Five year ago I drove across the Oregon border and stopped for gas. The smiling station attendant greeted me with “Welcome to Oregon.” Seeing my California license plates and my PT Cruiser packed to the ceiling, I’m sure he thought, “Just another California refugee.” And that I was.

Yes, I was one of those Californians who dreamed of moving out of the congestion and smog of Los Angeles to greener pastures and a simpler, healthier life. But after 20 years in La La Land, I felt branded by the city I lived in. Whenever I traveled out of state, I sensed people’s stares, as if they could see an imaginary “California” seared across my forehead. How would I ever make the transition to Portland? Didn’t people up there hate Californians?

In preparation for this major transition, I read Mark S. Bacon’s The California Escape Manual: Your Guide to Finding a New Hometown. Bacon gave my fear, or rather the reaction I anticipated, a name: “Caliphobia,” generally defined as a fear of Californians who move to another state and the impact they have on house prices, culture, etc. His stories of Californians who had moved to the Pacific Northwest warned me to expect a lukewarm reception and even hostility when I mentioned the “C” word. I talked by phone to several x-Californians who had moved to Portland 10 to 15 years ago. They warned me to keep a low profile and get those license plates changed right away or my car would be egged.

On my first visit to Portland I decided to be upfront (This is also the strategy Bacon advises.) I said to every person I met, from the lady taking my coffee order to shop owners, artists at the Portland Saturday Market and business people I met at local trade shows, “Hi. I’m from Los Angeles and I’m thinking of moving to Portland.” The results: Not one negative reaction. Not one person told me to turn around and go home. I couldn’t have found Portlanders more welcoming and more encouraging. In fact, the most common response I received was: “I’m from Southern California too. What part of LA are you from?”

My conclusion: Caliphobia no longer exists because so many Oregonians are from California. I would even go so far as to say that the Californians who move to Oregon are not that different from the people who were born here. The very qualities that attracted them to Oregon, and that make Portland so livable, are the qualities that natives hold so dear: beautiful parks, wonderful neighborhoods, reliable public transportation, smart urban planning, healthy living and a relaxed lifestyle.

My Portland neighbors welcomed me with cookies and lent me furniture until the movers arrived. As I settled comfortably into my 1915 craftsman, I felt grateful that I had not let fear and uncertainly stop me from finding a new life in this great city.

Dear Oregonians:

Our sesquicentennial year is coming to a close. The celebration that started on February 14, 2009, has been extraordinary for many reasons. We have learned together, remembered together, had fun together, and most of all – pulled together. In a year that was difficult for many Oregon families, our celebration of 150 years of statehood reminded all of us who we are as a people, why we love Oregon, and how blessed we are to live here.

It also gave us the opportunity to honor our diversity, breathtaking landscapes and seascapes, and cultural traditions that form the mosaic we call Oregon.

There are many people and organizations to thank for making our sesquicentennial an unqualified success, starting with the board of Oregon 150, our dedicated and hardworking staff, and countless volunteers, who together and without a lot of fanfare, pulled off one of the biggest birthday celebrations in Oregon history. But the work of the board and staff would not have been possible without the generous support of partners – individuals, tribes, state agencies, businesses and non-profit organizations – that stepped up with donations of money and services. Without their help, turning the board’s strategic plan for the sesquicentennial into reality would not have been possible. But our biggest thank you goes to the citizens of Oregon. You embraced our birthday celebration by partnering with Oregon 150, creating and holding community events and clean-ups, traveling the state, posting your Oregon Stories on the Oregon 150 website, sharing family histories, and setting the stage for Oregon’s bicentennial in 2059.

The board’s strategic plan included six signature projects, which you can read more about in this report. They were:

• Oregon Stories
• Take Care of Oregon
• Travel Oregon 150
• Imagine Oregon Blog
• The Youth Legacy Projects
• Oregon! Oregon!

We hope you enjoy reading about all that you and your fellow Oregonians accomplished during this great sesquicentennial year. You’ll find descriptions of projects, testimonials and recollections, and lots of pictures. So enjoy. And please remember that while the official sesquicentennial celebration will soon be over – the spirit, enthusiasm, hope and joy we found together this year will continue. Because that’s what it means to be an Oregonian.

Sincerely yours,

Ted Kulongoski

Governor

Mary Oberst

President of Oregon 150, Inc.

Upon my engagement in 1940, I was delighted to find that my future husband also claimed elite forebears in the settlement of the early Oregon country. This story is about a young man who “sailed around the Horn”. Imagine my delight in later years to find an article printed in the ‘Illustrated Historical Atlas of Marion and Linn counties of Oregon by Edgar Williams & Co. 1878′. I’d like to share it with you:

Edwin Napper Tandy was born in Christian County, Kentucky and remained there until he reached manhood. He received a good education in the schools of the state, and at age 19 commenced reading law under the prominent attorneys Grey & Knight. Mr. Tandy made such rapid progress that at age twenty-one, he was admitted to the Kentucky Bar. He immediately began a law practice in the town of Hopkinsville in the year of 1851. According to family lore I picked up at the TANDY family reunions held every year here in Oregon, he decided to “come west” and sailed around the Horn, through storms and high seas, bringing his rocking chair and his law books. It was 1854. Emigrating to California, he went into the mines, and as the story goes, “met with tolerable success”. By now, it was 1857.

He came to Oregon and purchased a farm in Lane County, near Junction City. He succeeded well, rapidly improving the land, building good buildings and fences. In 1862, he was appointed Judge of Lane county by Governor Whiteaker, to fill an unexpired term. In 1868, he was elected to the Oregon Legislature, serving his time with credit to his party and himself. In 1870, he moved to Harrisburg and opened a law office. In 1871, he was elected Mayor of the City of Harrisburg; in 1872, he was elected County Judge of Linn county, a position he held for four years. Through all his long official career, he performed his duty and won the respect and confidence of all. On January 3, 1858, he married Nancy Liggett, who came to Oregon in 1846.

The ‘Illustrated Atlas’ story continues: ” The judge is the father of four children” [one of whom was my husband's grandfather Charles Hershel Tandy]. “The judge is considered one of Linn County’s solid men; he has always taken an active interest in the welfare of the county, or in whatever could be improved and benefit the people. Now practicing law in Harrisburg, he owns a fine farm which he personally superintends. ”

I heard at the last Tandy Reunion we attended that portions of that farm were still in the Tandy family. Judge Tandy was a lifelong Methodist, and a staunch Democrat. He was well read and in his advanced age became frail, but retained a wonderful mentality. He was the oldest member of the Thurston A.F.& A.M. Lodge, and died at the age of 96 years.

While growing up in Eastern Oregon there were quite a few stories about the Pony Express coming through there. My dad, Harry D. Proudfoot Jr., had a place named Sarvis Springs Ranch. It was 40 mi from Pendleton, 30 mi from Heppner, and 20 mi from Hermiston on Butter Creek. Our address was Star Route, Echo, OR, but that was our post office. It was 10,000 acres of mostly wheat until the government intervened and paid the ranchers to plant certain crops if they wanted to or not, which proves you never really own the land you think you do.

If you rode your horse straight back through the property, it was 20 miles. Part of that road was a section of the Pony Express and Stagecoach route. There was an old building and a corral still standing. The building was the home of the station manager and there were fresh horses kept in the corral for the Pony Express rider. Depending on the destination, the stagecoach occupants could spend the night there. On the hill above it, you could still see the wagon ruts in the ground. At one time, there was a water well too.

It was an integral part of the Old West until the railroad came through with the mail and passenger cars. The Columbia River ships could bring the mail just so far, then it had to be handed off to the Pony Express.

My dad enjoyed driving as much as I do. On random Sunday mornings, very early, he would say “Let’s go!”.

We usually drove east and he NEVER turned around and seldom stopped. My mother would see something of interest and point it out as dad drove passed, oblivious. We once ended up at the end of a gravel road far above Green Peter Dam’s site, then merely a deep canyon. He sat for a very long time peering ahead trying to figure out a way through, but finally turned and drove straight back home, defeated.

We often went over the Cascades on Highway 20, always stopping at the Mountain House Café for a hamburger and a visit with the cursing Myna bird. He was trained by the log truck drivers and had quite a vocabulary. Peterson’s Rock Garden, Lava Butte, the ice cave, the forest of petrified wood and many other wonders, waited for us on those long Sunday drives.

We visited all the dams on the Columbia, the redwood forest, all the Oregon coast, Oregon Caves, Mount Hood, and as far east as the Malheur county, always returning home very late, but in time for sleep before school the next day.

Today I drive all over the state gathering wine for Oregon Mozart Players’ annual auction, one bottle at a time. I hate to turn around, and seldom stop unless there is a blue sign nearby.

From my youth, having been born and raised in Delaware, the west coast was my dream destination for life. Opportunity arrived in the Spring of 1974 and like the forefathers a century before, our family (my wife, two sons, and I) left Pennsylvania headed for the Willamette Valley. A week before the journey began, my wife had a miscarriage.

A schedule to meet, furniture packed and house sold, we loaded the two children, house plants, and two dogs in our 1973 Plymouth Duster, a “U-haul” trailer behind (somewhat similar to a Conestoga wagon), the Willamette Valley our destination. The family recovering and sleeping in the back of the Duster, the dogs in the trailer, we arrived in Portland, five days later, the same week as Bill Walton. This is the time of Govenor Tom McCall, “Visit Oregon but don’t stay” proclamation. We feared hostility from the natives. Our family was of good stock; soon many good Oregonians (the natives) befriended us. Like many pioneers, our family grew with the addition of two native Oregonians, by birth. We experienced the 1997 Blazers NBA Championship and the 1980 St Helen’s eruption (the two defining NW Oregon events of the second half of the century).

In 1977, using the Oregon Veteran’s loan process, we purchased and developed property in Boring that in fact was part of the last leg of the Barlow Trail to Oregon City. Within six short years, we had truly become Oregonians.
Thirty five years later, our family boast of three Oregon college graduates (the universities of Oregon, Eastern Oregon, and Multnomah) as well as a Mt Hood CC Associate. We have started two businesses and begun the careers of numerous young Oregonians in both the electrical field and special education. In the field of limited energy electrical, our family is synonymous with success (another second half-century phenomenon).

We rejoice, cry, laugh, suffer, enjoy, volunteer, participate, preserve, and defend nearly everything Oregonian. In a single generation, our family has become integrated Oregonians (three native born daughter-in-laws, one son-in-law). Today, our Oregon family reunion consists of sixteen people with more grandchildren to come, me being the patriarch. Perhaps after many more generations will the significance of our family be fully recognized in the longer history of Oregon. Meanwhile, having begun life outside Oregon, we more than many appreciate the natural, plus created, beauty, environmental, and progressive thinking of our wonderful state. We are an Oregon story, because we are the Twentieth Century Pioneers.

I arrived in Eugene Oregon, at 6pm in the evening on January 7, 1979. It was raining and cold. The trip was long, coming from the bayous of southern Louisiana. I stayed the winter in Eugene, but fate took me over the Cascades into Eastern Oregon, Grant County, June 16th, 1979. And this was the moment my soul connected with my special spot on earth. The sunshine, the desert wind, the smell of juniper and sage, I knew I had found the place. That was 30 years ago. I still appreciate the sunrises and sunsets in the John Day Valley, I will never take this for granted. My children were born and raised here, so I have given them a very special gift. I love eastern Oregon and while I was not born or raised here, I will most certainly die happy here. My ashes will be spread on the top of Strawberry Mountain, and in the Alvord Desert. I am home.

The year was 1980, my husband at the time was in the military, and we were to transfer from California. Our choices were Detroit, Michigan or Portland, Oregon. We chose Oregon to remain close to our families. We divorced shortly there after, and he transferred away, and I decided to stay and make Oregon my home. I raised two kids here, and remarried to a man with 5 kids, we moved to Sheridan eventually and this is where the kids finished growing up. Eventually, I sent for my brother, my sister, and after my father’s death, I brought up my mother. Only a few of my siblings remain in California now. As each sibling, and my mother came to love Oregon, they finally understood why I chose to stay and make this my home. The peace of mind, the great scenery, and the general atmosphere of the public was really quite serene compared to California. My kids now have roots here, and my grandsons attend Willamina Elementary. I work in Newberg, have been for the last 16 years, another great town. Oregon is my home and always will be.