Adios, amigos

Normally, I take this space of blank paper on this page and, like a fifth-grader doing a science experiment, I pour a bit of my own brand of weirdness on it and then watch to see what grows.

That's how I came to tell you about my brother, my mom, my dad, my soccer team, my salsa dancing, my pinball addiction, my job as a garbage man, my long list of journalistic goof-ups, and that skinny country down south that nobody can pronounce correctly but I still seem to be so fond of.

I know it may be too late for this, but I'd like to tell you that I told you all those things not because I thought my life was so thoroughly fascinating that it had to be shared with you, but I did it for the same reason that same fifth-grader tells you a joke: Maybe if I said it, you'd think it was funny.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Nowhere else was this truer than in my first My Turn, when a lady sent me my first fan letter, which I still have, and another lady (Hi, Deb!) sent the paper a letter lambasting "that outsider" for making fun of Moses Lake.

Well, guess what, I am not an outsider anymore. And that, I owe to you. Yes, I know, I am leaving and that makes me an outsider again, but this time is different. And that is also thanks to you.

And when I say "you," I am not just paying lip service to an unknown, faceless somebody whom I'll never meet. I am saying it to the lady who took my check deposit at the bank and told me to "go play some pinball." Or that other fella who saw me at a meeting and asked me "Shouldn't you be salsa dancing?" Or that lady who congratulated me on a My Turn while deciding whether to accept my prehistorically late water bill payment or tell me to go find a water buffalo and ask him for a liter or two.

"Here's a topic for your next My Turn, pal: dehydration."

And so many others that there is not enough room, ink, or in my case, attention span, to thank you all. You made me feel like I was truly home, even when I screwed up, like when I wrote that a legislator was in support of farmers' water fights, (it should have read "water rights,") or when I missed a hostage situation because my cell phone was off. I still remember that headline, "Something happened and that's all I know."

And that sub-headline, "More details when I get my boss' shoe off my tuckus and my cell phone out of my nose."

Through these 28 months, I have been touched by your friendliness, your candor, and above all, by your grace. Grace of which I knew no better example than that time when I almost killed somebody on Highway 17, then I ran into that somebody at the bank weeks later, and she gave me a hug.

These are the people I will always remember, no matter where life takes me. And these are the kinds of people this wonderful Basin is dripping with.

Now, it's off to Wenatchee for me. Land of apple blossoms, hills, and rivers, but no My Turns, and no people to tell me "Oh, thank God, no," when I asked them if they were Chilean like me, or to tell me all about that Moraga fellow who "just can't write."

Come to think of it, the likelihood of that last one happening again is pretty much just a matter of time.

Until that happens and in the many days thereafter, I will keep you safely in my thoughts, stored in my memory as the people who made my first professional job ever something truly unforgettable, from the politician who never spoke to me again, to the elderly lady who took to calling me "honey."

Much like that same kid with the science experiment, I will never forget my first love, and I loved working for all of you.

To you, this big, grateful, Chilean hug.

Until we meet again, adios amigos.

And muchas gracias.

Sebastian Moraga has been the Columbia Basin Herald's city and politics reporter for the past two and a half years. Next week he moves on to become the city reporter for the Wenatchee World. He may be reached at koogbasschi@hotmail.com.

Brad W. Gary, current CBH county reporter, steps into Moraga's position on Wednesday.