Atop the Cascade Mountains, Lincoln, Oregon was founded as a sawmill settlement in the late 1920's on Highway 66 between Medford and Klamath Falls. The truth is most who have the opportunity to glance upon Lincoln are whizzing by on the "Green Springs Highway" atop huge, swaying logging trucks. If it happens this town catches you between blinks, you could see the remnants of the small sawmill community—a company store, a cookhouse, a bunkhouse, several little cabins and five homes. Now a newer sign reading The Oregon Extension, placed there in 1975, speaks to a different sort of work happening there. (oregonextension.org)
The Bark Burner, a massive structure made of rusted steel looms over the small pond and the meadow alive with horses. A cock calls while keeping watch over a group of chickens on their run. At first glance, it may seem that the pesky duckweed growing on Lincoln's little pond is the most productive thing in this sleepy little village.
Homes occupied by professors are shared with students each fall as re-imagined classrooms. There are no desks or chalk, only students holding cups of tea between two palms, sitting in circles to discuss literature and philosophy, poetry and theology. The company store and cookhouse now serve as library and computer lab, mailroom and chicken coop. The walls in each small cabin are covered with wood paneling or some horrible wallpaper, which serves as a backdrop for community. Here the academic is personal; students have an opportunity to let their personal ideas interact with their person. Students discuss Foucault while cutting wood for their cabin's wood burning stove, William Stringfellow
over dinner, Toni Morrison
while hiking amongst the tall black spine pines. Because community is an assembly of persons, here alchemy creates something much larger than sum of its parts. In the fall, a brown blanket of needles covers the ground. Hundreds of students have lived in the six small cabins and the bunkhouse apartments over the years and there is the buzz of change on the wind.
Julia and Gus are the OE's newest residents. The younger couple lives in one of two bedroom cabins with their dog, Fairny—a black and white ball of energy with tongue. Gus travels down the mountain each day to Pascal Vineyards, where he looks and touches, tastes grapes and taps on the outside of wooden barrels. Julia laughs and cries freely. She is always up for a walk along the wooded path to find the perfect log to sit on to discuss your heart's desire. Julia can keep and tell secrets-- she professes in the gentlest way.
Sam Alvord can seem grumpy. Sam has been at the OE since the start. A retiree, preoccupied and controlling, his days are tinkering with his projects and waxing nostalgic for the way we used to do things. Sam is the sometimes pastor of the tiny Lincoln Christian Church which is home to about 20 regular mountain folks. He has also travelled the country to serve as officiant in numerous OE alumni weddings. In his home each week, Sam hosts a small AA-type support group for former smokers and clandestine smokers-- who sneak off the Barkburner after meetings to stand in the dark in a circle with glowing embers illuminating their conversation. Sam's wife Patsy teaches second grade at the 4-room schoolhouse up Green Springs Highway, talks very little to folks taller than her shoulders. Their house is dark and warm, the light that comes from inside is golden. (Balmer)
A tiny creek trickles between the Alvord's glow and the Frank's house on the hill. Doug Frank is the world's best listener. At times, it occurs to the speaker that you may have spoken one of the world's most profound thoughts in his ear. His legs are crossed; he looks out over his glasses. His living room classroom has a large stone fireplace and large picture windows that look out over the bend in the road.
There, on the bend, is a home under a canopy of pines, which calls like a confessional. Its occupants, The Linton's are an interesting pair. Nancy has long straight black hair and when she sits, she is all limbs contorted. Disheveled, Jon always wears a brown hat and every few minutes he tugs his pants up from the middle belt loop in the back. He is the resident theologian. They are both feminists. The Linton home is open for candle lit communion of dark red wine and heavy nut filled wheat bread.
There is a field of the boring sort behind the Linton's, bordered with a grove of apple trees. The lightest breeze blows there. Cabin 6 has a wraparound porch that looks out onto this field. Its three picnic tables host all manner of things: meals, counseling sessions, poetry readings, guitar concerts.
From Jim's kitchen window, you can hear the sounds of life coming from the cabins. Jim, Lincoln's widower, is the mountains ecologist and he believes God can be found in environmental stewardship. From him, this place provides comfort and daily reminders of his wife. He is dating a woman in town, they swing dance each week. Next to Jim are the Klings. The Klings are the support team. Allison takes care of the paperwork, serving as the campus' registrar. Phil is the maintenance man. Both are tall and skinny, their lanky kids are always jumping on the trampoline or waving sticks around with capes.
The Pacific Crest National Scenic Trail, stretching from Canada to Mexico, crosses just a few miles down the road. For most who visit the Oregon Extension, the only respite from this cloistered place is the weekly journey down the mountain to the town of Ashland. The small OE bus travels the one hour of white-knuckle curves and twists, down and up and down again, past views of endless mountain ranges—to Ashland, Oregon. Ashland is a small college town and provides for all the amenities that come from a congregation of academics- great pubs, and bookstores and a couple organic food co-ops.
Students are eager for the return trip up that winding path to those little cabins on the north side of the highway. Here, each year scholars are made while floating in the pond, the duckweed parting for them. And while staring straight up at the bright full moon framed by the peaks of trees, they allow their life to be their education.
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