A Very Bad Ode to the Oregon Coast

Wild and green, 

Weaving and rolling,

Sheltered and exposed to the Pacific Ocean’s girth and temper, 

Dinosaurs and explorers,

Con men and conservationists, 

Casinos, small towns, and a dwindling Native presence.

A sorcery, a teacher, a non-judgmental priest listening to confession,

Felled forests, tree victims ambulencing down the road.

Moving forward, staying still.

Drink-in, remember,

what it was like to spend 10 days camping along the Oregon Coast.

Starting South near Brookings, site D11 at Harris State Park, was an established, safe resting spot as she transitioned from NorCal’s grand protected redwoods; clean, free showers, a couple of minutes’ drive from Fred Meyers.

From there, she traversed to Cape Blanco, site A24, but all the spots were good.

Clear skies, warm temps and hushed quiet, made this her favorite Oregon campground of all.

Sadly, the fires were looming, and bad air forced her to go.

She left to spend the night at Jessie Honeyman, an active place for families with screaming kids and boisterous dogs, and after a day pretending she could hack it, decided life is too short and moved on to Cape Lookout which, thanks to the rain, had plenty of open spots. 

Blustery and rainy was she, and impulsive, “Let’s see where the wind takes me.” 

She landed in a world once inhabited by creatures who crept out of the sea,

It was exactly the right place to be.

Her next stop was a fellow camper’s recommendation, Nehalem State Park site 30D, not a bad layover as the storm hunkered down, hook-ups, a shower, and a quick trot to the dunes.

And now it’s the last morning at Hammond’s Fort Stevens State Park site 34M, 

Two nights it did rain, the last day blessedly cleared up, time to squeeze in a bike ride, and visits to Astoria’s Column and Maritime Museum and Fort Clatsop down the street at Lewis and Clark State and National Park.

Driving along Oregon’s 101 was spectacular and curious, this new sojourner recommends it to all. But take your time, stop a while, two nights minimum, before you move on.

Because each little town is magical, 

From salt works and fish and chips to wood carvers and dispensaries (not her jam)

It’s touristy and vast, a coastline like no other,

It’s probably why her bro and sis-in-law bought a house with a view of rambunctious sea otters,

While she can’t see herself living here, the damp and cold is really too much, for a visit—a long visit, say four instead of two weeks—it’s a bucket list fun.

My advice, don’t rush. Sit awhile. Let the coastal forest speak. Then, you know you’ve been there, enjoyed the weather, sampled the food, and napped in the cradle of cedar and alder which seeks no  other than kindness and respect. 

There, she’s said it, cheesy Tillamook closing credits:

Coastal Oregon, two-hands clasped around her heart.

And while this leg of her two-month sojourn is now past tense,

She’ll never forget the time she was here, by herself, in the woods, 

Near the sea, basking in a dream she long had.