More Splish, Splash

This guy never minds taking a dip in the water either, although he was hunting not washing last week!

Splish...Splash

Will this relentless rain ever stop? I mean, really, this is ridiculous. I had waited patiently all day to take a walk outside without having to worry about drowning. Finally, a break in the clouds appeared and I quickly slipped on my walking shoes, grabbed a coat and headed out the door. Just when I arrived at the farthest possible spot on my route away from the warm, dry comfort of the house it started to rain. Little drops at first and then an impressive downpour ensued. Being a proper Oregonian, I had no umbrella with me.

With hair wet enough to cause streams of water to run down my forehead into my eyes, I stomped back down the street. Along the curb beside me, the water rushed toward a storm drain. The drain at the corner drain was clogged and had caused a rather large puddle to form. Smack in the middle of the puddle was a crow. This crow was having a fabulous time in the water. He was dipping, flapping, rolling and splashing like a character from a cartoon shower scene.

His antics got the better of me and a smile crept upon my face. Just upturned corners at first, but then a wide grin followed by laughter. Apparently, one woman’s puddle is a crow’s afternoon at the spa.

The Old Tree and the Sea

While hiking on the Bay Ocean Spit (between Tillamook Bay and the Pacific Ocean) yesterday, we happened upon this amazing piece of driftwood. It was scoured by salt water, sunbleached and gnarled. It was also huge--easily the biggest piece of driftwood I have ever seen. Bob stands next to it give you an idea of its sheer size. How did something this huge make the journey from being a tree to washing up on an ocean shore? The power of nature constantly astonishes me.

Call Homeland Security!

These strange stalks are coming up everywhere in Saltair Station. Seriously, everywhere! My sister says they are alien beings. I would be very appreciative (and much more at ease) if someone out there could identify them, preferably as some type of plant.

Please let me know asap! Thank you.

Just One Word, Plastics

Most of you probably know that plastic anything is just not my first choice. I try not to buy it, use it or promote its use in my work. Then I met RUST. Three years into owning a beach house, I am beginning to understand the evil forces of rust. Here on the Oregon Coast, everything rusts, quickly and completely.

When I say everything, I mean everything. Doorknobs, cars, outdoor furniture and food containers are all fair game. The metal tins of spices in my cupboards at first just clumped all of the contents into an unusable wad of spice and then proceeded to rust around the edges staining the cabinets.

I thought it was so strange the Tillamook Fred Meyer’s had plastic shopping carts when we first moved here. Now I get it. The realtor who sold us the house told us the type of door locks to buy that wouldn’t rust shut. I get that too. I try to use stainless steel, glass and wood whenever possible (although our stainless steel heater managed to rust indoors, over the winter).

Our recent trip to the local hardware store for a wheel barrow was another reminder. The clerk was extremely excited the best one currently on sale. When she brought it out for us, we saw that it was molded black plastic. The disappointment showing on our faces, Bob questioned her about it. Her response, “Really, sir, it won’t rust!” We shut up and bought it.

Everyone's a Comedian

Another blustery day yesterday at the Saltair Station, but sooner or later you have to go out for supplies. This time they came with laughter.

Braving the weather, I pulled up at the store and opened the car door. It caught a gust of wind and quickly blew back on its hinges. Hopping out into the downpour, I wrestled the car door shut. Running the 20 feet into the store caused me to get completely drenched and wind whipped. The store's door opened with the same velocity as the car door just had and closed with a similar amount of effort on my part.

Once the door was secured, dripping wet and disheveled, I turned around to face the shopkeeper who had been watching my struggle. Without batting an eye, in a completely monotone voice, he said, "They say it's supposed to rain today."

Coastal humor!

View From the Crow's Nest

I woke up this morning and maneuvered toward the bathroom in a sleepy haze. My first glance in the mirror revealed my typical morning look of wild hair and sleepy eyes. It also revealed “crow’s feet.”

Yes, radiating out from the corners of my eyes were crow’s feet—three telltale wrinkles. Oh, how happy I was to see them on my own sweet face.

Even as a young girl, I always loved crow’s feet. My grandpa had them. So did Robert Redford as I gazed up at him on the big screen in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I saw them on sailors who spent time in the wind and the sun and the water. I savored them on old women, whose wrinkled faces radiated compassion and told the story of their lives.

Gentle, beautiful wrinkles accentuating the eyes that have witnessed our entire lives. They are the sign of time spent outdoors in nature, the sign of aging with grace and the sign of wisdom. I wear mine proudly for they are a symbol of the understanding I have gained thus far and the knowledge still to come.