The Powder Horn Cafe

I arrived in Grants Pass, OR yesterday en route to researching the tragic fate of the Kim family, a fate that had been widely broadcast in the nation last week. That research led to two essays which I posted yesterday. Perhaps you should read those before you read this one. I learned something important about myself during the trip through Grants Pass, and that is that I am not a person who dwells interminably on tragedy or lets it fully define my approach to life. To be clear, I have spent several years studying the Book of Job closely and reflecting on the way that loss compromises our ability to trust others and ability to live optimistically. But, at this point, I still believe that tragedy isn't the only word we hear in the symphonic chorus of noise "out there." There are also moments of quiet joy, significant human connection, or even small pleasure.

So, now that you know my approach to life, let's return with me to the Grants Pass visitor's center. You will recall from the "Kim" essays that I stopped there to ask about Bear Camp Rd, snowfall, forest service roads, etc. The older lady at the desk, obviously a volunteer, was clearly bothered by my questions about the tragedy. She had fielded them for a week, and each time I raised a further question, it seemed to furrow her brow a little more. I think once she even began to rub her forehead.

A Different Approach

I managed to get the information from her that I wanted, and then I decided to change my approach. I said to her, with a faint trace of humor in my voice, "Ma'am, I hear that you really can get an outstanding piece of pie in this town." I knew this was true from a previous trip to Grants Pass. They had told me of the widely-renowned pies at the Powder Horn Cafe in town. But, when I passed through Grants Pass in August, it was about 4:00 p.m., and the cafe closed at 3:00 p.m. So, I decided to store the knowledge away in my mind, though I had forgotten the name of the cafe. So, when I asked her about a good piece of pie in town, her countenance changed immediately. She lifted her head, broke into a broad smile, and said, "You must be speaking of the Powder Horn Cafe." I said, "Yes, that is it." She put of her non-partisan "support of all Grants Pass" hat and said brightly, "They make the best Almond Joy pie in the world." Now I knew that she would tell me anything I wanted to know, and so I asked for directions to the Cafe. I was not planning, actually, to go there and eat some pie, since I am in a "weight loss" mode, and huge slices of pie can lead to a considerable setback. But I thought I would humor her and ask for directions. She said, "You just follow 6th St. downtown, and it is opposite the tall building."

I love those smaller towns, where you just have "the tall building" as a major landmark from which the rest of the world seems to radiate. Sort of the Greenwich Mean Time with respect to buildings. As I left the visitor center, however, I decided to "drive by" the cafe, just to see what it looked like. Well, you know what happened. I will tell you, just if you don't.

Stopping by the Powder Horn Cafe

Well, I drove into town along 6th Street, and saw, in the distance, something that had to have been the "tall building" in town. It must have towered five or even six stories above the street. I parked nearby, walked toward the big building and, sure enough, there was the Powder Horn Cafe opposite. I walked in. It was 11:30 a.m. and was almost completely packed. Locals of every description, though many of them looked on the portly side, filled the tables. I took a seat at the counter, and was cheerily greeted by a waitress. Before placing my order from the menu, I looked around and read a "saying" they had posted over the ample collection of half-eaten pies across the way. It said: "Dessert is Just Stressed Spelled Backwards." I guiltily fingered the menu, knowing in my heart that I had already yielded to temptation, but deciding nevertheless that I had to plunge forward. I would order a piece of pie, probably a piece of Almond Joy.

I think the final reason that I yielded to the temptation, however, was a theological one. You see, my friend Henry, had told me not to forget to stop at the cafe when in Grants Pass (I told him about my August trip). I asked him if he wanted me to bring back a pie for him, and he said, "No." But, in a sense, I felt obliged to stop, for Henry's sake. And, then I reasoned as follows. Henry is larger than I. He doesn't need a piece of pie. If Christ could give himself vicariously for the sins of the world, I could give myself vicariously for Henry and his longing for a piece of pie. How is that for reasoning?

The waitress asked me what I wanted to eat. I noted to myself that the only items on the menu that had no price next to them were the slices of pie. I thought for a moment that they might charge me a month's salary for it, but I had too much class to ask about the price and just ordered. I said, "I hear you have a divine Almond Joy here." She said, "We sure do, but I would even recommend our turtle pie more highly." I thought for a moment to myself, "My, how can you improve on perfection?" So, I ordered at piece of turtle pie at 11:30 a.m. I have rarely felt like a bigger sinner in my life. But, I realized I was doing it for Henry's sake, and so I felt better.

Conclusion

All you have to do is to read a recipe for a turtle pie (here is one) to realize why they don't serve it at Jenny Craig's. Well, it was too delicious. I ended up not needing to eat for the rest of the day. It tasted so good, and lasted so long (a very large piece of pie), that I really wondered for a moment whether I should just give it all up and move to Grants Pass. That was a fleeting thought, but I was surprised how long the thought lingered in my mind. Thankfully, though, I had a trip to make. Of course, I didn't forget the Kim tragedy; indeed, that was the reason for stopping in Grant's Pass. But, I also couldn't quite get the pie out of my mind for the rest of the day. This is the human condition, or at least my condition. Life has its tragedies. I write two essays on that. But life has its sweet moments--and those are worth an essay, too.

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