At Summer's End

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.