice white Jetta to tour inland Washington.
Between a stop at my uncle Steve’s in Vancouver, WA, and one final overnight in Redmond (Microsoft’s Mecca) lay Yakima, a small city of Native American heritage and agricultural fame.
The relational purpose for landing there was to interview an innovative pastor I had read about in my alma mater's magazine. He seemed to be very engaged with Yakima in his desire to plant a church.
We had arranged to meet up that evening, but I made one slight tactical error: I had not confirmed with him before my trip. 😜
No amount of calls, texts, emails, Facebook messages, carrier pigeons, or smoke signals would suss out his presence.
How Do You See and Say Yakima?
So, as is my custom, I headed out to get the lay of the land with more time on my hands than usual.
Walking in my host’s residential development, I encountered two curiosities:
A run of water with a sign that sounded like an invitation to use it for anything other than “canal use only.” Slip ‘N Slide? Toboggan run? Rubber duckie race?
A white, plastic privacy fence enclosing a perfect suburban lawn (yawn) framed by Mt. Ranier about 100 miles in the distance. Oh, and two "UFO” clouds hovering above it!
No Meeting? No Problem.
Having been stood up, I decided to take myself out on a date to a roller rink, another one of my customs in a new town.
Driving over to the Skateland Fun Center, I felt pretty pumped. Then a mid-century burger drive-in stopped me in my tracks: The Lariat.
It was sundown, and the neon wasn’t lit, so I knocked on the window to get the attention of a Gen-Z guy behind the counter.
Hey, I’m visiting from Pennsylvania. I love the sign and want to take a picture. Can you light it up?
He was happy to oblige. The Lariat’s welcome message was a double sign that my request was perfectly appropriate:
Serving you since 1962.
And, of course, you know who was born that year.
Still on a Roll
I found the skate center. Closed. To lay some balm on that wound, I went looking for a place to eat red meat.2
I found Norm’s where I sidled up to the bar and splurged on a brisket sandwich and slurped down a local brew. There may have been french fries.
The waiter was decently friendly, but other than a table of five engineer-looking dudes chowing down, the place was pretty mellow.
The city overall was sleepy, and I felt the same way. I wouldn’t yuk it up with any locals till the morning.
We interrupt this dispatch to bring you
News from Town
Since my last post 14 new readers have signed up. Welcome, Julie, Mary, Thomas, D., Bob, Alyssa, J.R., Ken, Dave, Ellie, Candela, Stephen, Ralph, and P.T.R.!
Two of you are new subscribers (paying readers). Thanks, y’all!
The Stats:
Total Readers: 236 (goal: 1,000)
Total Subscribers: 20 (goal: 100)
Doolies unto Others
The next day I took Julie’s advice to cash in on my coupon for a free breakfast sandwich at their doughnut depot.
While waiting for my quarry, I glanced through a homey photo album begun in 2003 and chronicling their foray into comfort food.3
I chatted with a Pacific Northwest widower, a regular patron with a hard-working history, a big smile, and a love for Jesus.
“YACK-i-ma,” as the locals say it, is a town that’s big enough to handle lots of hustle and bustle, but on a Tuesday night, the billboards loom over the vacant sidewalks.
Like the one outside Norm’s that would be utterly out of place in Pennsylvania: Tamaki Law, featuring a team of six attorneys, the center two likely of Native American descent.
The quaintness is everywhere you turn in Yakima. The ghosts are there too: of settlers and natives brokering an uncertain and unfolding future on sacred land.
Don has a distinctly Amish-looking beard, and I recall that they met at an Anabaptist college and are connected to a local church in town. Washington Dutch, then?
You’re thinking: “Why didn’t he just go back to The Lariat?” Read on. I needed more balm than just red meat.
I’m sensing a theme here: food therapy. Don’t worry, I also make healthy smoothies regularly, the kind with almond milk.
Got to watch out for those engineer-looking dudes. Great story and pics!