Flyte Camp, a vintage trailer restoration company in Bend, breaks the mold in the camp trailer industry with its new line of trailers that look vintage, but have modern luxuries.

It all started with a 1958 Shasta Airflyte. To some, a heap of aluminum and rubber tires rusting in an overgrown junkyard. But to Anna and Justin Scribner, it was a piece of living history that deserved a second chance. Their work to restore the vintage trailer to its former gleaming glory spawned a successful business and a popular TV show, but, more importantly, it marked the beginning of their crusade to restore American craftsmanship to camping trailers.

Almost a decade and close to 100 renovations later, Flyte Camp is embarking on a new adventure: designing and building their own model of trailers. Dubbed the Neutron, the trailers are high-end and designed in mid-century vintage style but with modern amenities.

Justin said that the idea came when the trend of vintage trailers picked up and other companies started putting out their own models that looked vintage. But those trailers “missed the mark” when it came to the craftsmanship that is the hallmark of the trailers made in the mid-twentieth century.

The Neutrons are made-to-order, three-at-a-time at Flyte Camp’s Bend shop. Designed and made using all the knowledge they’ve gleaned from years working with vintage trailers and racking up insight into their craftsmanship, the Neutrons are dripping with nostalgia.

Adding the Neutron felt like the logical next step to Anna and Justin, who wanted to make their mark on the retro camping trailer market. Even as they drive the business forward, they do so with one eye on the rearview mirror of history and that first trailer that marked the beginning of a lifetime infatuation with classic design. Anna recalled seeing that Shasta Airflyte when Justin brought it home, almost a decade ago now.

“Man, the first time I saw that thing, I walked through it and fell in love,” she said. “I loved all the mid-century detailing and the quality that was in the small things.”

Justin, a contractor by trade, echoes that sentiment when he talks about what sparked the idea for the business.

“We’re preserving a piece of Americana,” he said. “It doesn’t need to be rotting out in a field somewhere.”

Like many upstarts, success didn’t come overnight. The work grew slowly and organically in the first few years. In some ways, they didn’t know they had a business at all. The couple spent several years buying, restoring and selling vintage camp trailers as a hobby before officially launching Flyte Camp in 2009. Less than a year into it, their renovations caught the attention of a television producer. He offered them a spot on Extreme RVs, then their own show, “Flippin’ RVs,” which is now in its third season on the Travel Channel.

Justin grew up camping in trailers around the Pacific Northwest, and has a passion for all things nostalgic, but especially vintage camping trailers.

“[Vintage trailers] all need to be saved, in my opinion,” he said. “We’re too much of a throwaway society anymore. They should be out on the road.”

One of the reasons the business has been so successful is that they know how to capture the look and feel of an era through their restorations. They also capitalized on a trend that has swept American culture in the last decade.

“People just want that experience of stepping back in time, escaping to an earlier era,” said Anna. “That’s one thing we try to do, is make sure that our restorations are era correct, are the real, true look and feel of the year.”

The business has turned them into experts in the field, and the couple is sought after around the country for their design and craftsmanship.

Despite the TV show, the business and building the new trailers, Justin and Anna are still out camping as much as possible. Though today, they’ve traded in the vintage trailer for the Neutron, taking it camping to places around Central Oregon such as Crescent Lake and Paradise Campground.

Justin and Anna are hoping the Neutrons will stand the test of time like the vintage trailers that they restore.

“Hopefully, we’re putting out something that will last another sixty years,” said Justin.

Big Story owners Josh and Heidi Spencer are hoping they can finally live that bookstore owners’ elusive dream: actually having time to read.

The Bookmark, the longstanding used bookstore on the corner of Greenwood and Third Street in Bend, is getting a sequel. Josh and Heidi Spencer, who live in Bend and own the iconic The Last Bookstore in Los Angeles, bought The Bookmark in February, renovated the building and renamed it Big Story.

With Big Story, the Spencers are hoping they can finally live that bookstore owners’ elusive dream: actually having time to read.

Heidi and Josh are married with two small children. Though they moved to Bend two years ago, Josh still spends a week in L.A. each month at The Last Bookstore. The two didn’t have plans to open a bookstore in Bend until The Bookmark came up for sale. Josh described buying the used bookstore as “a little challenge for me to take on.”

Beginning in February, they began renovating everything, including the shelving, by hand. “That means something to us,” said Heidi, “to create something that we want to be in.”

The Spencers are also dedicated to building a community with the bookstore, hoping to keep the previous owners’ loyal customers coming in to buy and sell books. “People have been very open to the changes that we’ve made,” said Heidi.

Big Story is the second independent bookstore that has opened in Bend within the last year; Roundabout Books opened in NorthWest Crossing in the fall. But Central Oregon isn’t the only place where bookstores are having a renaissance. Despite competition from Amazon and e-readers, indie bookstores are thriving across the United States. Between 2009 and 2014, independent bookstores rose by 27 percent, according to the American Booksellers Association.

Big Story is a new chapter for the Spencers. “It is a challenge,” said Heidi. “It’s a real juggling act,” she continued, referring to their challenge in figuring out how to run this bookstore versus their L.A. bookstore, which is a cultural destination in the city as the largest new and used independent bookstore in California (by square footage and the number of books sold). “Our heart is to be a local, independent bookstore,” she said.

“It really is a family-owned, family-run business,” she added. “[Big Story] is this manageable, fun thing in a small community.”

Bunk and Brew offers affordable lodging for travelers in Bend—and a free beer when you check-in.

Frankie Maduzia and J Charles Griggs had the same goal: create a place with a bed for travelers, and beer for good measure, in Bend. Both avid travelers but novice entrepreneurs, Maduzia and Griggs had a serendipitous meeting that resulted in Bend’s first hostel, Bunk+Brew.

Opened in January, Bunk+Brew is located in the oldest brick building in Bend, the historic Lucas House in the north section of downtown. Maduzia and Griggs, who both recently moved to Bend from Portland, had noticed a void in Bend’s lodging options during their pre-move visits.

“I love coming here to climb at Smith Rock, and I don’t mind being dirty and roughing it sleeping in a tent or my car, but sometimes a shower and a bed can’t be beat,” said Maduzia.

About a year ago, Maduzia and Griggs met through a mutual friend, discovered their shared passion for traveling and lodging and decided to go into business together.

Before getting into the hostel business, Maduzia worked in the medicine and technology industry. Maduzia has traveled all over the world, beginning with a trip to Ecuador when he was seventeen. His partner, Griggs, is a licensed attorney and also has ample travel experience. In 2015, Griggs traveled from Mexico to Panama and ended his journey in Cuba, visiting a total of eight countries and staying in more than fifty hostels. During his travels, Griggs noticed a trend of more young people choosing to stay in hostels rather than hotels, himself included.

“Millennials all over the world are on the move,” said Griggs. “Hostels are not only incredibly cost effective, they also offer a community atmosphere.”

The first guests at Bunk+Brew were from France and Germany, and more guests from around the world have stayed there since. The hostel already has a map stuck with pins, representing the global origins of the hostel’s guests.

Built in 1910, the Lucas House has a history of accommodating travelers, predominantly as a boarding house. The seller supported the business partners’ vision for the property, hinting that their plans to continue its legacy sealed the deal.

The hostel sleeps twenty-four people in seven rooms, with beds in a shared room starting at $33 per night. Private bedrooms can be booked starting at $68 per night—an affordable rate considering the average night in a local hotel room cost $121 last year, according to a report produced for Visit Bend. Guests also have access to a full kitchen and laundry facilities. Community living and dining room spaces encourage guests to mingle over coffee in the morning or beers from local breweries in the evening, beginning with a free beer for each guest upon check-in.

“We hope the hostel will be a welcoming place for all ages,” said Maduzia, who envisions guests stemming from a variety of demographics coming to visit this “young, fresh, hip house.”

Wildflower Mobile Boutique sells affordable—and adorable—fashion in a renovated retro delivery truck.

With rising rent prices and falling retail vacancy rates, more new businesses around Bend are sprouting wheels. One of those is Wildflower Mobile Boutique, which sells a curated mix of clothes and accessories.

Mariah Young, 34, opened the truck two years ago this fall. Originally from La Grande in Northeast Oregon, Young had been working as a dental assistant in Bend.

“I always wanted my own business or my own store, but I knew that would be a huge commitment,” she said. “I had the seen the mobile retail businesses that were taking off, and I thought I should do a clothing store out of one.”

Young found a former Frito-Lay delivery truck that was being used by a plumber as a shop vehicle. With the help of her husband and a couple friends, the truck was renovated and open for business in just four months as a mobile boutique. The result was a light and bright space, with a few racks for a curated collection of clothes and jewelry and a small dressing room. “It honestly all came to fruition in a really incredible way,” she said.

The truck is parked at Spoken Moto every Thursday, and Young spends the rest of the time bringing the truck to private events, where people can have a personal shopping experience, usually from their homes. Without the overhead costs of a brick and mortar store, Young turned a profit in less than a year.

“It was something that hadn’t been done here,” said Young. “I also know Bend’s a very progressive town and very supportive of local businesses, so that was something I felt like I had going for me. This town is great that way.”

We caught up with CrushCore founder Adam Krefting to learn more about how he came up with the idea, why he moved his startup from Texas and what he’s learned from his entrepreneurial ventures, or rather, adventures.

One of the most common questions that CushCore founder Adam Krefting gets from mountain bikers who hear about his invention is ‘When can I try it?’ The enthusiasm for Krefting’s patent pending product is understandable. The CushCore inner-tire suspension system promises to prevent flats, in addition to offering more stability, traction and a smoother ride.

A foam injected mold insert that sits on the inner radius of your mountain bike tire, CushCore serves numerous functions, but acts primarily as inner-tire suspension that dampens impacts and provides a smoother, more consistent ride. It also improves durability by preventing impact-related rim damage and the dreaded pinch flat.

CushCore began selling its products in March, and you can find them in many Bend bike shops, as well as online.

You noted that you’re a natural tinkerer. What was the process for inventing CushCore?

I started with a hacksaw, and I just cut foam into a trapezoid shape, glued it into a ring, and inserted it into my tire. After I realized that worked, even in a primitive form, I set about trying to find the ideal material. I wanted something that was super lightweight but could also handle repeated impacts. I probably tried fifty kinds of foam, and all sorts of different ways to shape it. At one point, I brought a giant piece of foam to a woodworking shop to see if they could mill it. It disintegrated. It was a two-year process to get where we are today. Now we use an injection molded foam.

CushCore began selling its inner tire suspension system in March. What’s the response been?

If we can get people to try it, they love it. We’ve received lots of positive reviews from pro riders across the country who have tested it. We get some concerns on our Facebook page from people who are worried about adding 250 grams of weight to their wheel. But you can often offset that with a lighter tire or wheel. More significantly, riders say our product increases ride quality and overall speed. That’s something we’ve also been able to back up with demos and tests.

You moved Kreft Moto and CushCore to Bend from Austin last year. What brought you here?

We were interested in living in a smaller community, and the strength of the startup programs here were a big draw. My wife is a physical therapist; she got a job at St. Charles and that made our decision. So far, it’s been a great fit. I’ve found excellent techs for Kreft Moto and EDCO connected me with CushCore’s first employee, who used to work in Honda’s R&D department. We also ended up winning $18,000 in grants from the Bend Venture Conference and the Venture Out Festival.

In addition to Kreft Moto and CushCore, you’ve launched a couple other businesses. What have you learned?

You have to be willing to try and fail. It’s easy to look to people for advice about what kind of business to start, whether it’s a good financial risk, etc. But at some point you have to get comfortable answering those questions yourself. If you think you have a good idea, give it a try—you’ll know in a short time whether it will work.

A mix of desperation and determination fueled Bill Smith and his enduring contributions to Central Oregon.

It’s approaching midnight on the Deschutes River and the scene is unusually quiet at the Brooks-Scanlon lumber mill. A workers’ strike has silenced the churning economic backbone of Bend, which, in 1973, supports many of the nearly 15,000 residents, directly or indirectly. The night watchman patrols the riverbank.

The river’s current is slackened by a dam and the banks have eroded from years of industrial activity. As the watchman goes, he snips off pieces of willow and pushes the tender shoots into the riparian mud, a minute reparatory act. The river’s surface, temporarily relieved of some of the logs that typically choke it, tempts him to drop in a fishing line, an act strictly forbidden on this liquid conveyor belt to the mill. Then it dawned on him: “I’m the night watchman; the only one who’d catch me is me.”

It wasn’t a job that William Smith was used to doing. Among the company’s top brass, he was pitching in to cover skeleton crew shifts during the work stoppage. The strike would end, but the problems were just beginning for the logging industry. Later that year, Smith would be named president of Brooks Resources Corp., the four-year-old real estate subsidiary of the timber monolith. He knew timber resources were limited; someday soon, the mill would close. But, boy, did he like that stretch of the river. Despite its industrial baggage, the site had potential. He wouldn’t have a chance to act on his notion, though, for two decades.

Fast forward to 1993, past an entire collapse of the Pacific Northwest timber industry, past Smith launching his own development company, and past a visit to San Antonio’s River Walk—where the shops, restaurants and public art lining the riverbank inspired him. Timber giants such as Crown Pacific and Weyerhaeuser are conducting fire sales on their timber holdings. Among those lands are several parcels bundled with the idle Bend sawmill, which most buyers considered the ugly stepchild in the portfolio. Smith, a consummate dealmaker, forms the River Bend Limited Partnership, and calls up the likely bidders with a proposal: buy the land and give him the unwanted mill, for a price. It didn’t take long for him to put together a deal.

It would take nearly five years—“four years, eleven months and two days,” Smith is quick to say—to funnel his plan through Oregon land use laws and get city zoning approval to begin creating the 270-acre Old Mill District. Central to that was cleaning up more than two-and-a-half miles of the riverbank that had been off-limits to the public for most of a century. The area opened in late 2000 with Regal Cinemas and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream shop as its flagship tenants. Today it has more than sixty businesses, including local and national restaurants, retail stores and nine historic buildings. The most iconic is the mill powerhouse, with its 200-foot-tall silver smokestacks, that now houses an REI store. A footbridge bedecked with colorful flags connects the shopping area to an outdoor amphitheater that hosts year-round events and attracts musicians on national and international touring circuits. Four hotels overlook the retail-lined streets and the walking and cycling paths that parallel the river and link to Bend’s extensive network of parks and trails. Thousands of people paddle or float by on this lazy section of the river, where otters frolic, offering evidence of the habitat’s restored integrity.

While the Old Mill District is Smith’s signature piece, and widely credited as integral to Bend’s rebirth, his prior work with Brooks Resources helped shape Central Oregon’s evolution from timber outpost to outdoor mecca. From Black Butte Ranch, Sisters and La Pine to major developments in Bend, such as Awbrey Butte and Mount Bachelor Village, Smith oversaw work that helped transform Brooks-Scanlon from a mill operator to a purveyor of destination lifestyles—work that helped rebrand and redefine the region in the process. He launched William Smith Properties in 1985, extending his holdings to vast ranches in Eastern Oregon. His wife and co-owner of the firm, Patricia “Trish” Smith, has taken the lead on their significant civic and philanthropic work, supporting arts and culture, education, and healthcare in Bend and throughout the state.

Known widely in the Central Oregon business community as a consummate dealmaker, Bill Smith turns 76 in August, with no intention of being more laissez-faire, even as the couple’s son and daughter assume responsibilities in the family’s thriving enterprises. By all accounts, including his own, it’s Smith’s pure love of work, ox-like persistence, obsession with detail and unrelenting desire to live nowhere but Bend that have allowed him to make a lasting mark on Central Oregon.

“Bill has cemented a place in our community’s history with his vision for the Old Mill District, whether you agree with his vision or not, and there are those in the community who didn’t necessarily want his vision,” said Kelly Cannon-Miller, executive director for the Deschutes County Historical Society. “It has had an undeniable impact on changing the face of Bend and what it means to visit here.”

Last summer, the Old Mill District was a finalist for the Urban Land Institute’s Global Award Program, alongside twenty-five others from Paris and Geneva to Manhattan and Mexico City, said Ken Kay, whose San Francisco-based design firm applied its specialty, linking urbanism and ecology, to Smith’s project.

Smith, known for his laconic style, sloughs it off. “It’s just fun,” he said. “I like to fix, rewind, repair, redo, rejuvenate. Historic preservation’s fun. Doing that gives you a place to know where you came from.”

The Making of a Dealmaker

You could argue that Smith pours so much into his work because he doesn’t know how to have fun. But it’s more complicated than that. The value of a day’s work was a notion embedded in him as a child. His maternal grandmother lived with his family when he was growing up, and she spoke with a heavy German accent. Trish recalled that the matriarch would sit in her rocking chair, always with a book, dispensing her favorite piece of advice: “You must verk.”

Smith, born in Denver to a mechanical engineer and a homemaker, the oldest boy of five children, launched a forty-hour-per-week lawn and garden business when he was a high school sophomore. He capitalized on the fact that the school was overcrowded. Half of the students, including Smith, had classes from 6 a.m. to noon, and the other half went until 5 p.m. Once he turned 16, he worked for his workaholic uncle’s growing trucking company, doing office work and filling in on the dock.

He graduated from the University of Colorado, Boulder in 1964 with a degree in economics, but the best employers avoided hiring men who might be drafted, so Smith joined the Navy. His four years of service included twenty-two months aboard a destroyer that bombed the shores of Vietnam, rescued pilots who’d been shot down and searched for those who missed aircraft carrier landings. In Saigon, as an Officer in Charge of Construction, he slogged through Agent Orange during the Tet Offensive.

When he returned, he entered the MBA program at Stanford. In 1969, after Smith’s first year in the program, Mike Hollern, president of Brooks-Scanlon, recruited him and another graduate student to work for the lumber company during the summer, having interviewed about a dozen candidates. The company was founding its real estate subsidiary, Brooks Resources. That October, back in Palo Alto, Smith was at a party when a dark-haired, blue-eyed, fourth-grade schoolteacher walked in. He asked if he could buy her a beer. They were engaged at Christmas, married in June and moved to Bend in July 1970.

“Bill had turned down offers in L.A. and New York and chose Bend, where he could fish and hunt, which he did a bit, but not nearly as much as his imagination held,” said Trish.

Maverick Methods

Newly formed Brooks Resources was creating Black Butte Ranch, and Hollern placed Smith in charge of marketing. Hollern recalled, “We did so many things differently—as young kids, we didn’t know any better—and I credit Bill with the marketing ideas: no paid advertising or print media.” Instead, Smith had frame-worthy posters made of Black Butte Ranch landscapes surrounding the undeveloped vacation home lots on 1,800 acres. He got the membership lists for all the private golf courses in Northern California, Oregon and Southern Washington.

“Every doctor, dentist, mortician, plane-owner,” Smith said, “anyone who made enough to afford a second home.” The vacation home concept had just arrived in Central Oregon with Sunriver and Inn at the Seventh Mountain (now Seventh Mountain Resort). The market research showed they could expect to sell about fifty lots at first. The Black Butte Ranch site had a natural advantage—people had to drive by it on their way to the other resorts, Smith said, “and they’d have gotten this unsolicited, nice piece. We didn’t have to spend as much to recruit them, we just had to get them to stop as they went by.”

Smith worked with a local designer and McCann Erickson ad agency in Portland to create the posters. The only information was a single slogan (which the property still uses): “There is a place … Black Butte Ranch.”

James Crowell, former communications director for Brooks-Scanlon, worked with Bill on the project. “Smith’s marketing approach was pure genius and set the tone for the way Brooks Resources sold property,” he said. “There was a very strict architectural review committee and they started with a limited number of lots to limit speculation. They wanted people to buy a lot, build a house and bring their family.”

It was a maverick approach for the 1970s, with the dawn of timeshares in Mexico and direct marketing brochures with price lists and huckster-like radio and TV pitches. “Real estate was being sold like used cars,” said Crowell. At a time when salespeople worked strictly on commission, Smith put his team on salary, which set them apart and kept aggressive pitching in check. “It was a heck of a different approach to selling property that nobody absolutely really needed,” said Crowell.

The team had sales objectives, though, and Monday breakfast meetings were important for the entire staff, not just salespeople. Smith reluctantly agreed they’d commence at 7 a.m. instead of 6:30 a.m. “He wound up every meeting with something I always thought was brilliant: ‘Nobody makes anything until somebody sells something,’” said Crowell. “Everyone loses track of that.”

Tough Times

Black Butte Ranch was the most fun because “success is always fun,” said Smith, but there were tough times, too. In 1982, while he was president of Brooks Resources, he led the company to invest heavily in Kennewick, Washington, piggybacking on the construction of a planned nuclear power plant. The gamble was ill-timed. The Washington Public Power Supply System was about to default on $2.25 billion in construction bonds for the project. It remains one of the one of the biggest municipal bond failures in U.S. history. WPPPS (dubbed WHOOPS by the national press) halted construction of several Pacific Northwest nuclear power plants, including one near Kennewick on the Hanford Nuclear Reservation. Speculators such as Brooks that bet on the accompanying boom had no recourse when the bottom dropped out of the local economy. Smith’s research on Kennewick had included several contingencies, but not an outright collapse. “I didn’t count on them hitting the pause button and there being no jobs,” he said.

The fallout was swift. Smith left Brooks Resources and began William Smith Properties with the ranchland that Brooks Resources didn’t want. It was precarious, and he admits now that he was afraid, but he had a plan: work even harder. “Instead of getting up at 4:30, I’d get up at 3:30.”

Hollern said, “He owed us a lot of money. We financed it, and he paid it off and we’ve maintained our friendship.” It took about six years for the market in Kennewick to turn around and Smith’s son, Matt Smith, now manages that region for William Smith Properties.

For all of Smith’s sheer love of dealmaking, positioning Bend for success in a new economy was central to the goal, and it aligned with his business philosophy: “If you’re doing good deals, you’ve got to have both sides win.” For him, that means a Bend where future generations can continue what he started. He still works every day, but when he isn’t at his desk with the resident cat, “Teeny,” he’s seen around the Old Mill’s wildflower beds with a couple of his five grandchildren, pulling weeds.

A Renaissance, Complete with a “Benign Dictator”

Trish, whose triple major included Renaissance history at Gonzaga University in Spokane, Washington and a year abroad in Florence, said, “I have a theory about Bend in the ’70s. It was a convergence of people who had a vision, like in Tuscany at the time of the Renaissance, and what they did lasted.” She cited Fred Boyle, a Harvard graduate who sought to model Central Oregon Community College after his alma mater; Mike Hollern, who came West to run Brooks-Scanlon even though the timber industry was dying; Sister Catherine Hellmann, a driving force behind St. Charles Hospital that spawned a regional medical complex; Rod Ray, who pioneered the area’s biotech sector with Bend Research; and John Gray, who created Sunriver, the area’s first destination resort, when “people didn’t know quite what it was,” she said. “All of the institutions in Bend we’re most proud of, the backbone, had those influences in the ’70s.” It created a foundation for today’s entrepreneurial tech and startup community, she said. “In some ways, it’s another Renaissance.”

A true renaissance also goes beyond brilliant, fresh ideas to compassion, and Trish has made that her life’s work. Since serving on Oregon Public Broadcasting’s board twenty-two years ago, she has become a primary source for philanthropic work east of the Cascades. She’s served on the board of many nonprofits, including: Oregon Health and Science University, Oregon Medical Board, Central Oregon Community College Foundation, Oregon Watershed Enhancement Board (which distributes a portion of state lottery funds for salmon recovery, watershed improvement and state parks), St. Francis of Assisi Church and its school foundation and the Oregon Community Foundation.

Evoking the Renaissance, Smith refers to himself as the “benign dictator” of the Old Mill District, only half-jokingly. Clad in his unofficial uniform of blazer, Oxford shirt, striped tie and khakis, he removes posters and flyers which violate the Old Mill’s strict CCRs. He picks up litter, compulsively. His family recalls taking walks at Black Butte Ranch during its early days. They’d always have a Safeway bag with them for collecting litter. It’s a small act, but indicative of what has permeated all aspects of his business: a commitment to excellence. From his insistence on landscaping with flowers (another influence of his German grandmother and mother) to paying tribute to Bend’s history with pithy epitaphs on plaques throughout, to sending memorial gifts to the families of anyone who ever worked at the mill, Smith’s vision has always encompassed the micro and the macro. Trish summed up his credo: “‘Pay attention to the details,’ he would say, ‘It’s what always makes something good.’”

Giving Back

Among Trish Smith’s many charitable activities, she has been deeply involved with the Oregon Community Foundation, where she sits on six committees.

The foundation holds a $1.8 billion endowment, composed of about 2,000 charitable funds created by Oregon individuals and families, including the Smiths. It is among the top ten wealthiest and most generous statewide community foundations in America. OCF awards more than $100 million in grants and scholarships to Oregon nonprofits, and local recipients have included the Tower Theatre, High Desert Museum, Boys and Girls Clubs of Bend, Bethlehem Inn, KIDS Center and the La Pine Community Center.

“It’s ‘Oregon for good,’” Trish said. “We’ve touched every community.” OCF’s work ranges from the absolute essentials to the arts. She details how OCF made possible a symphony that took eighteen months to write and was performed on the rim of Crater Lake. In the next breath, the former schoolteacher rattles off statistics about the broader societal impacts of meeting the needs of children between birth and age three, that Oregon children’s dental health ranks near the bottom nationally, and that third-grade literacy is linked to school drop-out and juvenile justice rates. “We can move that needle,” she said. “Imbalance of opportunity directs your life one way or another, and if we can address it at an early age and solve problems, we can close prisons and open universities.”

Cheryl Puddy, an OCF program officer, said Trish Smith’s deep knowledge of Central and Eastern Oregon goes from the grassroots up to all stakeholders, on issues from schools to salmon to ranchers, and that’s just the beginning of what makes her an invaluable philanthropist. “‘Time, talent, and treasure,’ we always say—and Trish has all of those,” said Puddy. “I don’t know where she comes up with the time she devotes to all kinds of causes.”

It was only a matter of time before a region obsessed with beer would find a way to integrate the nectar into its health regimen, too. Enter: Hop in the Spa.

Deschutes Brewery’s Red Chair makes a great breakfast beer.

I discovered that on a recent early morning in Sisters, soaking in a warm tub filled with a potpourri of hops, lemon slices and minerals while drinking a tall pour of the Northwest pale ale. Despite the less-than-conventional hour to imbibe, I wanted the full experience of Hop in the Spa, even if that meant sipping beer before coffee.

Located in a renovated house on the edge of downtown Sisters, Hop in the Spa received a parade of media attention for being “America’s first beer spa” when it opened in February 2016. While beer, exclusively from Deschutes Brewery, is ubiquitous in the spa, one of the biggest misconceptions of Hop in the Spa is that spa-goers soak in beer. That’s not the case. Instead, hop oil, extracted from hops grown in the Willamette Valley, is integrated into spa treatments such as full body soaks, massages, and soon-to-come facials and foot soaks.

Two years ago, owner Mike Boyle was in a car accident that almost took his life. Post-accident, Boyle sought pain relief and met Sally Champa, who practices Ayurvedic massage therapy. Boyle called the practice “miraculous” and key to his recovery. On a subsequent trip to Europe, he heard about beer spas and the wheels starting turning.

Returning to Central Oregon, where he’s lived for the last thirty years, he and Champa decided to go into business together. They first made hop-infused bath products, and then integrated Champa’s naturopathic knowledge and massage therapy practice to create Hop in the Spa.

Extracted from the same plant that provides the bitterness and flowery aroma to beer, hop oil is anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial. It’s been used as a sleep aid, a pain reducer and a natural remedy for dermatitis.

The signature soak at Hop in the Spa is a blend of hops, hop oil and other natural ingredients that are steeped in hot water just before you soak. The hops’ calming qualities are released in the hot water. That, plus the refreshing beer and the dark room, made for an instantly relaxing experience.

While touring the building recently, Boyle shared his plans to grow Hop in the Spa. “We’re onto something here,” said Boyle. They have big ideas for the business—some seem a little off the wall. Then again, so did a beer spa.

Oil Essence at Home

“Beer spa” may have an oxymoronic ring to it, but the ingredients that make up beer, especially hops, have several health benefits. Sally Champa, who partnered with Mike Boyle to create Hop in the Spa, integrates hop oil into the Ayurvedic massage therapy.

“Oils of the hops create a nice moisturizer for the skin,” she said. “It helps with any kind of muscular inflammation. It’s also great for eczema and psoriasis. Because it absorbs into the skin, it’s actually great for the nervous system as well.”

To get similar benefits at home, Champa recommends massaging your body with hop oil before you shower. The shower then helps pores open so the oil can absorb into the skin.

Marijuana has gone mainstream in Central Oregon, and savvy entrepreneurs are cashing in on a fast-growing industry.

WRITTEN BY DAVE SEMINARA

PHOTOS BY RYAN CLEARY AND ADAM MCKIBBEN

In the November 2016 election, the biggest winner wasn’t Donald Trump or even the Republican Party—it was good old Mary Jane. And she won big. Voters in California, Massachusetts, Maine and Nevada approved recreational marijuana initiatives. Measures to legalize medicinal marijuana passed in Florida, North Dakota and Arkansas. Voters in Montana voted to roll back restrictions on medical marijuana use. A proposal to legalize possession and consumption of marijuana in Arizona, which failed by two percent, was the lone defeat for a product that’s clearly been on a roll for the better part of the last decade. Newly pot friendly states joined a party started by Colorado, Washington state and Oregon voters who had already shredded marijuana laws and turned America’s clandestine cash crop into a main street cash cow.

Beau Whitney, a Portland-based economist, has estimated that the legal and illicit cannabis industry in Oregon will have a total market sales of $750 million in 2017, with an overall economic impact of $3 billion. Recreational marijuana sales, which have been legal in the state since July 1, 2015, come with a 17 percent sales tax, and voters in the City of Bend approved an additional 3 percent tax on sales within the city limits. (There is no sales tax imposed on medical marijuana.) The Oregon Department of Revenue said that the marijuana tax generated $54.5 million in revenue from January 1, 2016 through November 30, close to $5 million per month.

The money continues to roll in. Early indicators show that 2017 should be another strong year for marijuana sales in the state. We talked to a host of local marijuana entrepreneurs about the past, present and future of an industry that has taken Oregon by storm.

The Boutique approach

Oregonians no longer need to speak in code or meet dealers in dark alleys to buy cannabis. But while the industry is booming in Central Oregon, it still exists in a kind of limbo—embraced by many, but still shunned by banks and in some corners of polite society.

David Ordonez said that he and his wife, Serena, had to max out credit cards to start their cannabis retail business because no bank would give them a loan.

“We get doctors, lawyers, some of the most important professional people in the city are our customers,” said Ordonez. “But some of them still park around the corner because they don’t want to be seen coming in or out of our shop.”

I visited Top Shelf Medicine, Ordonez’s recreational and medical dispensary, on a mild, clear Tuesday morning in December, six days after a snowstorm coated the city streets with a foot of snow. If some of Top Shelf’s customers feel the need for discretion, it isn’t based on the store’s exterior, which betrays no hint of what they sell, just an illuminated sign featuring three prominent red crosses and a caduceus—a symbol from Greek mythology that is used to represent the medical profession.

Inside the waiting room were white leather couches that wouldn’t look out of place in a posh Danish furniture store, warm mood lighting and an artificial Christmas tree with wrapped presents that presented a balmy contrast to the wintry scene outside. Save for the state-mandated bilingual warning signs on the door, the vibe is more high-end Beverly Hills plastic surgery clinic than Central Oregon weed purveyor, and this is exactly as Ordonez prefers.

“Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is growing pot nowadays, but we’re trying to be the Nordstrom of the industry,” he said as I complied with state law by signing in and placing a visitor’s badge around my neck.

Ordonez led me into their cannabis showroom, which has security cameras, motion detectors, bars on the windows and Christmas stockings next to the cash register. All the weed, the edibles, the pipes, and accessories save for the shop’s own swag and a fridge full of cannabis edibles are kept behind well-polished glass counters.

Jars of cannabis—including strains such as Gorilla Glue, Girl Scout Cookies and his own creation, Jenke Kush, which Ordonez said won a High Timesmagazine award—are on display behind the counter, along with their THC (tetrahydrocannabinol) and CBD (cannabidiol) scores. (THC essentially signifies potency, while those in search of pain relief look for a high CBD score.)

Regular customers Natasha Newby and her fiancé, Ray Atkinson Jr., both of Bend, said they typically looked for high CBD score strains, which helps her cope with fibromyalgia, and gives him relief from the rheumatoid arthritis that is at times debilitating.

Atkinson, who is in the process of trying to qualify for disability, said that before cannabis was legal, he had to buy from dealers he met on the street.

Ordonez said that a big chunk of his customers are people like them: technically recreational users but ones who could qualify for medical cards if the cost and red tape were less prohibitive. For him, bringing customers like Atkinson and Newby out of the shadows and into a safe, regulated retail environment is a reward that makes all the hassles and frustrations of running a marijuana business worthwhile.

Now that all Oregonians have a right to access to marijuana for recreational and medical purposes, Ordonez said, “I want to be the guy who sells them the very best stuff.”

The Next Generation Farmers

When Jocelyn Anderson quit her job as the principal of a K-8 charter school in Chico, she declined to mention that she was planning to open a farm-to-table cannabis business in Bend. When her husband, Andrew—a fifth generation farmer who had specialized in growing almonds, walnuts and rice—broke the news to his grandparents that he was shifting to cannabis, they weren’t exactly encouraging.

“Their generation lived through the reefer madness era—they were misinformed,” Andrew, 30, said. “But once we educated them, told them it was legal, they started to understand.”

Nearly two years after the Andersons took the plunge into the marijuana industry, by purchasing a forty-five-acre farm in Alfalfa, they no longer worry about what people think of their new vocation. Her colleagues are mostly supportive, his grandparents have come around, and most of their friends are impressed by and envious of their new career. Business is good—their Plantae Health dispensary opened in Prineville in July 2015, they expanded to Madras three months later and their third location, a new retail outlet on the east side of Bend, opened in January.

But they’ve also discovered that running a cannabis business presents a unique set of challenges. The couple, who met on a blind date at an Italian restaurant in 2010, said that the staggering startup costs, the ever-changing regulations and the local politics surrounding marijuana make producing cannabis a lot more complex than the traditional crops they used to grow in California.

With the end of the transitional recreational marijuana phase on December 31, consumers can now buy one ounce of cannabis—quadruple the previous daily limit of seven grams. The Andersons are optimistic that their investment and sweat equity will pay off in what could be a record-setting year for cannabis sales in Central Oregon.

On a blustery Saturday afternoon in January, Andrew, who handles the farming end of their partnership, looked the part as he inspected their new location prior to its grand opening. Dressed in a pair of work boots and overalls, with an oversized smartphone protruding from a breast pocket, Andrew also sounded a lot like any farmer who is passionate about his crop, and his right to grow and sell it.

As a former teacher and school principal, it’s come natural for Jocelyn to offer tours of their locations in order to educate locals and attempt to dispel misconceptions, such as the notion that one could get high inadvertently from living near someone’s cannabis greenhouse or that the plant’s roots contaminate the soil. Most people, she said, have been receptive to her message.

Nearly a year after they started these efforts, the Board of County Commissioners voted in August 2016 to repeal the “opt out” moratorium that prohibited marijuana-related businesses in rural Deschutes County. Andrew said that most of their neighbors in Alfalfa are farmers, so they’ve had fewer conflicts than growers in Tumalo, where cannabis farms are much closer to residential dwellings. He insists that the biggest problems facing the industry aren’t neighborly relations but rather over-regulation, licensing issues and the fact that banks won’t work with marijuana businesses.

Despite the obstacles, the Andersons think that the cannabis industry is slowly but surely gaining respect and acceptance in the region.

“Bend is built on breweries and cannabis,” said Andrew. “With our elevation, the water, the air quality, this is one of the best places in the country to grow [cannabis]. And it helps drive our economy.”

Jocelyn, 29, is thrilled to be part of a movement of young cannabis entrepreneurs striving to change how the public perceives the drug.

“We’re changing the image of this industry—turning it into something people perceive as legitimate and professional,” she said.

The connector

Kelly Martin is one of Central Oregon’s most innovative marijuana entrepreneurs, but you wouldn’t know it from walking into the office building he shares with four attorneys in southwest Bend. There are no Bob Marley or Grateful Dead tunes piped in from the ceiling, no patchouli incense wafting through the air and no dreadlocked interns preparing spliffs. Martin has a firm handshake and the build of a wrestling coach. On a wintry Friday morning in December, he was clean-shaven and his medium-length brown hair was neatly parted on the side.

“The stereotype of people in this industry being hippies is grounded in reality, but there are clean-cut types like me, too,” he said. “It’s becoming a business just like other businesses.”

Martin, a self-described “serial entrepreneur,” has a strong basis for comparison. Before founding Dakine 420, a Redmond-based marijuana fertilizer company, in 2013 and a website about all things cannabis called CannaFo in 2015, the Portland native tried his hand at a host of business ventures. He was a builder; he owned a landscaping company and a sporting goods store; he bought and sold cars; and for fourteen Christmas seasons he sold some of Central Oregon’s most beautiful trees to Hawaiians on the Big Island.

“Some trees fetched as much as $150,” he recalled. “I was like the Neiman Marcus of Christmas tree sellers.”

Martin also grew marijuana before it was legal and lost three years of his life behind bars as a consequence. Unlike his other business ventures, CannaFo is more personal. The website aims to connect people in a stigmatized industry, where sharing information and ideas in a transparent forum has been more of an exception than the norm.

“I want to be the Google of the cannabis industry, a resource, kind of like an encyclopedia,” he said.

Martin launched CannaFo in late 2015. It has 165,000 Facebook followers. The site’s CannaFo Connect feature is essentially a trade platform that allows producers, processors and retailers to connect. Producers can share photos, lab results and other data about their products, dispensaries can post their menus, and consumers can rate strains and retailers.

Subscriptions are free for at least ninety days, and the site now has more than 4,000 dispensaries listed. CannaFo is also a sort of clearinghouse of information, where consumers and industry experts alike can learn about different strains, growing techniques, industry news and more.

Clearly there’s money to be made in the industry—researchers have estimated that legal, domestic sales of marijuana in 2016 may have reached $7 billion—but Martin says the so-called “Green Rush” isn’t what motivates him. In prison, he lived among plenty of other non-violent marijuana offenders, and he’s passionate about changing the nation’s drug laws and the public perception of cannabis.

Even as an outspoken advocate for the decriminalization of pot, Martin recognizes that legalization has also taken a little of the cloak and dagger, countercultural appeal away from buying marijuana.

“I think some people do miss the old days,” he said, a smile creeping across his face. “How cool and rebellious is it to simply walk down to the store and buy your pot?”

Axiology is not just lip service.

Like many great entrepreneur stories, Ericka Rodriguez’s started at home. Specifically, in her kitchen. Over the last four years, what began as a passion project for natural and organic lipstick has grown into Axiology, a nationally distributed product on the path to becoming a full makeup line. Even more impressive, its impact reaches far beyond Central Oregon.

Rodriguez, 30, graduated from California Polytechnic State University with a business degree in 2009. She was working odd jobs before taking the leap to start her own business.

“It was a dream to have my own business, but when I started [making lipstick] I didn’t know this was it,” said Rodriguez during an interview at her Southeast Bend studio. In 2012, she started making her own lipstick with organic and natural ingredients, developing recipes in her kitchen. “I just became obsessive about it and I was wearing it for me, and then slowly but surely along the way I thought, ‘Oh, was this it?’”

Rodriguez has practiced a vegan diet since she was a teenager, and is also dedicated to using beauty products that are vegan, cruelty-free, natural and organic. Products that check all those boxes are hard to find in the beauty business.

“I not only wanted something vegan, I wanted something that was cool and hip and represented who I was,” said Rodriguez. “I found that a lot of the natural vegan products either didn’t perform well—like left my lips feeling really cakey—or I wasn’t happy with the ingredients, or they didn’t have the color selection.”

Building the business took Rodriguez from Brooklyn to Bali and, finally, Bend. She spent six months in Bali, an international hub for startups and entrepreneurs. While living there, she stumbled upon a packaging solution in a female-owned company specializing in recycled paper products. The factory employs mainly female workers, and is focused on making the packaging with sustainable practices.

“Everything we do is with intention,” said Rodriguez. “Everything that we do should have an ethical standpoint behind it. We try to be a very ethical company.”

Rodriguez moved to Bend in 2014, and Axiology quickly outgrew her kitchen. She worked out of Willow Lane, an artist’s co-working space, until moving to her own studio in the industrial district. Today, the Axiology team remains small, with two other full-time employees who make and package the lipstick by hand, but it won’t stay that way for long. Axiology has recently caught the attention of Free People and Sephora, and Rodriguez is figuring out how to increase production while keeping the company true to its roots.

“I stand strong in the fact that the product has to come first,” said Rodriguez. “There’s all these ethical bonuses that come along with purchasing our product, but I think that for us to be attainable and reach the mass market, the product has to stand alone”

NATURAL INGREDIENTS

Primary lipstick ingredients include avocado, castor seeds, orange, elderberry, coconut, candellila, grapes, vitamin E oil and mineral powder for pigment.

ETHICAL MISSION

Axiology is part of PETA’s “Beauty With-out Bunnies” program. A portion of profits is also donated to the Orangutan International Foundation.

GLOBAL IMPACT

The packaging is produced in Bali at a female-owned factory from recycled paper products that might otherwise end up in a landfill, or in the country’s water