Coastal Memories

In the summer of 1982, I visited a friend who had recently moved to the Oregon Coast. The boys were out of school for the summer and the three of us took off for an adventurous two week stay in a part of the country we had never seen.  Two weeks evolved into five and included George flying out to see this beautiful, relatively untouched land.  I returned with a strong resolve to return there to live.  George pointed out that we would need to sell our newly acquired farm, find employment, make plans…you know. 

As soon as the Holiday Season was over, I began to pack.  Every day when George returned from work there were more and more boxes stacked all over the house.  By the first of March, we were practically camping out and there was a “For Sale” sign proudly staked out in the front yard.  By mid-march, no buyers and even more boxes.  There was simply nothing to do but leave!  We backed the largest U-Haul available up to our back door and started loading.  During the second day of this process, a young couple came up the drive and asked to see the house.  I told them to come on in, excuse the mess and make themselves at home.  They were there all of five minutes, thanked us and left.  We continued to load the truck.  The third day, we left for Oregon.  George and Cory in the truck, Chris and I in the car following close behind.  Only a couple of times did I allow myself to dwell on the fact that we had a fat mortgage obligation, no jobs to go to and two kids to feed and clothe!  We were three days out, heading west, when the realtor called to say the house was sold – yep, to that young couple.

That move changed our lives forever.  We didn’t starve, even though George didn’t find steady work for a full year.  I was able to go to work right away and we found a fine oceanfront house to rent at a reasonable price because the front of the property was eroding into the ocean.  The only view from the front of the house was the lighthouse and the ocean – it was a dream come true.  The boys flourished there, we made wonderful, life-long friends, we basked in the feeling of having “come home” and, never once, did we fail to appreciate the grandeur and unspoiled beauty that surrounded us there in our newly adopted land. 

A few weeks ago, we met there for a grand family reunion.  We had a big old house right on the beach that was completely open to the breathtaking views.  There were more than enough bedrooms for everybody and we had a full week of absolutely nothing to do except enjoy being together.  My son is an early riser and he and I met early each morning to share the start of the day with easy, familiar conversation and strong, hot coffee.  The house would slowly come alive as one after another emerged from bedrooms, and joined our vigil, welcoming the beginning of the day. 

As always when families get together, there were lots of “remember whens…” and much retelling of favorite old stories of the boys growing up and some new stories added because they felt safe enough to share them now with the buffer of time.  We shared many glasses of wine, walked on the beach, watched movies, built fires and found joy and peace in all of these simple things.  Our seven year old grandson beat both George and me at checkers (humiliating experience), and we were challenged to keep even strides with the four year old.  Our youngest son brought his special friend whom we had not met and she was lovely…something tells me this might be special.  It was a warm and loving time…filling me once again with the feeling of having “come home”.

Way too soon it was over.  The kids piled into cars and many hugs and kisses later and after several delays (because no one wanted to say good-bye), they pulled out of the drive.  The quietness that greeted George and me inside that house was deafening and filled us with sadness.  We went for a long walk on the beach, saying very little, each of us remembering special moments over those past few days.  The neighbors next door invited us for dinner, saying they knew we would be lonely in that empty house that first night and they were so right!  We had good wine, food and conversation with them until eyes were heavy and we knew sleep would come.

Phone calls before bedtime confirmed that everyone had arrived home safely.  I lingered on the phone with my son, hesitant to cut the connection, blinking back tears as his voice cracked when he said “I love you Mom”.  I walked out under the stars, feeling the salty mist rolling in off the sea and I thanked the Universe for those people I love.  The ones who give shape and meaning to my life, the ones who are constant in their loyalty and their love.  I wondered what more I could ever want than the love of the wonderfully imperfect and yet perfect people who exist in my life and who love me and accept me.  There really isn’t anything more meaningful in life…and I have been blessed. 

Those years ago when the boys were young and we walked that beach for the first time, who’d have ever dreamed we’d do exactly the same thing with our grandsons almost thirty years later.  Interestingly enough, my soul didn’t recognize any passage of time.  When I walked once more on that beach it felt free and light, just as it had all those years ago.  My soul was the same, that beach was the same and the waves had never stopped their constant rush to the shore and lazy retreat as they roll out to sea.

George and I enjoyed what was left of our time and then headed to Portland a few days later to catch our flight home.  On the way, we drove through wine country and marveled at the number of wineries, bed and breakfasts and restaurants which had sprung up all over the valley.  Yet, in spite of that growth, Oregon has retained its frontier feel, the feeling of being unclaimed and unsettled…kind of quirky and non-conforming.  I’m glad.  I hope it forever remains that way.

The move to Oregon all those years ago was my first realization that when something feels right you need to do it.  Even if you can’t plan it out perfectly, even if you don’t have all the pieces to the puzzle, even if there are no guarantees.  It taught me that you can’t go wrong if you follow your heart.  I’ll always be thankful I did, and I pray I always will.