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By Kaitlyn Hardwick, Community Development Coordinator, City of Drain

On a Wednesday in July, I woke up in a cabin on the McKenzie River. The air was brisk and the sun won’t begin to rise for another hour. I’m sunburned from the previous day, so I try to enjoy the cool air while it lasts. This day will become very important to me, though at this early hour I’m unaware that it will bear any significance. In fact, at this early hour I’m not really aware of much at all, let alone something significant that’s coming my way. Right now, all my body knows is where to perfectly lay my head on my pillow for maximum comfort and coolness, and the subsequent sound of my alarm clock to crush those dreams. Did I mention it’s early?

I wake up early so I can have a few hours to myself before starting a busy day. Though rural work moves slowly, it’s not at all lacking the hustle and bustle of work in the city. Rural work moves slowly because we work thoughtfully. The stakes are higher because the people feeling the impact of the work are your neighbors, or the barista at the coffee place down the road, or the familiar stranger you see at the grocery store every Saturday. Though, my early rising on this particular day is not to prepare for a busy day of rural service, it’s to prepare for an emotional final day with the RARE members that I spent the previous 11 months with.

After forcing myself awake at a quarter to 5, I went down to the communal kitchen and reheated my leftover pizza, a decision that would ultimately leave me with a chipped tooth —but a warm belly — on this cold morning. I hiked back up the stairs in the dark with my pizza, trying not to wake any of the other sleeping RARE members on our last day of service. On this trek back up to my room, I was blissfully unaware that this pizza would bear any significance. This particular day has become very important to not only me, but also my dentist, because me and my chipped tooth are keeping her in business. After many months and many appointments, I’m still not able to chew on the right side of my jaw. I know what you’re thinking: … a chipped tooth? Well, that tooth was probably bound to chip anyway, it was just by chance that it was when I was eating pizza. Nonetheless, that ended up being a very expensive piece of pizza.

On this cold, early morning, I spent a few quiet hours by myself. While I was unknowingly enjoying the last few minutes of my life with 28-fully-intact teeth, I reflected on my year, my work, and my life. I spent my service year in Drain working on a stormwater quality program and a park development plan. The park development plan was a beast in itself: it gnawed at me all year; it was there when I turned corners; it was hiding in my closet and under my bed while I slept; it lurked in the dark until I was no longer afraid of it. The work felt important, but it’s difficult to see impact when you’re just planning, not building. Detailed planning is important to any big project, but detailed planning doesn’t always turn into big projects. Especially if your funding is not guaranteed, it’s a gamble that’s tough to grapple with.

This is a fear I had from the start: what if I spend 1700 hours of my life working on a park plan and it never happens? What if my project plan isn’t as good as I think it is and I’m unable to secure funding? Will I be satisfied with the work I did if the project doesn’t come to fruition? I didn’t plan for failure. I don’t mean that in a cocky way, I simply wouldn’t be capable of moving forward with park planning if I were to accept the idea that all this work could be for nothing.

During my quiet reflection on this cold, early morning, I contemplated how I’d move forward if I was faced with this disappointment. A skill that I just can’t seem to kick is my impressive ability to think and think and think, until I’m spiraling. I spiraled all the way into my email, where I’ve been obsessively checking to see if my project will receive $1 million in grant funding from the state. I’ve checked my email at all hours for the last 6 weeks, anxiously waiting to either be disappointed, or to be awarded such a large sum of money that I’d feel like I’m floating. This day, and this very cold and early

morning along the McKenzie River where I chipped my tooth, would become a significant moment in my life. On that morning before the sun came up, with the sound of the river rushing right outside my window, I checked my email and floated away. I floated so high that the words “CONGRATULATIONS” were no longer profound enough to reach the height at which I was soaring. To find such an email in my inbox on the last day of my service term was nothing short of kismet.

I came back down to earth, back to my room in the cabin along the McKenzie, and waltzed downstairs to the once-quiet kitchen, now bustling with RARE members who’d awoken sometime between my chipped tooth and my million-dollar flight. I shared my news and our RARE cohort shared a big moment of joy. The first few hours of my day had such a profound impact on my life, how was the rest of the day supposed to live up to that? Well, it didn’t, and that is something I’m content with. That Wednesday in July is memorialized by its early morning, my chipped tooth, and a million dollars to build a park.

About the author, Kaitlyn Hardwick: Kaitlyn was born and raised in West Linn, OR. She received her Bachelor of Science in Earth Science and Environmental Science from the University of Oregon in 2022. During her time at the UO, Kaity participated in undergraduate research for the City of Eugene that sought to identify the most effective fuel-treatments to prepare for a prescribed fire in at-risk oak and prairie ecosystems. Kaitlyn is currently completing her second year of service with the RARE AmeriCorps program and is passionate about the work she is doing for the City of Drain.

By Sulwyn De Crozuc, Planner, City of Bandon

When I arrived in Bandon, I was immediately drawn to its charming Old Town, nestled along the Coquille River just before it meets the Pacific Ocean. Its scenic boardwalk, working docks, historic lighthouse, and whimsical Myrtlewood and metal sculptures embody the essence of a picturesque coastal fishing village. However, this quaint and peaceful atmosphere belies a history of resilience and hardship.

Bandon has endured its fair share of challenges to become the town it is today. Its history is deeply rooted in perseverance, dating back to its first white settler, Henry Baldwin. After being shipwrecked on the Coos Bay bar, Baldwin made his way to Bandon and later renamed the town after his Irish hometown. Along with the name, he also introduced gorse, a striking yet highly flammable plant with bright yellow blossoms and inch-long spikes. This plant would later play a devastating role in Bandon’s history.

The city has faced two major fires, both of which shaped the evolution of Old Town. The first, in 1914, burned a portion of the city, but recovery efforts spurred growth and improvement. The second, in 1936, was far more catastrophic. A wildfire to the east changed course, igniting the surrounding gorse and engulfing nearly the entire town in flames—only five buildings survived. As a result, the rebuilding process required balancing historical preservation with modern needs, a challenge that remains relevant today.

In the 1970s, Bandon implemented the Architectural Review Overlay Zone (ARO), a set of design standards meant to maintain the aesthetic of a “coastal village of long ago.” This code regulates everything from building size and shape to color and ornamentation. Now, 50 years later, Bandon has evolved beyond a sleepy fishing town. Old Town is home to art galleries, eateries, boutiques, and cultural attractions. Many business owners, however, feel constrained by outdated or ambiguous design standards. The lack of clarity in the code has led to frustration, with some owners making changes without going through the city’s approval process simply because navigating the rules is too confusing.

This is where my work comes in. As a RARE AmeriCorps member, I am facilitating an effort to amend the AROZ to better reflect the needs and desires of the people who live and work in Old Town. Our goal is to create a code that encourages beautiful, compliant design while removing unnecessary barriers that discourage participation.

To do this, I knew I needed to engage directly with the local stakeholders—business owners, property owners, and community members—to understand their vision for Old Town.

To ensure that a diverse range of voices shaped the code update, I decided to form an advisory committee. This committee would bring together various stakeholders to openly discuss the challenges posed by the current regulations and work collaboratively toward solutions. Because participation was voluntary, I knew those involved would be passionate about the future of Old Town and invested in meaningful conversations about its design standards.

With this in mind, I set out to recruit members directly from the community. I began by canvassing Old Town, going business to business with my elevator pitch, explaining the project, and handing out flyers. In an attempt to make recruitment more engaging, I designed the flyers with Uncle Sam pointing outward, stating, “I Want You To Join My Architectural Review Overlay Zone Update Committee,” with my contact information on the back.

There was always a moment of hesitation before stepping into a business—repeatedly introducing myself to new people took me out of my comfort zone. However, I knew that these direct conversations were necessary to build trust and ensure that those most affected by the code had a say in its revision. After canvassing Old Town, I successfully recruited my first business owner.

Hoping to connect with even more stakeholders, I turned to the Chamber of Commerce Business Mixer. This event was the perfect opportunity to meet business owners in a setting where they were already engaged in discussions about the local economy. It also gave me a chance to integrate myself further into the broader Bandon community.

When I arrived at the mixer, I immediately sought out the one familiar face in the room—Bethe. I confided in her about my nerves at being in a room full of people I didn’t know. She reassured me that I would be fine and encouraged me to push through my discomfort and introduce myself. Taking her advice, I worked the room, striking up conversations and sharing my mission. By the end of the evening, I had connected with two highly interested business owners, both of whom were eager to join the advisory committee.

In the end, I successfully recruited seven committee members—six business owners and one local architect. Each member brings a unique perspective, contributing valuable insights on how to not only improve the code but also revitalize Old Town in a way that reflects the community’s vision.

This entire process was a significant point of professional growth for me. Stepping out from behind my desk and engaging directly with business owners was daunting at first, but I quickly realized how essential these face-to-face interactions were for ensuring the success of this project. The experience reinforced the importance of building relationships and fostering collaboration, rather than simply working through policy changes in isolation.

Our kickoff meeting for the code update was a resounding success. As a group, we generated three pages of notes—detailing what we liked, what wasn’t working, areas of confusion, and key opportunities for improvement. It was clear that everyone in the room was invested in shaping a more functional and inspiring Old Town, and this collective energy set the stage for meaningful change.

I’m excited for the continuation of this process—to keep engaging local stakeholders, refining our ideas, and ultimately seeing these recommendations come to life in the code amendment and new design guide. By making the code easier to understand and incorporating visual examples to eliminate ambiguity, we can ensure that business owners feel empowered to make improvements that align with both their vision and the character of Old Town.

About the author, Sulwyn De Crozuc: Sulwyn was born and raised in the capital of Oregon, Salem, but received her entire K-12 education in Woodburn, a smaller more rural town up north. Sulwyn recently graduated from the University of Oregon with a B.A. in Public Policy, Planning, and Management (PPPM) and a minor in Environmental Studies. She especially enjoyed learning about transportation planning and design, emphasizing sustainability and non-car-centric infrastructure implementation.