At Summer’s End
It has been a while since I wrote a blog. It’s really a
shame because I actually have a couple of them stored in the old noggin. I’m letting
one kinda mellow for a bit because it would definitely stir the pot, poke the
hornet’s nest and goose the mule. Am I that worried about it? Neh. It’s my
blog. It’s my viewpoint. And that is all it has to be.
This is the last hurrah of summer before we slowly begin our
descent into fall. Now let me clarify for those that do not live in Portland.
We have 4 seasons. I know my friends and relatives in the South may not know
what those are because two of them pass so quickly that they can hardly be
considered a season. Maybe a seasonish day? A micro-season? J You get my drift.
But here we have four seasons. We have our winter rainy
season, a slow stretch of spring that makes sun worshipers bask like fat cats
and has every outside seating area full to capacity. Then comes a lovely, warm
summer that makes you want to hit the beach, bike, hike and just be outside with
a cold beer or cider. It rarely is humid and there are many days when it is in
the upper 90’s. The sun comes up early and it is still light out at 9:30-10:00.
Then at the end of August we begin the slow descent into fall. The sun is still
shining but the rain has finally arrived. And we have missed the rain. We are
tired of 90 degree days and are basking in the colors that are arriving. We
count down the days until pumpkin becomes the main flavor of anything from
lotion to coffee.
This weekend Dave and I spent at the beach at Neskowin. It
was wonderful. Lincoln City is just a few miles south and we spent some time at
this wonderful glass blowing shop. I picked up some goodies that are absolutely
brilliant. We had lunch and shopped a
bit. Then we did the thing that makes me the happiest. We walked out onto the
beach at Proposal Rock and I played in the freezing surf.
Each time I go to the ocean, which I do far too often and
entirely not enough, it is a new experience. I spent a week in the Gulf and
each day the water was the same. Beautiful and warm. But it doesn’t change. The
Pacific Northwest is a vastly different beast from that and only slightly
similar to the Atlantic. Now granted, if you travel to the Northeast you get
something akin. But if you can swim in the water without doing the “my feet and
legs HURT” dance…you don’t know what the ocean can be like.
This time the waves were intense. Far bigger and crashing
than I’ve ever seen. Wait….if you picture huge 10 foot swells cresting and
crashing down then that is close to the beach yesterday evening as the tide
changed. I was in awe. It is a tempting mistress. You long to wade out but when
you feel the riptide suck you off your feet in just half a foot of water, you
know that it isn’t just dangerous to go out there, it is suicide. And not a
quick suicide either. A painful death in a beautiful grave.
I walked along the sand and kept venturing out until my legs
were sufficiently numb enough to not feel the cold. I would stare into the
water as tumbling shell fragments were shoved to shore and then ripped right
back out. The waves would crash into me from the front, and then would swipe me
from the side into a revolving dance trying to stay just one step out of reach
towards the safety of the black sands. I turned my face into the sun and just
inhaled the brine scented water. All along the beach kids teased the foam, dogs
raced around the dunes and people just sat and stared. The ocean does that to
you. It stops all thought processes. If it doesn’t do that for you…you are at
the wrong place.
I’ll admit that I’m an ocean baby. I love the water but I
want the water here. I want to laugh and squeal when the water hits me and I
race back to the beach hot stepping to keep out of the frigid water. I love
finding those small rivers that lead to the ocean and enjoy the warmer water. I
think far more. Laugh far more and live far more in those hours staring into
the ocean. Yesterday I simply sat on the sands with Dave and thought about all
of the similes and metaphors this ocean has inspired. The stories it has told.
The people it has kept. It is a terribly beautiful thing that is alive and lures
you in. It invites you and then keeps you.
There is nothing quite so wonderful. Dave said he did not
think I would like to live there all the time. I do not know if that is true. I
guess at first the novelty of having it there daily would be liberating but
perhaps…over time…I would crave a different scene. I would tire of the cold,
chilly air. I would bemoan the frigid waters that always seem too good to be
true. But. There is a part of me that doesn’t think that would ever happen. My
entire life I have wanted to live in the mists and weather of Portland. I love
it here. I don’t think I will be here for the rest of my life but it is a place
that fits me. It is unique. It is weird and it is diverse. I hope like myself.
Labor Day is upon us and school starts this week. Life is
beginning its transition into the glorious fall that we have all been waiting
for patiently. We love the sun but have missed the rain. The leaves will start
turning their riotous colors and then slowly drift to the ground. The mountains
will turn completely white again and we will begin wearing our heavier layers
of clothing. It is time. I will still return to the beach as usual, gaze out
across the water looking for something that always seems to be there just out
of reach. And life will be good.
