I apologize in advance for another long post. :)
Over Labor Day weekend J and I went to the coast. We left Thursday night for Westport and made it there by 9:30pm to set up camp. I have only been there once and I only remember sand dunes. My Uncle Steve and Aunt Selma went there to buy boats (Steve was a fisherman). I chose to go there because I think the commercials make it look cute and it seemed like it could be a Seaside, OR before the change. We arrived in drizzle, but I had reserved us a spot up against the trees, just a short walk to the beach. We put up the tent and I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and put on my pj's while J inflated the mattress. I returned to find our sleeping bags laid out and J sitting on the edge of the mattress with a smirk on face. "Where are our blankets and pillows?" I asked. "We left them at home," was his reply. Good thing our sleeping bags are the mummy kind! We wrapped up our towels for pillows, said a little prayer that we wouldn't be too cold that night, and kept our sweatshirts on. The rain ended up being a blessing, because the low clouds kept the ground warm, and we both slept better than expected!
We awoke the next morning to gray clouds and a fine mist everywhere. But it was still beautiful. Have you ever gone to a place (or wanted to go to a place) and it feels like home? Like you have some kind of primal connection to the land and you belong there? And you ache inside because you need to be there? Not to do anything specifically; just be present. I've felt that way about England since I was probably 5 and knew that a place like England existed and I feel that way about the Washington/Oregon coast. I go there and it just feels right. It doesn't matter if it's windy and cold and dark or sunny and vibrant. I am very protective of this area and I don't ever want it to change (and I have a really hard time when it does, but more on that another time). I look at the old fishing towns and across the sandy beaches and feel like I can tap into some kind of collective memory of the land 50, 100, 500 years ago. It's ultimately because my family goes far back in the Pacific Northwest (more than 150 years). My ancestors on my father's side were some of the 1st white settlers on the Kitsap Peninsula and they founded a logging mill there. His family has roots all over this area. On the other side, my mother's family were English immigrants less than 100 years ago. They were coal miners in northern England and we have some of their genealogy all the way to the 1600's. So I'm sure that's why I feel that way about both England and our coast. (I may be going out on a limb here (but I think not), but J felt that way when we went to Hawaii, to feel that connection to that side of his family and to the land.)
We always make either boats or sand sculptures when we go to the beach. This time J made a sinking ship.
Then he made an Audi. We left it on the beach for someone else to stumble upon and be impressed.
Things to recommend in Westport:
-fresh homemade donuts at Little Richards House of Donuts
-really really excellent fish and chips at Barbara's By the Sea (we were served by Barbara herself!)
-really really excellent reuben sandwich at Barbara's By the Sea
-really really really excellent bread pudding at Barbara's By the Sea
-taffy (perfectly chewy and not at all the type to pull your fillings out) sold by 2 cute old ladies at the candy store (they were wearing aprons that said, "Oh Fudge!")
-the local maritime museum (we got there just as it closed, but they do have some exhibits outside)
We made it back to our campsite in time to watch the sunset. The clouds had mostly blown away, but the wind stayed.
At one of the stores in town I picked up a South Beach visitors guide. We read the history of the towns, about the local fishing and lighthouses, about the cranberry farms (they go all the way from the ocean back to the hills - they're very pretty, though they weren't flooded yet), and about the North Cove Pioneer Cemetery. I knew I wanted to check it out on our way down to Oregon the next day.
Saturday morning we packed up our campsite (side story: When we roll up our tent I usually have to step on it to get the air out while J rolls. This particular time I stepped on the tent and our car alarm went off. We quickly realized that the keys were still inside the tent in one of the side pockets. J unfurled the tent and I scrambled inside to grab the keys. Our neighbors were not too happy, especially the ones with the 7 yappy dogs and the teenagers there with their father who had stayed up late the night before. Got them back for blaring the Seahawks game from their van. We didn't actually feel that bad.) and headed south on the highway. We rounded a bend and I saw the cemetery on our left, so I flipped back around and pulled in. It's very small, wedged in between a steep, forested hill and the road. A older man was there mowing the lawn. We waved at him and he shut off his mower and walked over to us. His name was Don Pickinpa and he and his wife retired and moved to the area several years ago (he used to live about 10 minutes from where we live now). He said, "Would you like to hear some stories?" He told us about his best friend who used to take care of the cemetery with him, who, in 2004, felt a knot in his shoulder but decided to come tend the grounds there anyway. He sat down on a headstone and crumpled over, dead from a heart attack. Don found him and later made a memorial headstone to show the spot where he fell. He said it was the hardest day of his life. He told us about where the cemetery used to be (now underwater) and how in 1977 it all washed away and the coffins were bobbing in the ocean. He told us how the townspeople had to fight to get them all reburied and how he was fighting to get the trees cut back to preserve his cemetery. He showed us all the "Unknown" grave markers and the list of names of the people that they couldn't identify. He showed the grave markers for the sailors who had washed ashore in the 1890's. We saw ones for baby twin boys, for husbands and wives buried together, marked "Gone, but not forgotten." They are forgotten, but not by Don Pickinpa. He said that if he was closer to being done mowing, he would have had us come over to his house to see this incredible piece of driftwood that he enters in competitions. And we would have gone, too. You know, there are so many people in this world who are forgotten, but they're out doing what they can to preserve their little piece of history for anyone who will care. There were so many cars rushing by on that highway that morning. I'm glad that we stopped.
2 comments:
Very nice. I have been thinking my kiddos need to see the coast one of these days.
Am I know not the only one with fillings in the fam? Or is that J? Or were you just saying that in general?
P.S. I am rethinking your strawberry blonde and Caroline's hair question. I think it is.
i left a comment but i am not sure it came up.
and i didn't spell it all out.
if it does come up, insert question after blonde.
if it doesn't come up...oh, the possibilities as to what i said!
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