My foot in the Pacific Ocean
Cathleen rented a car and invited me to accompany her and Sage to the Oregon Coast for a beach party. Of course I couldn’t pass up this offer. We are members of the Vegetarian and Vegan Meet-Up Group in Portland, and other members of the group would be waiting for us at the coast.
We met up in downtown Manzanita, Oregon, a charming little coast town that is surprisingly vegetarian- and free trade-friendly. We explored a little organic market called Mother Nature, which sells vegan bakery items and organic fruit, and we went next door to a Mexican restaurant and had lunch on the patio. A beach was just down the street, so we walked there, looking at various shops on the way. We passed a store called Moxie that specializes in free-trade handcrafted international items, several art galleries, a log cabin with two large dogs lounging on the front porch, a park with many luscious plants, several cafes, a bakery, and a store that specialized in dog supplies.
When we reached the end of the street, we were on sand and sat down on a long rock to take our shoes off. The hot sand felt good on my feet, as we walked further toward the swish-swishing waves. The wind by the ocean was overwhelming, blowing my hair in my face, and Ana, one of the Meet-Up members spending the weekend at a campground, said that they took morning walks, before the wind picked up later in the day.
My feet sank a little in the sand, and I had to pull my feet forward at every step, so that walking even a short distance required considerably more energy than walking on a flat, stable surface. As we came closer to the ocean, the sand was packed and wet, so we walked on its surface instead of sinking into it, and it wasn’t as warm as the dry sand. I walked closer and closer till I was standing in ice-cold shallow water. A wave crashed up and wet my ankles and the cuffs of my jeans.
We drove to the much-lauded yurt in Nehalem Bay State Park. Yurts are cylindrical and very sturdy structures based on Mongolian tents, but those on the coast of Oregon have modern conveniences such as electricity and heating. The yurt was surrounded by numerous other yurts, some of which had patios larger than the actual building. Even this one, with a smaller patio, had two picnic benches out front. Inside was a large bunk bed, a couch bed, and a small table and chairs. The showers and restrooms were in a separate building down a scenic tree-line path.
Inside the yurt, we discovered that Ana had accidentally created a pile of sand on the floor. Fortunately, the yurt came with a broom and dustpan. However, rather than sweep it up immediately, Ana pushed the sand together and Evan commented that it looked like a Zen garden, so he proceeded to rake it with his fingers. I dashed out and picked up three pebbles, brought them inside, and set them up on the raked sand, so it did indeed look as though we had a small Zen garden on the floor of the yurt. Next Evan took out a game piece and set it up as a Buddha. Then Cathleen brought in some twigs and greenery and added them. Each time something was added to the Zen garden, I took a picture. Finally, Evan and I both took pictures of the Zen garden, and someone shined a flashlight on it to add some atmosphere.
We took off our shoes again and walked from the yurt to another beach location. As we walked in the shifted sand and came to dunes with tuffs of grass on either side of us, the scenery reminded me of the Indiana Dunes State Park along Lake Michigan. But as we walked further, the blue and whispering waves I saw ahead of me was the Pacific Ocean, not Lake Michigan. We walked past a sand castle with some resemblance to Castle Carnarvon, and another that looked more like an ancient Indian stupa in the distance. The wind was harsh, just as it was at the other beach, but that was a mild inconvenient compared to seeing the surrounding mountains while watching and listening to the rocking white waves on the bright blue ocean.
We drove to another beach location and parked in a small and packed parking lot where we saw people carrying surfboards. We took a short hike through the woods, on a path alongside the Short Sand Creek babbling over rocks. It struck me as a bit odd to be walking in the woods and seeing surfers carrying their boards across a footbridge. The woods were full of moss-covered trees, so typical of Oregon. An enormous tree had fallen down, and its moss-covered roots lay facing us and looking like a peculiar green sculpture with bits of wood poking out in all directions and green dangling things. Large white mushrooms decorated many of the enormous evergreen trees.
We knew we were close to the ocean when we could hear the waves swish-swishing rather louder than the creek babbled. The tall evergreens began to thin out, and sand lay beneath our feet. Between the trees, we could see mountains and the ocean in the distance, before we stepped away from the trees and followed a much-used path and wooden steps leading down a dune onto the beach.
The stretch of pale sandy beach before us was flanked on either side by tall dark cliffs, and below the cliffs were a few equally dark and dramatic rocks in the water. This was a popular beach, especially for surfers: we continually saw surfers walking by with their long boards, or gliding on the taller waves. I was surprised at the number of dogs on the beach, all of whom clearly enjoyed the setting, as they wagged their tails and ran on the sand or into the water. One black lab played with a Frisbee in the ocean. Meanwhile, I built two more little Zen gardens, mostly from rocks and sand, and an assemblage made of twigs, feathers, and seaweed. I walked into the water, relishing the sound of the whispering waves moving in and pulling back repeatedly, creating a subtle and natural music. The air smelled fresh, salty, and unpolluted. The water was cold, in contrast with the dry parts of the beach, and I watched a stick floating on the waves toward me and then stop in front of me and lie in the wet sand, as the waves retreated and quieted. When I returned to the beach, the group was lying on the beach, and Cathleen handed me a pink towel, so I lay down partially under the protection of a large parasol stuck into the ground. We lay there for some time, before the wind turned the parasol inside out and flapping, with the sun beating on us relentlessly.
As we walked quietly along the beach, heading for the steps that lead back to the woods, I watched and listened to the waves mindfully. They gently moved closer, uttered a crashing sound, and then just as gently backed away and whispered more quietly. The waves have a steady rhythm, symbolic of the circular nature of the world and of time.
On the drive back to the yurt, we stopped at several look-out points. We were on the side of Neakhanie Mountain, in Oswald West State Park. Oswald West was an Oregon governor from 1911-1915, who was responsible for state parks and for creating OR-101 for the sake of letting citizens enjoy the beautiful coastal scenery. The two-lane highway curved along the side of the mountain and occasionally through it, thanks to a couple of tunnels, and the look-out points were small walled parking lots at the edge of the cliff. Looking out, we could see many trees, the ocean, and the beach gently curving along the edge of the ocean, like a scene out of a movie or travel brochure.
Back at the camp grounds, the zip car passed a woman with a cute little dog. The dog didn’t say anything, but I heard the woman say, “Are you the Meet-up Group?” She didn’t look familiar, and I knew from the Meet-Up website that only seven people were signed up, so I thought she must mean a different Meet-Up Group. As it turned out, her name was Kris and she had had not really signed up because of some confusion on the website, but she had posted a comment that she would like to spend just Saturday with us and not spend the night. Since she had been unable to find us all day, Kris and the Chihuahua, auspiciously named Minerva, had spent the day on the beach by themselves, so the trip wasn’t wasted.
She stayed with us for dinner, and as it turned out she is a new member and is also a member of Portland Meet-In, through which she knows our most outgoing organizer, James. We had a potluck meal that included cherries, carrot sticks, two types of hummus (including some that Kris made from scratch), multi-grain organic sandwich bread, tortilla chips and salsa, energy bars, dried mangoes, and amazing gluten-free cookies. Before dinner was over, Evan skillfully started a bonfire, using newspaper, twigs, driftwood, moss, corn husks, and a small bundle of logs that he purchased from a guy driving by in a cart.
Kris, Cathleen, Sage, and I left shortly after dinner. We had spent a relaxing and rejuvenating day along the coast and look forward to other such Meet-Ups. We typically have meet-ups at restaurants in Portland, and Sage expressed an interest in doing more adventures like this one, such as visiting Multnomah Falls and the Gorge. In short, we spent the day well and while it was relaxing it was simultaneously an adventure.
We met up in downtown Manzanita, Oregon, a charming little coast town that is surprisingly vegetarian- and free trade-friendly. We explored a little organic market called Mother Nature, which sells vegan bakery items and organic fruit, and we went next door to a Mexican restaurant and had lunch on the patio. A beach was just down the street, so we walked there, looking at various shops on the way. We passed a store called Moxie that specializes in free-trade handcrafted international items, several art galleries, a log cabin with two large dogs lounging on the front porch, a park with many luscious plants, several cafes, a bakery, and a store that specialized in dog supplies.
When we reached the end of the street, we were on sand and sat down on a long rock to take our shoes off. The hot sand felt good on my feet, as we walked further toward the swish-swishing waves. The wind by the ocean was overwhelming, blowing my hair in my face, and Ana, one of the Meet-Up members spending the weekend at a campground, said that they took morning walks, before the wind picked up later in the day.
My feet sank a little in the sand, and I had to pull my feet forward at every step, so that walking even a short distance required considerably more energy than walking on a flat, stable surface. As we came closer to the ocean, the sand was packed and wet, so we walked on its surface instead of sinking into it, and it wasn’t as warm as the dry sand. I walked closer and closer till I was standing in ice-cold shallow water. A wave crashed up and wet my ankles and the cuffs of my jeans.
We drove to the much-lauded yurt in Nehalem Bay State Park. Yurts are cylindrical and very sturdy structures based on Mongolian tents, but those on the coast of Oregon have modern conveniences such as electricity and heating. The yurt was surrounded by numerous other yurts, some of which had patios larger than the actual building. Even this one, with a smaller patio, had two picnic benches out front. Inside was a large bunk bed, a couch bed, and a small table and chairs. The showers and restrooms were in a separate building down a scenic tree-line path.
Inside the yurt, we discovered that Ana had accidentally created a pile of sand on the floor. Fortunately, the yurt came with a broom and dustpan. However, rather than sweep it up immediately, Ana pushed the sand together and Evan commented that it looked like a Zen garden, so he proceeded to rake it with his fingers. I dashed out and picked up three pebbles, brought them inside, and set them up on the raked sand, so it did indeed look as though we had a small Zen garden on the floor of the yurt. Next Evan took out a game piece and set it up as a Buddha. Then Cathleen brought in some twigs and greenery and added them. Each time something was added to the Zen garden, I took a picture. Finally, Evan and I both took pictures of the Zen garden, and someone shined a flashlight on it to add some atmosphere.
We took off our shoes again and walked from the yurt to another beach location. As we walked in the shifted sand and came to dunes with tuffs of grass on either side of us, the scenery reminded me of the Indiana Dunes State Park along Lake Michigan. But as we walked further, the blue and whispering waves I saw ahead of me was the Pacific Ocean, not Lake Michigan. We walked past a sand castle with some resemblance to Castle Carnarvon, and another that looked more like an ancient Indian stupa in the distance. The wind was harsh, just as it was at the other beach, but that was a mild inconvenient compared to seeing the surrounding mountains while watching and listening to the rocking white waves on the bright blue ocean.
We drove to another beach location and parked in a small and packed parking lot where we saw people carrying surfboards. We took a short hike through the woods, on a path alongside the Short Sand Creek babbling over rocks. It struck me as a bit odd to be walking in the woods and seeing surfers carrying their boards across a footbridge. The woods were full of moss-covered trees, so typical of Oregon. An enormous tree had fallen down, and its moss-covered roots lay facing us and looking like a peculiar green sculpture with bits of wood poking out in all directions and green dangling things. Large white mushrooms decorated many of the enormous evergreen trees.
We knew we were close to the ocean when we could hear the waves swish-swishing rather louder than the creek babbled. The tall evergreens began to thin out, and sand lay beneath our feet. Between the trees, we could see mountains and the ocean in the distance, before we stepped away from the trees and followed a much-used path and wooden steps leading down a dune onto the beach.
The stretch of pale sandy beach before us was flanked on either side by tall dark cliffs, and below the cliffs were a few equally dark and dramatic rocks in the water. This was a popular beach, especially for surfers: we continually saw surfers walking by with their long boards, or gliding on the taller waves. I was surprised at the number of dogs on the beach, all of whom clearly enjoyed the setting, as they wagged their tails and ran on the sand or into the water. One black lab played with a Frisbee in the ocean. Meanwhile, I built two more little Zen gardens, mostly from rocks and sand, and an assemblage made of twigs, feathers, and seaweed. I walked into the water, relishing the sound of the whispering waves moving in and pulling back repeatedly, creating a subtle and natural music. The air smelled fresh, salty, and unpolluted. The water was cold, in contrast with the dry parts of the beach, and I watched a stick floating on the waves toward me and then stop in front of me and lie in the wet sand, as the waves retreated and quieted. When I returned to the beach, the group was lying on the beach, and Cathleen handed me a pink towel, so I lay down partially under the protection of a large parasol stuck into the ground. We lay there for some time, before the wind turned the parasol inside out and flapping, with the sun beating on us relentlessly.
As we walked quietly along the beach, heading for the steps that lead back to the woods, I watched and listened to the waves mindfully. They gently moved closer, uttered a crashing sound, and then just as gently backed away and whispered more quietly. The waves have a steady rhythm, symbolic of the circular nature of the world and of time.
On the drive back to the yurt, we stopped at several look-out points. We were on the side of Neakhanie Mountain, in Oswald West State Park. Oswald West was an Oregon governor from 1911-1915, who was responsible for state parks and for creating OR-101 for the sake of letting citizens enjoy the beautiful coastal scenery. The two-lane highway curved along the side of the mountain and occasionally through it, thanks to a couple of tunnels, and the look-out points were small walled parking lots at the edge of the cliff. Looking out, we could see many trees, the ocean, and the beach gently curving along the edge of the ocean, like a scene out of a movie or travel brochure.
Back at the camp grounds, the zip car passed a woman with a cute little dog. The dog didn’t say anything, but I heard the woman say, “Are you the Meet-up Group?” She didn’t look familiar, and I knew from the Meet-Up website that only seven people were signed up, so I thought she must mean a different Meet-Up Group. As it turned out, her name was Kris and she had had not really signed up because of some confusion on the website, but she had posted a comment that she would like to spend just Saturday with us and not spend the night. Since she had been unable to find us all day, Kris and the Chihuahua, auspiciously named Minerva, had spent the day on the beach by themselves, so the trip wasn’t wasted.
She stayed with us for dinner, and as it turned out she is a new member and is also a member of Portland Meet-In, through which she knows our most outgoing organizer, James. We had a potluck meal that included cherries, carrot sticks, two types of hummus (including some that Kris made from scratch), multi-grain organic sandwich bread, tortilla chips and salsa, energy bars, dried mangoes, and amazing gluten-free cookies. Before dinner was over, Evan skillfully started a bonfire, using newspaper, twigs, driftwood, moss, corn husks, and a small bundle of logs that he purchased from a guy driving by in a cart.
Kris, Cathleen, Sage, and I left shortly after dinner. We had spent a relaxing and rejuvenating day along the coast and look forward to other such Meet-Ups. We typically have meet-ups at restaurants in Portland, and Sage expressed an interest in doing more adventures like this one, such as visiting Multnomah Falls and the Gorge. In short, we spent the day well and while it was relaxing it was simultaneously an adventure.
