Whimsy and Wonder: Giving Youth a Voice, Not Just a Place to Wait

by theToledo Tribune

There was a time when young people were put to work on the farm by the age of ten, handed a hoe, and told to mind the rows and keep their eye out for crows and anything that slithered. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something, and it gave a kid the sort of purpose you can’t find in a waiting room. These days, we’ve replaced the hoe with smartphones and the field with fluorescent-lit youth rooms where we expect kids to stay safe, stay busy, and stay quiet until adulthood arrives.

But what if we changed that? What if we stopped babysitting our teenagers and started inviting them in—not as projects to be managed, but as partners in building a town?

Right here in Toledo, we’ve got more young minds than we know what to do with—and most of them are more than ready to do something meaningful. Not just crafts and chore charts, but real work. The kind that smells like ink and sawdust and ambition.

Imagine a youth-run media collective where teenagers are behind the cameras, asking questions of the mayor, recording stories from elders, and editing podcasts with headphones too big for their heads but hearts too big to quit. Give them microphones, and they’ll give us truth—honest, unfiltered, and sometimes inconvenient. But it’s their truth, and it matters.

Picture a youth advertising agency—kids with sketchpads and Canva accounts, pitching logos to local businesses who’ve grown tired of ClipArt and want something fresh. You give a 15-year-old the task of branding a coffee shop, and you’ll get something no adult committee could dream up in a year of meetings.

Think about pop-up youth markets on the corner of Main and Graham with kids selling handmade soaps, printed T-shirts, and hand-carved dice trays for tabletop games you’ve never heard of but that make them light up like Christmas. They learn inventory, pricing, customer service—and they walk away with a little cash and a lot of pride.

These aren’t new ideas. They’re old ones, really. The idea that a person can contribute before they’re old enough to vote. That their voice matters even if it’s changing pitch. That work and creativity aren’t reserved for after high school—they’re meant to start now.

We’ve got room for this in Toledo. We’ve got empty storefronts and full imaginations. We’ve got business owners who remember what it felt like to be underestimated and teachers who’d love to see their students do something more than memorize facts for a test they’ll forget by Friday.

So here’s the call: let’s build a Youth Voice Civic Series. Let’s mentor microbusinesses. Let’s fund a storytelling lab where kids record the lives of our elders before those stories fade. Let’s stop waiting for them to grow up and start growing with them.

It’s not babysitting. It’s the business of becoming. And if we do it right, someday they’ll write about us—and they’ll say we gave them not just a place to wait, but a place to begin.

 Dear friends and neighbors,

As the morning mist lifts from our beloved town and the coastal breeze whispers through the trees, we are reminded of the stories that breathe life into Toledo. It’s these tales—of courage, kindness, and the everyday moments—that we wish to capture and share.

We turn to you, the heart of our community, for your wisdom, your insights, and your stories. Perhaps there is a piece of local history that needs retelling, a long-held secret waiting for the right moment to be unveiled, or an act of goodwill that deserves to be celebrated. Maybe it’s the small, unnoticed events that stitch the fabric of our daily lives, or the lively gossip that colors our conversations.

Is there a story nestled in your family’s history, or a neighbor whose quiet heroism goes unrecognized? Are there events that deserve the spotlight or whispers that need a voice? Your contributions, no matter how grand or humble, will help us illuminate the rich tapestry of Toledo.

We invite you to share your advice, your anecdotes, and your hidden gems with us. Together, let’s uncover the narratives that define our town, bringing forth the truth and celebrating the spirit of our community. Reach out to us with your stories—be they historical, heartwarming, or humorous. Each one is a thread in the vibrant weave of Toledo.

Thank you for being the essence of our endeavor, and for helping us shine a light on the everyday moments that make our town truly special.

Warm regards,

Barry Bruster 

The Toledo Tribune Editorial Team

 “From a dogs perspective, tales for consideration and consternation” 

It was a Tuesday in Toledo, a town where stories lingered in the air like the scent of fresh-baked bread from Mrs. Johnson’s bakery. I was lost, all alone under a pile of logs, a woeful predicament that befell me one autumn afternoon. The guard at the gate saw me, a two-legged beast with a cap that read “Security.” I hid deeper in the log pile, afraid of the unknown that walked on two legs.

As I cowered behind the logs, the guard, a kind-hearted soul, put a piece of chicken out in front of the log pile, salvaged from his lunch bucket. It was a tempting offering, a beacon of hope in my dire situation. With cautious curiosity, I took a chance, peeking out from my hiding spot. But fate had other plans – he caught me.

He took me home, this two-legged beast with a heart as warm as Toledo’s summer sun. I was afraid and shy, uncertain of what awaited me. He fed me and, to my surprise, subjected me to a bath. What’s up with a bath? I wondered. I liked the smell of nature clinging to my fur. And cut my hair? It seemed like a strange ritual, but I was grateful nonetheless.

All has been well since that day. We walk down Main Street, a bustling thoroughfare where the two-legged beasts always pat my head. Why? They are very nice, and my two-legged friend keeps me in tow with a necklace and strap. I may not understand the ways of the two-legged creatures, but I’ve come to appreciate the companionship.

Yet, amidst the cordial greetings and happy faces on Main Street, I sense something more – a subtle pain in their hearts, a quiet ache beneath the surface. They may appear content, but I see beyond the façade. My two-legged friend guides me past the façade, ensuring my leash is secure.

Once, I spotted a tempting scrap on the sidewalk, a morsel of potential delight. But the jerk on the strap stopped me short, a reminder of the rules that governed our walks. I like scraps, but the two-legged world had its own set of rules. Despite the occasional restraint, life in Toledo was good – a mix of mystery, kindness, and the occasional forbidden treat.

Submitted for our reader enjoyment by Jimmy.

 A poem submitted by a local for your perusal. 

The arrogant engineer. 

In the quiet town of Toledo, where morning light is soft and slow,

There lives a train engineer so bold, whose love for horns does clearly show.

At six a.m., when all should sleep, he wakes the town with blasts so deep,

A thunderous call, a seismic wave, that shakes the ground and stirs the brave.

He hides behind the rulebook's lines, toots his horn with grand designs,

While others, kind, with gentle tone, fulfill their duty, leave folks alone.

But not this man, this horn-happy soul, whose joy is found in sonic toll,

He seeks to rouse the sleeping crowd, with blasts so harsh, so sharp, so loud.

The townsfolk lie in restless beds, with pillows clutched around their heads,

They dream of peace, of quiet morns, without the blare of blustery horns.

Should they meet him by the store, they’d wish to settle some old score,

With air horn blasts by produce stands, or justice dealt by furious hands.

Oh, how Toledo longs for rest, a morning calm, a gentle crest,

Where birds can sing and leaves can sway, and peace can greet the break of day.

Until that time, they bear the sound, united by the common ground,

Of shared disdain, of silent plea, for mornings free from horn’s decree.

 Toledo Tribune 

Tragedy strikes some in Toledo, Joy embraces the lucky few. 

It was a night to remember, though sadly, not by most. Toledo residents are shaking their heads in quiet lament, having missed what some are already calling an evening for the books. On Saturday, the newly remodeled Eagles Lodge, now christened Brewery XO, played host to a jazz band that transformed the cozy venue into a beacon of class and culture.

At the heart of it all was hostess Jen Kent, whose warmth and welcoming spirit made everyone feel instantly at ease. The joy on her face was contagious, her laughter echoing through the room as people marveled at the transformation she had wrought. It was clear to all that this was a labor of love, the culmination of many a day of toil and trial, and the result was nothing short of remarkable.

Those fortunate enough to attend witnessed the Lodge’s elegant transformation—a marriage of old-world charm and modern sophistication. The art on the walls, tastefully placed, served as conversation starters, while the bar, carved from dark wood and exuding elegance, spoke of a time gone by. Its polished surface and intricate details seemed to hold the stories of countless toasts and quiet conversations, adding a sense of history to the space.

Blue lights blended with a soft golden glow of stage lights that encircled the jazz band, creating an ambiance both intimate and enchanting.

Linda Daiber’s voice, rich and full, transported the audience back to the 1920s, evoking the spirit of smoky speakeasies and the bright lights of Broadway. Her vocals, seasoned with a hint of nostalgia, were a perfect match for Allan Mair’s flute, which flitted like a bird, light and free. Gene De Nardo’s guitar was an intricate weave of melodies, each note seamlessly blending into the next, while Ted Swenson’s bass provided a depth and fullness that anchored the ensemble. The acoustics were clear, warm, and filled every corner of the room, wrapping the audience in a cocoon of sound.

The atmosphere was one of friendly hospitality, where folks felt right at home yet elevated by the experience. It was an evening of fun and enjoyment, an escape from the everyday that left those in attendance with smiles on their faces and a new appreciation for the arts.

But for those who stayed home, the news of what they missed is a bitter pill to swallow. As the sounds of jazz still linger in the memories of a lucky few, the rest of Toledo can only hope that such a night will come again—though such perfection is rarely repeated. So, dear neighbors, mark your calendars and don’t let the next event pass you by. Some chances, after all, are too good to miss twice.

 Toledo Tribune. 

A New Outlook for Toledo. Building hope. 

In the quiet town of Toledo, Oregon, nestled between the evergreen forests and the winding Yaquina River, life hums along at its own pace. It’s a place where neighbors greet each other by name, where the history of logging and railroads is still alive in the stories told by the old-timers at the local diner. Yet, even here, amidst the natural beauty and close-knit community, the challenges of modern life—paying bills, putting food on the table, and finding a little joy in between—can weigh heavily on the spirit.

Just the other day, I found myself pondering what Toledo can do for me. The thought rolled around like a loose pebble in a shoe, persistent and a bit uncomfortable. My philosophy has been simple: I need to make money, you need to make money, we all need to make money. After all, money makes the monkey jump, doesn’t it? But as I mulled it over, the name of an old friend came to mind. A name that might bring a smile and a nod from the old-timers, but might draw a blank stare from the younger folks—Zig Ziglar.

Born in 1926 in Coffee County, Alabama, Zig Ziglar grew up in the thick of the Great Depression. Life was tough, but even in those hard times, Ziglar’s mother taught him the values of faith, hard work, and a positive attitude. These lessons stayed with him, and as he grew older, he began to share them with others. Ziglar believed that success wasn’t just about making money; it was about building character, treating people with respect, and finding joy in the everyday.

Over the years, Ziglar’s teachings have reached millions. He talked about the importance of a healthy self-image, the power of a positive attitude, and the value of integrity. These aren’t new ideas, but they’re the kind of timeless truths that resonate deeply, especially in a town like Toledo, where people understand the value of hard work and honest living.

Toledo itself has a history rooted in these principles. The town was settled in 1866, and it wasn’t long before it became a hub of industry, with logging, railroads, and boat building at its heart. People like John Graham, one of the town’s founders, understood that a community’s strength didn’t come from wealth alone but from the character of its people. They knew that integrity and loyalty were the foundations of a thriving town—values that Zig Ziglar would have appreciated.

In the coming weeks, we’ll be sharing a series of articles exploring the teachings of Zig Ziglar and how they can help us lead better, more fulfilling lives right here in Toledo. We’ll look at how adjusting our attitudes, setting meaningful goals, and building our character can not only help us overcome the daily stresses of life but also bring us closer as a community. After all, as Ziglar would say, “Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude.”

So let’s take a step back, think about what truly matters, and start focusing on what we can do for ourselves and each other. In doing so, we can build a better Toledo—one that’s not just about surviving, but thriving, together.

 Toledo Tribune. 

On Main Street, right in front of the Timbers Restaurant, there's a hanging basket that could make even the gloomiest day shine a little brighter. It’s the fullest, most colorful basket you'll find, its tendrils reaching all the way to the ground like the lush vines of some tropical paradise. Locals affectionately call it "the jungle," a nickname bestowed by the morning waitress, Kim.

Kim is more than just a waitress; she's the heart and soul of the Timbers Restaurant. Her warmth and kindness seem to flow right into that basket, making it bloom in ways the other baskets along Main Street can only dream of. Diners and passersby alike are convinced that it's Kim's tender care that gives the basket its extraordinary vitality.

"Kim's love is what makes that basket so full," one diner remarked, nodding sagely over a cup of coffee. And it’s hard to argue with that. Every morning, as she tends to her customers with a smile and a kind word, she also gives a little attention to the basket, adjusting a vine here, plucking a spent bloom there. It's a small ritual, almost unnoticed, but its effects are undeniable.

The basket, in turn, seems to flourish under Kim’s care. Its flowers, a riot of reds, yellows, and purples, spill over the edges in a cheerful cascade. It’s as if the basket has become a symbol of the community spirit that defines Toledo—a little piece of beauty and kindness that everyone can enjoy.

In a world that can sometimes feel hurried and harsh, the hanging basket in front of the Timbers Restaurant stands as a reminder of the simple joys and the power of a little tenderness. It’s a testament to the fact that, sometimes, all it takes to make something—or someone—thrive is a bit of love and care.