The Jon and Carrie Love Story, part 4

Home. I was home. Sort of.

I arrived at my parents' home in September 2002 after a weird year and a half. Go to college-- check. Get married-- hmm no. Fiddle around-- check.

My jobs at the Deseret News in Salt Lake City and as a camp counselor in PA threw me off course. Now what? I walked around my parents' dairy farm and thought and thought. I knew this-- I wanted to stay close to home but not TOO close. And I didn't want to work at a newspaper anymore (the life of a reporter... ehh. Fun but not conducive to a family). Maybe I could try a magazine?

I searched for jobs day and night. Nothing was jumping out at me. But I wasn't nervous because I had more faith and patience than I had ever had in my life. If there is one thing I knew, I could struggle through something and be ok. I was single and not sure what to do next, but I had the gospel to keep me on the right path.

After being home a few weeks I realized I hadn't paid tithing on my income from my summer job in PA. Well shoot! Perhaps it was because I wasn't really a member of a "real" ward in PA and didn't have a regular bishop to hand my tithing check to. Sundays at the camp were just like any other day-- though the 10 or so of us LDS counselors were allowed to leave for an hour to attend a shortened version of church. Every Sunday at 7am we would hop into a van and head to a local meeting house for sacrament meeting that a local bishop and counselor held for us (the bishop turned out to be the uncle of a former BYU roommate). I was the only one who could play piano so I plunked through some songs without having the chance to practice during the week. Then I would go back to camp and arrive right when my bunk girls were waking up, and they always asked why I was wearing a skirt. "You went to church? Why?"

I couldn't believe I had forgotten to pay tithing. So the following Sunday I wrote out a check and handed it to my current leader, the bishop of the Singles Ward in my hometown. It felt good. I was square with tithing. I had always paid my tithing in the past, and it had always been easy to do (thanks to the good example of my parents). But what I didn't expect was such an amazing blessing almost immediately.

Two days later, I recalled a website from my BYU days that listed job announcements for newspapers, magazines, etc. Jobs for print journalists like myself. How had I forgotten it? The link popped into my head and I rushed to search it. On it, I found the most perfect job for me: editor for agriculture magazines. Agriculture! Editor! Magazines! I was in heaven.

Where was the job? In WA, about 5 hrs from my parents' house. I considered that to be a perfect distance-- not too far, not to close. What's the name of the city? Yakima? I had never heard of it. I went online and checked out the city's website. Looked decent enough (laughing at my naivety).

I emailed my resume and cover letter to the company. I received a reply within TWO HOURS. "We'd love for you to come up for an interview." I am sure I danced. I am sure I couldn't sleep. The interview would be the following week.

I drove up and stayed with another former roommate who lived in the Tri-Cities, just an hour before Yakima. I was sooooo nervous. This wasn't an internship or a summer job. This was a potential long-term career. And it wasn't just any job-- it was a job I really really wanted.

I met with the two owners and felt immediately relaxed. They were both LDS and shared my strong values. The company had been around a while and the editor job for which I was applying would include travel around the U.S.! I was in heaven. I wowed them with my news clips and I answered all their questions easily and professionally. I even had agriculture experience to boot! I was sure I nailed it. One of them even took me on a tour of different parts of the area. If that wasn't a sign, I didn't know what was.

Then came the bomb. "We are interviewing someone flying up from Georgia, so we'll let you know our decision next week." WHAT? Georgia? That sounded important. That sounded like someone with experience. That sounded like... I didn't have a chance. I felt my stomach drop and I went home sure I would have to keep looking for something else.

There I was, at my parents' house feeling so sorry for myself. Meanwhile my old editor from my hometown newspaper kept bugging to come back (I had interned there two summers during my BYU days), but I was ready to move on to bigger and better things. I had even gone to an interview at a costume shop in Boise, and the job actually sounded fun. But Boise was too close to where I grew up and it wasn't a job I really wanted. What I really wanted to do was write. It was in my soul. I loved loved loved it.

I was moping around the house for about a week when suddenly, the phone rang. "Hi, this is Mike from Columbia Publishing. We'd like to offer you the job..... can you start next week?"

"YES!" Did I yell? I hope not.

"We want you to rent a car and drive around Idaho and Montana interviewing potato farmers for a week. Think you can do that?"

"Sure!" I could do that in my sleep. I had been a farmer. I loved traveling. I wanted to write about anything and everything. This was my dream come true. I packed my stuff and couldn't wait to start a new chapter in my life.

Mike drove through my hometown and dropped off a camera, cell phone, tape recorder, and some money for my trip. He was on his way to some other meeting, and the other boss was on his way to another meeting. We were all heading into "traveling" season. I rented a car and packed up half of my belongings so I could carry them with me that week, drop them off in Yakima once I got there, then I would drive to my parents' to get my car and the rest of my stuff.

It was so exciting. I was a real live magazine editor! What were the names of them again? There was one about potatoes, onions, carrots... oh dear. This could be interesting. My first stop was near Rexburg, Idaho. And it just so happened that two of my brothers were attending BYU-Idaho, so I was able to hang with them for dinner and spend the night in a hotel there.

But first things first. My first interview with a seed potato farmer. It was the middle of harvest, and I stepped into the muddy area to take pictures of people sorting on the line. It was cold and rainy, so I sat in a big pick up truck with the owner and his son who would take over one day. We drove around and they showed me their fields, and they were proud as ever. That interview set the stage for many interviews to come.

Our November 2002 issue would feature five different seed potato farmers with large stories and lots of photos. I asked about quality and water and soil and family history and just about everything else. It was so much fun. I could relate to these farmers, and I felt comfortable talking to them. To me, I was less of an editor than I was just a good friend interested in their operation.

I had never been to Montana-- unless you could West Yellowstone for about five minutes the previous year-- and it's true what they say. It is big sky country. I weaved around old highways and felt like I was in the old west. All these years I thought I had grown up in the middle of nowhere, but those back roads that lead me to seed potato farms gave me new perspective.

Finally I finished the last interview and was ready to head to Yakima, where I would call home for the next however many years. On the final stretch of road in WA, I felt a sense of peace. This is where I was supposed to be right now. So many things had happened in the last year and a half to lead me up to this point. Yakima-- here I come!

My boss and his wife had several children who were all grown and moved away, so they let me stay at their house until I could find a place to live. I arrived at work after a week of getting dirty and talking potatoes, and I was tired. I settled into my office and started transcribing the interviews. After quitting time, I headed to my boss's house where I was happy to get some rest.

But I was single and it was a Friday night. My boss had other plans for me.

"I'm sure you don't want to hang out with us old fuddy duddies. Let me call the Relief Society president of the Singles Branch."

Oh heavens.

As it turned out, my boss had been in the branch presidency recently and knew many of the young single LDS people in the Yakima area. And he wasn't wasting any time helping me fit in. He called Cristina and she said there weren't any branch activities that evening, but she and her sister and friend were headed to the Central Washington Fair. I could tag along if I liked. Before giving an answer my boss told her yes, and she was on her way to pick me up.

I actually had a lot of fun. The three girls were friendly and preferred walking around the fair looking at photo exhibits and other things in the buildings to riding rides or flirting with boys. That suited me just fine. We even got a photo button made for us, which I thought was odd, having a photo button with me and three girls I had just met.

I mostly felt hazy and ready for bed. I had been thrown into a new job and a new town and it was all settling in. I still felt so good about being in Yakima, and I knew great things were in store for me here.

Finally, we entered the Sundome, a huge building on the fairgrounds that housed the commercial booths. Cooking demos, hand lotions, Ecuadorian woven clothes, leather wallets, and all your typical businesses tried to get us to buy or at least stop for a minute and check out their stuff. We meandered around until suddenly, we ran into a group of people my three new girl friends knew.

"Oh hi guys! Carrie, these are some people from the Singles Branch. This is Margo, Teresa, and Jon......" >>Continue to Part 5