Philomath: Nectar Creek's facility nears completion

Photo courtesy Nectar Creek

On the west end of town, Nectar Creek’s construction nears completion. The 7,500-square-foot production facility will include a taproom and restaurant. The build is a massive upgrade to their current 8-foot by 8-foot tasting room in Corvallis.

Founded in 2012 by brothers Nick and Phillip Lorenz, Nectar Creek combines a passion for beekeeping, agriculture, and brewing to make handcrafted session meads, a drink created by the fermentation of honey.

The grand opening of their Philomath location is expected this year. An official date has not been set. While the original plan was for October, that is unlikely.

“It’s the nature of such a large development—there’s always something that comes up,” said Nick.

Nectar Creek’s new facility will offer several options not offered at their Corvallis location. While current visitors can sample products, fill growlers, and buy cases, there are no tables or food. That will change when they settle into their new facility.

“We won’t have a full menu but will serve lunch and dinner,” said Nick. “We’ll have a big smoker on our patio that features fresh smoked meat that will accompany our food.”

There will also be an appetizer menu including meat and cheese plates for those seeking a small bite while sipping local brews.

In their new taproom, with a honeycomb theme, Nectar Creek will have 24 options.

“We’ll not only be offering our mead but also a selection of beer, cider, and a little bit of wine,” said Nick. “We’re also going to create our own honey soda to have non-alcoholic offerings.”

Their honey soda is exclusive to their new location and for taproom visitors only.

On the sales floor, local honey-related products will be available for purchase. Among those products will be Old Blue Raw Honey, a Philomath-based business that has collaborated with Nectar Creek in the past.

All of Nectar Creek’s brews are made with raw honey from farms in the Willamette Valley. One of those vendors, Corvallis-based Queen Bee Honey, is where Phillip worked for seven years before the brothers created Nectar Creek.

“We are excited to work with local agriculture as much as we can,” said Nick. “We grew up in local agriculture, and part of the foundation that inspired us to start Nectar Creek was that connection with local agriculture.”

Due to added space and services in the new facility, Nectar Creek will hire bartenders, cooks, and servers as the move-in date gets closer. Applications will be accepted only after public job postings have been placed.

For their grand opening, they plan to celebrate the occasion with live music and a few surprises.

“We’ll offer a selection of products we’re going to pull out of our cellar that we’ve been storing and aging especially for our opening that you won’t be able to find anywhere else,” said Nick.

They hope to continue to showcase live music on a regular basis.

Gone but not forgotten

Over the summer I had the chance to write some articles for the Philomath Express while the editor was on vacation. One of those stories led me to Philomath Middle School. I had not been to the school in over 20 years.

I was to meet the source for my assignment in the gym. As I entered the school from the side parking lot, the doors seemed smaller. The hallway seemed smaller. Everything seemed smaller. Or maybe I was just bigger.

I walked past where my old locker was and remembered the collage of clippings from Seventeen Magazine I had taped to the inside of the door. Most of which were probably of Home Improvement’s Jonathan Taylor Thomas. He was so dreamy to my 11-year-old self.

Painted in the hallway I saw a familiar drawing; a muscular Indian, hands in the air, a painted face. It looked to me like the art of Daniel Bain. I remembered when our class voted on it. We chose that drawing to be the one for the cover of our yearbook. A smile came to my face as I remembered him, and how he left us too soon.

When I made my way to the gym I realized how, like me, it too had grown up. It had new, fancy bleachers that replaced the old, clunky wooden ones. I recalled how loud those wooden bleachers were when they were pushed back into place against the wall. The new ones now retreat in near silence at the push of a button.

As I continued on the day’s assignment, I headed towards the music room. I spent a lot of time in that room with Mrs. Crocker as I learned to play the trumpet. I saw the back row in which I sat, often in second chair. I thought about my friend, Rachael, who always seemed to land in that coveted first chair seat.

As I continued around the hallways, the library prompted me to remember the day of the OJ Simpson verdict. On that day we gathered in the library, rows of seats set out where tables usually stood, projection screen pulled down. We watched with the rest of the nation as the “guilty” or “not guilty” decision was made. When we heard it, I remember seeing the faces of our teachers who stood among us. They looked shocked. I was shocked. Many of us were.

Down the hall from the library was my fifth-grade homeroom. I used to get “hall passes” to the bathroom, but, really, I wanted to walk by the neighboring classroom where a cute boy was. I would slow down as I passed the open door and pretend I didn’t mean to catch his eye. I chuckled as I recalled this because that same boy is now my boyfriend. This month marks our four-year anniversary.

When done with the day’s assignment, I left through the same doors in which I had come. I looked up again at Dan’s drawing, saying goodbye to an old friend. With thoughts of life and death and all the unknown in between, I remembered another Brave no longer with us. As I drove past the front of the school, where the buses line up at the end of the day, I saw the tree planted for Nicole Gee. It stands today as another memory of someone gone too soon.

After my visit to the middle school, my trip down memory lane continued. I was added to the Facebook group “Mr. Mortlock’s Battle with Cancer.” The group of 2,049 people began to share fond memories of the school’s seventh-grade science teacher. I imagine on the days that he could Mr. Mortlock read some of them.

I can’t help but think of what a wonderful gift the Mortlock family gave him—the gift of a forum where people could share the impact he made on their lives. I should only hope something so meaningful can happen to us all—to leave this world knowing we had changed it, if only in the small portion of it that we call home.

As I think about Dan’s drawing on the wall and Nicole’s tree in the lawn, I wonder if it’s time to add another tribute to the school’s grounds. Post after post in Mr. Mortlock’s group proved that his PIADIAMCBLASFAA lessons stuck with us all, even though many of us forgot how to spell it. To me, a mural of this phrase somewhere in the school seems to be the perfect reminder of another person gone but not forgotten in our community.

When day become night

Moment of totality, Aug. 21, 2017, Philomath, Ore.

No matter what the experts said, I had no idea what to expect the morning of Aug. 21. I took my seat at a friend’s house off Alsea Hwy at 9 a.m. We sat in the open air, surrounded by grassy fields in a yard filled with flower beds, ornamental bushes, and fruit trees. Perched on the hillside, we had a direct view of the sun. 

Nature was loud. Birds chirped, chickens clucked, cows mooed, dogs barked. Cars sped by. Life was as usual. And then it was not.

The moment the sun began to black out, as if Mother Nature had taken a bite out of a cookie, my imagination began to swirl. Questions I’d never pondered cluttered my mind: What would our world be like with no sun? Would we even be able to survive? Which plants or animals would disappear first? 

As the moon’s shadow blocked more of the sun, we felt the temperature drop. It was then I realized how even the smallest portions of the sun radiate such immense amounts of heat. 

Halfway to totality, shadows from the leaves of the many plants around us began to cast mini moons everywhere. We scattered like kids chasing fireflies, catching thumbnail moons in our hands, bewildered by the phenomena. Our skin turned the color of tangerines and gold, a sun-kissed glow I’d never seen before. 

Our ISO glasses allowed us to see what we normally could not: We saw the sun’s pulse, we saw its rays, we saw the motion of its fire. Its edges looked like melting wax, a burning rim spitting its heat downward. With my new eyes, I realized, each day as we go about our business, the sun shines and we miss the magic of its reign, the dance of its light. 

Just before totality, the only traffic left on the road were semi-trucks. They remained on schedule, it appeared, but I wondered if that was the driver’s choice. Humans put so much emphasis on time and duty. We put value on minutes and tasks, and yet, this event was something most will never see again. Was it not important enough to take a break, pause your duty, and see the value of this time?

As the last sliver of sun shone, the crickets sang the song of night. The birds returned to their nests. Grasshoppers jumped back to wherever they came from. Bees disappeared. Perhaps the creatures were confused, or perhaps they were paying attention to instincts humans often fail to recognize. 

Then, day became night. 

The sky turned a deep blue twilight, as if the depths of the ocean had suddenly been placed on top of us. For that minute and 15 seconds, stars sparkled in the day-night sky. Jupiter showed itself. The crickets ended their song. The breeze stopped. The world was at a stand-still. 

In the busiest times of the day—those when there is sunlight—we are accustomed to sound. Sirens, horns, voices, wildlife. In the moment of totality, silence had never been so silent. Not a car was on the road. Those truckers must have taken that break after all. 

I sat in my chair, jaw-dropped, transported to a world I’d never been to. I stared at a different sun, a different sky, hearing the different sound of nothingness. 

In that moment, I realized that everything is relative to what we know. And in that moment of totality I knew nothing about anything. Yet a feeling of serenity consumed me. I could not speak, and that was fine, I had no words to describe how I felt. I knew I didn’t want to miss the moment. I wanted to capture its essence. I wanted to experience a world different from our reality.

As the sun reappeared, those mini moon shadows returned, but they were reversed. The sun revealed itself from the opposite side of where Mother Nature had first taken her bite from the cookie. I didn’t expect reversed shadows, but then again, I had no expectations at all. 

For the second time that day, birds came out of their nests. Dogs barked. The temperature rose. Cars returned. The sun became whole. Life became normal again on a day that was anything but.

Experiencing the total eclipse was one of my life’s monumental moments. A time I felt so small that I wanted to howl at the moon like a wild animal. A time that was invaluable and worth stopping for. Because when this life is over, we only have our memories; moments like the morning of Aug. 21.

Sweet Valley HIgh. Cell Phones, and Guacamole

The other day I drove by Philomath high school and began to think about what it used to look like when I went there. How it didn’t have a second floor or those big, fancy glass windows. For some reason seeing its new iteration made me think about the old book series “Sweet Valley High.” Then I realized the kids at the school today probably have no idea what that series is.

That thought led me to think of how different experiences and opportunities are for kids today. When I was a freshman, I believe I was the only one in my circle of friends that had a cell phone. My mom would sometimes let me take hers to school. It was as big as my hand and a flip phone, but most other kids still had pagers, so it was pretty cool.

I would guess that most teenagers these days have no idea what life was like without a cell phone. Back then we had to pre-plan events with a meeting time and place so that we could find each other. It was not possible to send a quick text asking where someone was or what they were going to do. Instead, we had to “page” someone who then had to scrounge change and find a payphone to call from. The process was a drag.

For unplanned rendezvous, we needed a central meeting place to find people on the fly. At the time, the Taco Bell/Subway/Texaco complex on Main Street was that place for most kids I knew. If we were looking for things to do, we would go there and see who else was there. Compared to what we can do today, that complex acted as a way to send a group text about what the day’s activities may be.

At the Texaco complex, even though there were “no loitering” signs outside the building, many of us did just that. I remember countless times that the lot would be full of teenagers socializing and congregating before they moved to another location.

That complex was also where I worked my first job. For its grand opening, the companies held interviews in the high school counseling center. I joined dozens of peers that showed up, and, at the age of 14, I was hired for Taco Bell.

Working at Taco Bell was more of a social event than a job. Because the interviews were held at the school, nearly all staff excluding some managers were peers. This meant that we often governed ourselves. It wasn’t “Lord of the Flies” but it did get a little crazy at times.

I recall the sour cream and guacamole wars we had after closing. Since we had to clean the floors anyway, sometimes we shot the devices similar to a caulking gun, at each other. Standing inside the walk-in cooler and waiting for someone to open the door would get extra laughs if you could surprise them with sour cream to the face.

Looking back, it was wasteful and probably punishable, but we were kids, and the thought of having fun consumed most of our time. That, I am sure, is the same for kids today.

I remember a project assigned in Mr. Dunham’s AV Tech class called “A Day in My Life.” We were supposed to make a video (yes, like on a video tape) and present it in class. My parents had a video camera. It was twice the size of my head and so heavy it made my shoulder numb. Nevertheless, they allowed me to bring it to school to record for the project.

I spent a couple of days filming friends skateboarding, being silly in the halls of the school, and engaging in shenanigans during off-campus lunches. I recorded myself at work making and wrapping a bean burrito in less than five seconds. I also had footage of friends building a castle out of Taco Bell’s sporks.

For the time, that AV Tech program was cutting-edge. We got a chance to splice and edit video, early training for what would become common knowledge among today’s kids. There’s an app for that now, of course.

Memories like these make me wonder what life will be like for youth 20 years from now. I’m not THAT old and I’ve already seen so much. I remember “car phones” in cases that fit between your seats with a cord that plugged into the cigarette lighter. I remember when text on a computer screen was neon green with a black background and letters often appeared slower than you typed them. I remember Pac Man on Atari.

The boom in technology, and in the growth of Philomath, scares some people. But I’m curious about what’s coming next. I wait in anticipation for experiences and opportunities the future holds. And for what places in Philomath may create fond memories for kids yet to come.

Record numbers attend Vacation Bible School in Philomath

Carla Kaminga stood in front of a group of wide-eyed kids and held up a bracelet. It was made from woven threads of yellow, black, red, green and white. Each color of the bracelet reminded Kaminga of a story in the Bible, she explained to her audience.

“This yellow part here,” she said as she pointed, “reminds me of the streets of gold and of heaven.” She continued, “this black part here reminds me of the sins that Jesus died for.”

After she finished explaining what each color meant to her, she asked the kids if they were ready to have their own bracelet. The room erupted with excitement as arms shot up, each kid wanting to be the first to claim a gift.

The kids, age 4 through 5th grade, had gathered at Philomath Middle School for Vacation Bible School (VBS) held July 10-14. Hosted by local Evangelical churches, VBS is a specialized form of religious education that incorporates fun for kids to learn Bible stories, religious song, crafts, and skits. VBS is free.

“We have teachers from different churches, people that take the week off work for this—a lot of people that have come together to make this happen,” said Mat Phelps, Living Faith Community Church youth pastor.

Five other local churches teamed up with Living Faith to make VBS possible. This year there were 50 junior leader volunteers, youth in 6th to 12th grade, and 20 adult leader volunteers.

Attendance was among the highest ever, according to Kaminga, who has been involved with VBS for over two decades. Total registration was 250, exceeding last year’s 200.

“There’s a lot of kids who come that don’t have a church or don’t go to church,” said Kaminga. “We make it open to everyone.”

With several rooms of the middle school transformed for VBS, there was a story room for kids to hear Bible stories, a memory verse room to learn scripture, and a music room to practice songs.

This year’s theme was “Deep Sea Discovery,” so all stories and activities related to water and the sea. School lockers that lined the hallways were covered in blue paper, adding to the deep sea theme as kids traveled from room to room.

The school gym became the music room. Kids gathered in the center, facing a stage built by Philomath residents Christie and Ryan Vaughan. Using paper mache, a seascape of coral reefs surrounded the stage, with a large octopus made from pool noodles and orange spray foam. Jellyfish hung from the ceiling, and blue drapes in the background gave the feel of moving water.

The stage will be disassembled and taken to a church in Eastern Washington for another group of VBS kids to enjoy later this summer.

During story time the children heard stories of kids in other countries, such as Danielle, an impoverished girl in Mexico who came to know Jesus through people that helped her in difficult situations. Each day Kaminga read a portion of Danielle’s story, building up to the final chapter at week’s end.

“The kids love it,” said Kaminga. “Their eyes get big and they have so many questions. They’re just so empathetic.”

Each day of VBS started with a skit performed by the kids, incorporating the day’s theme. Theme days included inside-out day, crazy hair day, hat day, and flip-flop/water day. Volunteers planned months in advance for crafts, stories, and skits.

On Wednesday night, the children and their families enjoyed a Corvallis Knight’s game as an extracurricular group activity. On Thursday night, VBS hosted a barbecue in which the kids invited their family, friends, and neighbors. An estimated 400 people enjoyed hot dogs, hamburgers, and shaved ice. The evening included games, a bounce house, and music. A local sheriff and police officers were present to talk with the kids.

“It’s just a big community party,” said Phelps. “We love it because it’s an opportunity for people to come together.”

At the end of the week, each kid received an Adventure Bible personalized with the child’s name to take home.