During my years as a public safety reporter here, people have asked me whether my job is depressing. The short answer is no.

Of course I read and see and hear about sad and even tragic events. But there’s a piece to this job that reminds me that life is important, people are people, and there’s often help when needed.

Over the years I’ve seen…

- Police catch bad guys before they harm again.
- Firefighters extinguish flames before anyone is injured.
- Kids learning about bicycle and internet safety, and hopefully learning to protect themselves.
- Homeless people turned out of their tents but then offered help by the community.
- People found guilty and sent to prison, and people found not guilty and set free.
- I’ve seen tears for lives lost, and gratitude for lives saved.

Thanks for reading and keeping up with my blog. Take care and perhaps you’ll hear from me again.

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Driving through a river. This was on the trip home and there was less water than during our drive in. The bridge washed out some time ago.

Roadside vendors under a Mapou tree. I love these trees. They look like they belong in a prehistoric jungle.

Donkey parking.

The United Nations. They've had a presence in Haiti for a long time now.

Market day.

More market.

Traveling baskets.

Making our way through a town.

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The organization I work with, Haiti Foundation of Hope, operates in rural villages, where many people live in mud huts with thatched roofs, and where children go without clothes, and where families struggle to find food each day. Not everywhere in Haiti is like this, but this is where many of my experiences have been.

Here are a couple stories to illustrate the difficulties people face:

On the last day of clinic, a family brought their father in to be seen by a doctor. They carried him on a bed, walking for an hour down a hot and dusty road to get here.

Earlier in the week I spoke with a family who has a new house after their old home was destroyed in floods last year. They have a new house, but still no jobs, livestock or garden (they were also lost in the hurricane season).

This afternoon I spoke with a woman who told me she had six children. We talked some more and I learned that she had had nine children, but three had died. (Many mothers share the same story here.)

Later in the day, I walked with the same woman from her home up on the hill to the community well, about a mile away, where she walks to every day to get water for her home. She was carrying the empty 5-gallon bucket in her hand, but on the way home, it would have been filled with water as she carried it on her head back up the hill. Just like the young boy we passed on the road.

So, what’s the good news? That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out this week. Sometimes it’s hard to see. The good news is that we helped about 1,000 patients at the clinic. The good news is that the woman who I walked to the well with has a job cleaning the clinic, which gives her money to send her children to school. People here have a church and community leaders who care about them. And just about everyone who came through our clinic doors this week left with beans and rice. (Medicine does little when you have no food.) Also, the clinic doors don’t close when we leave. There is Haitian staff here to make sure sick people continue to get treated. There is more good news I’m sure … We just have to keep watching for it.

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Then there are the many cases of malaria, the incidents of cancer that have gone untreated, and the children who are malnourished.

Yesterday, we saw a 3-year-old boy who weighed just 17 pounds. That’s someone who isn’t getting enough to eat. We were able to help him get into a “Medika Mamba” program, which means during the next several weeks, he’ll be getting a peanut butter (”mamba” in Creole) type mixture with lots of nutrients and vitamins added in. He should start gaining weight and becoming more healthy in the near future.

Some things in Haiti are the same as back home. People help one another. Many patients too sick to come on their own, come to clinic with family or friends. Some are even carried on a bed by people who walk here from wherever home is.

People laugh and like to have a good time. No one likes bugs or spiders, especially the tarantula we found in a bag full of fabric. It met its end under a shoe.

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Right now it’s 9:30 p.m. (7:30 p.m. West Coast time) and we are about to turn in for the night. It’s been an adventure getting here. We left the airport in Port-au-Prince and drove for nearly eight hours to get to our destination, a distance of about 100 miles. Yes, I said eights hours in the car to travel 100 miles – and most of that was on the national highway.

Haiti suffered terrible storms last year during the hurricane season. It flooded areas and destroyed homes, business and belongings. I was here just after the flooding. And in some places – eight months later – I see that not much has changed. The same detours are in place. Mud still lines some roads. And any amount of rain results in more mud and standing water. We had to drive through a river and slide across mud to get to where I am now. But we made it. Safe and sound.

We headed out for a walk this afternoon but only made it about 100 yards before today’s rain came. And it’s not like Northwest rain. It’s get-to-cover-as-quick-as-you-can rain. Once the skies cleared up, we tried again to go for walk. And again, we made it about 100 yards before shoes became caked in mud. This evening, I was on the roof of the clinic building watching people – and goats – pass by. I saw one woman walking up the muddy hill in a pair of white dress shoes. All I could think was how frustrating the feeling must be that on top of all the hardships someone faces living in a place like this that at the end of the day you have to struggle through mud just to get home.

Most of our day was spent setting up clinic. We saw a few patients, including a young boy who came here with a bad burn on his arm. He was burned when he had an animal – I don’t know, maybe a donkey or goat – on a rope and it drug him through a fire. The good news is that we were able to help the boy and he’ll keep getting treatment till he’s better.

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The story is that the Oregon State Police has been understaffed for a number of years following budget cuts by the state government. Unfortunately, understaffed in a police agency translates to no 24-hour coverage, slower response times, and more liberties for criminals who are using our freeways and highways.

Less chance for a speeding ticket might sounds nice, but not when the exchange is more drunk drivers on the roads, more drugs traveling the freeways, and no help for a car crash.

But change is coming. Yesterday, the OSP office in Albany returned to 24-hour coverage, which is a good to hear. Less than three years ago, the office was down to 16-hour days. That meant that just as drunk drivers were getting on the roads, troopers were headed home.

This morning, Mark Ylen and I joined a trooper from the Albany office at 4 a.m. (no, the sun was not up then) and rode for a while. We (ok, the trooper) pulled over a few people for speeding and gave some warnings. Nothing exciting happened. No one was arrested, and we didn’t come across any traffic accidents. But it’s nice to know that there’s at least one trooper around anytime, night or day, if a problem should come up – because you never know when you’re the one who’s going to need help.

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While I was going from one place to another yesterday, I saw about a dozen girls outside a house gathering together for a group picture. I overheard something about the last day of school and a lot of laughter.

Apparently, the only person within picture-taking distance was the mailman, who was snapping a picture for the group.

I can only imagine what was said back at the post office: “You got chased by a dog today? Well, that’s nothing. I got ambushed by a dozen last-day-of-school kids.”

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I was driving into the parking lot at the police station when I saw a pile of something that looked – at least from a distance – like bird food. As I pulled into a parking space, I thought, “Wait. Why would there be bird food in the police department’s parking lot? That doesn’t make any sense.”

I got out of my car and realized that it was not bird food. It was vomit. And I had driven right through it.

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Among the items on my list was Parmesan cheese, not the fresh kind, the one in the plastic bottle that you keep in the cupboard. I wasn’t sure exactly where to find it but I figured the Italian pastas and canned tomatoes was a good place to look. So I did, but I didn’t find what I was looking for.

I asked a store clerk about the cheese and she directed me back to the same spot. Instead of arguing with her, that I had just been there and there was no cheese, I went back for a second look. And there it was, on the top shelf, about eight inches above my head. I stood on my toes and was just able to reach the container of cheese.

My grandma, who is also short (funny, this thing called genetics), once told me, “Why do you want to be tall anyway when most of the work is on the ground.” Well, I don’t know if that is true or really makes any sense, but it makes me feel good. That, a pair of high heels.

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When I opened my door yesterday, I saw a patrol car parked in front of my home. Hmmm. Whatever they were doing, it certainly wasn’t covert.

I was off the clock. My pen and paper were stashed away for the day but I still wanted to know what they were up to. I walked to the patrol car, lowered my head to the window and said, “hi.” I think the officer was somewhat surprised to see me. And I have the feeling that most police would rather do their job somewhere other than outside a reporter’s home. I don’t blame them.

I asked the officer was he was doing. He said something about watching for someone and a suspicious circumstance case. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. Since I was in a hurry and didn’t hear the words homicide, robbery or kidnapping, I didn’t listen all that closely (like I said, I was off the clock).

I might be more curious than the average person and that might explain why I have the job I do, but if the police are nearby, I want to know what they’re doing, even when I’m not working. If I come home late and see flashing lights, I want to know that they aren’t scouring the area for a murder suspect (because I’m not going to sleep if they are). It amazes me the number of people – those without warrants – who see police nearby and never ask what’s going on.

So you tell me. Do you ask the police what all the commotion is about or do you just keep walking?

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