Monday, September 26, 2016
Thursday, September 22, 2016
There was something hauntingly beautiful about this decaying fish washed up onshore. I'm not sure exactly what my mind likes so much. but then I suppose it doesn't really matter. After all, don't they say art is in the eye of the beholder?
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
This 1919 photo of my grandmother, a self-anointed mermaid, was recently found in her photo album filled with images of she and my grandfather in Rockaway, Oregon in the early 1900's.
She appears to be emerging from the surf and considering life on land. Our family has never lasted very long on land without the song of the sea luring us back. The rhythmic sound of the ocean and the salt air blowing through our hair are as vital as breathing.
Proudly, I come from a long line of mermaids.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Every time we arrive home we say, "The eagles have landed!" It is a sweet, silly ritual started because there are so many bald eagles here and each homecoming we are thankful for safely navigating the coast range pass. In all honesty, we also like identifying with the majestic bald eagle that rules the sky above the Bay.
In reality, we may be a bit more like the pair of seagulls that greeted us yesterday, the eagle's trashy shirt-tail relatives driving up in our faded red truck with an old black lab in the back.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Looking down on the warm sand during my morning stroll, my eyes catch the tropical colors of the water. Transparent waves kiss the shore and I can almost hear the trade winds gently blow through the palm trees.
My mind would like me to believe I am on a South Pacific Island, but my three layers of clothes to ward off the bitingly cold wind remind me this is Netarts Bay.
Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Every drive-thru coffee stand we passed this week here on the Oregon Coast featured a hand-painted sign offering sand shrimp. Every single one.
Yes, it's spring fishing season and the local entrepreneurs are making it easy for fisherman to grab a cup of joe and fresh bait without ever leaving their warm, dry cars. Let's hope they don't get the two mixed up in their early morning grogginess.
Friday, March 25, 2016
In this election year, there is no shortage of craziness to wonder about. It just keeps flying at us from all directions, assailing our senses and rational thought. Something as simple as a cup of coffee at a local diner should not torment the mind.
Yet, as I look down at the table I wonder...
Why...please tell me why...here in Tillamook, Oregon,
...a town where dairy cows outnumber humans many times over
...a town that is home to the seventh largest creamery association in the entire country
...a town where, on the street outside the diner, milk trucks go by all day long
...a town where dairy farmers are sitting in the next booth (right now in fact)
...a town that produces the best milk products you will ever taste (e.g. Tillamook Mudslide Ice Cream)
...why, in heaven's name, are there little individual plastic containers of creamer that have been shipped from DALLAS, TEXAS?
Saturday, March 12, 2016
The long, stormy winters here on the Oregon Coast really separate the locals from the tourists. To put this in perspective, it has rained 68.86 inches in the first 9 weeks of this year and last week's wind storm topped out with gusts of 92 mph.
It is really helpful if you are an indoors introvert and like to read, do puzzles and generally spend time alone. For the more social, drinking (a lot) is another answer as people move from bar to bar on inclement afternoons to catch up with friends. Luckily, the town is small enough to walk between the establishments and then back home. Either way, along about this time, cabin fever has been known to set in.
With the tourists long gone and no one to harass, even the locals get a little stir crazy. You know, a little something to look forward to, thus the Annual Garibaldi Crab Races became the social event of the season. How I wish I had been there the night this wild jamboree was invented. Imagine the conversation at the tavern when the gauntlet was thrown down, "My crab is faster than your crab." "Say's who?" shouted from the other end of the bar.
As crab is plentiful during the winter, it didn't take long to gather the starting line up and the cheering (gambling) for the quickest crustacean followed. The crab are motivated by the fact that the losers will be eaten before the next round of racing begins. An excellent example of human's ability to adapt to their environment and utilize what is available. The crab didn't see it coming.
The winter sport took off and soon it became an annual tradition complete with colorful crab hats, exciting prizes and another reason to gather (drink) in the winter. So melt the butter and pour a beer, it is time for the Annual Crab Races as the weekend weather will be dark and stormy yet again.
Note: My apologies to the crab, luckily the sport wasn't invented by the local dairy farmers.
Monday, March 7, 2016
Friday, March 4, 2016
"Another day, another storm," that's all we hear from the weather authorities. Oceanside and parts of Netarts have been cut off from the world for weeks this winter thanks to washed out culverts.
The bright side? Sand dollar hunting has never been better. We discovered six beautiful "sea cookies" (to those Down Under) on this winter stroll.
Sunday, February 21, 2016
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
When this is the place you call home, there is no reason to leave. None. Even though the winter storms are getting a little old and I long for the day when I can sit in my favorite chair with the sun on my face, it is still heaven.
I found this aerial photo of Netarts Bay looking toward Oceanside online. When we look really closely, we can see home on the right. It is hard to tell if I am outside in my chair or not. Thanks to the photographer who would get credit if I only knew.
Monday, January 18, 2016
My Dad made a very detailed list of things I was supposed to do upon his death. The most important one was to “Find a good home for Goldie.” Goldie, a gentle yellow lab he rescued at the age of eight, became his constant companion during the last years of his life. Their daily walks to the little store for a pack of smokes for him and a pepperoni stick for Goldie were legendary. Even after his hip replacement when the doctor advised him to stop walking her for fear she would pull him over, they kept right on with their afternoon strolls. When we found Dad in bed with a stroke, Goldie was laying right beside him patiently waiting for him to get better.
Upon his death, Goldie went to stay with my sister and her family and a while later, Bob and I stole her away to live with us. She took to Bob immediately and quickly became our constant companion too. During the day she would be at work with one of us and served as the well-loved office dog for everyone’s petting enjoyment. She loved riding around in cars and when you looked in the rear view mirror it was a like “Driving Miss Daisy” as she sat properly upright hoping the next stop would be a walk. The only thing she didn’t like was being left behind and would always rather go along, napping in the car during errands knowing you would be back shortly. Anyway, if you tried to drive away without her, she just followed the car so it wasn’t any use.
Goldie always made us feel as though Dad was still close by. She even had an uncanny way of giving my sister and me “The Look” that Dad was famous for when we were in trouble. Even the grandkids knew the look when they saw Goldie flash it and shaped up immediately.
Her happy place was in Netarts where she didn’t have to wear a leash, freely explored the alder cove and sat overlooking the bay at sunset, nose in the air to drink in the scent traveling in on the breeze. Long beach walks exploring every single object and her selective hearing when being called was this old dog’s favorite new trick.
When she passed away last week at the age of 14, she left a huge hole in our hearts and in our lives. In fact, everywhere we turn. Let it be said that I followed my father’s final instructions to the letter and found her a good home. A home she made by nestling deep in our hearts and souls.
So, "Thanks, Dad for your best friend, Goldie. We are grateful for the gift of time and love she shared with each of us. We are sending her back to you for a pepperoni and a scratch in her favorite spot, although, we really wanted you both to stay here with us forever."