Melissa and I recently traveled to the Oregon Coast to spend a week with family at Tierra Del Mar (which in English translates to Land of the Ocean). The first night we stayed in Biggs Junction. On day two we stopped for a hike in the Columbia River Gorge. We hiked a five mile loop visiting many waterfalls and parts of the 2017 Eagle Creek fire.
I had driven through the Gorge on I-84 a few times since the fire. However, it was not until this trip on our drive home (we took Washington State Highway 14 which follows the north side of the Columbia River) that I was able to take in the immensity of the fire.
I wondered if I behave this way toward our natural resources and climate change? I hike (drive) in water daily: washing my face, making tea, cooking, showering, watering the garden. I use water, but do I see the immensity of my use? Do I realize how precious water is to my physical existence, allowing me to think, feel, and love?
I recall a Thich Nhat Hanh gatha I first noticed in Spanish. I know a few Spanish words and in this writing, agua, Tierra, and gratitud, caught my attention. I found the gatha later in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book, peace is every breath: a practice for our busy lives:
“Water Flows from high mountain sources. Water runs deep in the Earth. Miraculously, water comes to us. I am filled with gratitude.” [1]
2.
Spilling in my hands water’s sparkling gemstones I splash sleepy eyes
In a mist of blue above green waves of sea-foam charred water falls
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Photo Gallery: Water Falls -Columbia River gorge.
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[1] – Thich Nhat Hanh, peace is every breath, (HarperOne; Reprint Kindle edition, 2011), pg. 12
When he took me, the two-track was hardly visible. The grass was bending over the hood, as high as the windows of the Rambler. The shore was a rich dark brown scattered with white stones.
When I took her, the grasses were short and faded covered in dust from the gravel road. On our walk down the trail 1 collect discarded bottles, cans, wrappers, and bait containers, putting them a the bag that once held our sandwiches. The shore is ground to a fine dust.
Quiet.
“Pop,” the opening of a can echoes, loud voices follow.
She turns and says, “It’s okay Pops.”
Glassy lake surface Splash! fish clutched-Osprey talons Glassy lake surface
2.
3.
Waking from a daze dreamt I was a soaring bird as I fly away
I stop and take a photo of a couple sitting outside the coffee shop downtown. It had just been snowing and I think to myself, “A snow-shower would have been a nice addition.” (It had been snowing during most of my walk).
I walk by their table and notice two Canon cameras and strike up a conversation.
The couple say they are out taking pictures for the day. We talk about the Palouse and I find out they are only here for a month, finishing some work at Washington State University, and have a desire to be back in the big city.
They notice my FUJIFILM X100S with its bent sunshade and scratches. I instantly think of the many miles I’ve walked with it hanging from my shoulder and I wonder what bends and scratches their cameras will one day show?
As I get ready to leave there is an uncomfortable pause. I think because of the inability to shake hands, because of COVID. After it passes we share a slight head bow, smiles, and a friendly wave goodbye.
Turning in the night my head finds the pillow– between dreams
When I search online for the benefits of walking, I find many good reasons to take up this healthy habit.
I have been thinking about walking since spending a week at the beach in late December. Each day I woke, ate, walked, rested, ate, walked, ate, rested, and slept.
When I returned home, I asked, “Why is walking not a thing I just do, like eating and sleeping?”
So that is what I did. I’ve been walking on my lunch hour at work three to three and half miles and longer on the weekends. I do feel I am reaping the health benefits that are listed online, both physically and mentally. I am happier when I am at work, home, or doing the shopping. I
Another benefit that has occurred to me is the experience of seeing the world around me. The one right here that I miss when I am hurrying from one thing to the next, regardless of my mode of travel. The one right here that is alive as I, right under my nose: the creeks, the trees, the grasses, and the people with whom I share a “hello.”
I wonder if this is the thing that makes me happier: not only seeing and experiencing the world around me while walking, but also knowing that I am part if it, taking care of it, no matter where I am.
On the old bridge rail receding snow snakes across, droplets fall below
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Wintertime grasses seemingly slip by the creek dredged in morning’s snow
3
Creek crackled sun beam sparkles under the overpass a break in the clouds
Gazing out the window wintering sage blossoms white… with morning’s frozen dew
2
“Wait……wait……wait,” from the speaker box. ‘
Waiting to cross the street, I see a gentleman through the traffic walking towards me on the block up ahead.
A “chirp……chirp……chirp” fills the air signaling it is safe to walk. I check the traffic and go. As the gentleman and I get closer, I notice the contrast in our clothes: I in a down parka, gloves, wool hat and mask and he in a short sleeve button up and a disheveled paper mask. We meet at the curb, his cheeks show a smile while he gives a muffled “Hello”. I return the smile and a muffled, “Hi.”
From behind the mask, “Let me tap the crossing button for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Wait……wait…..wait.”
In the water’s flow the rising full-moon dances
3
The old tin building along the abandoned railroad… mimics the winter sky
Melissa and I give it a go. We pull in a rest stop, “Let’s wait for the crowd thin.” “Looks like the folks are wearing masks, let’s give it a go.” Returning to the car I ask, “Do you think the airflow in the bathrooms is adequate here?” while rubbing sanitizer on my hands. I’ve made this trip many times, and even with this pandemic edge , the scenery and the traffic look the same, beautiful as I remember, as we follow the Columbia River to the sea. Arriving at the cottage, the clouds have cleared.
Without a splash sinking into the sea the setting sun
Day 2
The sun rose this morning behind the clouds. We head out for a morning walk in the sun’s filtered light. The tide is low and the beach stretches far to the sea. There are a few folks passing by among the few scattered rocks and branches.
Beyond the tide a bare branch lies, the crest of a wave
The closest place to whale watch is twenty miles north at Oswald State Park. It is afternoon and we arrive at the pullout. We realize we are not the only ones looking for a chance to spot a gray whale on their migration south. The turnouts are full of people. After continuing down the road we find space in a turnout a fair distance away from others. Setting up our binoculars we begin to scan the open waters looking for a big whale breath, a vertical spray of mist or the slap of a tail. Looking and looking and looking, as the sea slowly moves up and down with it’s own breath, we find it is getting dark and decide it is time to return to the cottage. We arrive safely home and sit quietly at the outdoor table.
Adorning the cottage Coffeeberry shrub in bloom, A hummingbird happens by
Day 3
The storm arrived in the night. The sound of the waves increase in intensity, similar to the sound of a strong wind blowing through the Western Red Cedar in our backyard at home. After the morning rain we decide to take a walk. The sea whips up a froth, the result of the turning waves mixing with decaying organic matter from below the surface. This foam covers the beach and debri like an overnight snow. I am finding the coast a place of constant change. On our walks together, I experience changes taking place from moment to moment, without time to go forward or backward.
Seagulls gather a fish flip-flops on the sand raindrops begin to fall
Day 4
Day 5
Above the rock wall Giant Canes sway in the wind giving us a wave goodbye!
On the drive home we make our first rest stop. I shut off the engine and watch. There are people with and without masks, some walking in, some walking out, some walking their dogs. They move in waves, some in a rush, others taking their time. The crowd thins and we decide it is time to pee. We return to the car and I ask, “Do you think the airflow in the bathroom was adequate?” rubbing sanitizer on my hands.
I was working with a client for the first time in a couple of years on several photo shoots this past week. On Wednesday the client did not show up to one of the shoots, so I sent a text message to check in before proceeding. The return message was “Who [is this]?” After I sent another message I realized it was not my client. I found out their number had changed so I updated my address book to reflect this.
Two days later we were a half hour into another photo shoot and my client had not arrived. I sent a text to what I thought was the updated number only to get a response from the same other person, “You must really want to take my picture….”. They also mentioned about wanting to get a portrait with their dog. After a wonderful dialog (for which we both expressed appreciation) I found out we live across the state from each other: I in the Northwest, they in the Southeast. I texted that if I am down that way again (as I went through the area this summer on a state tour), I will send a message to arrange a time stop by and take their portrait!
Morning fall breeze Acorns usher in the sound of rain… A visitor stops at my feet!
1 Above the hill in front of us four ears poke up then disappear. My dog, Pepsie, and I slow down to see who might be lurking. We move into view of the volleyball court to find two foxes. One was lying in the shade, the other walking across the sand.
The one walking across the sand also comes to a rest. Both watch us as we watch them. Pepsie and I move on to let them be. Walking a ways down the hill about to leave the area, I glance black to see two foxes frolicking in the sand.
2 Summer morning… A moth on the bathroom door reminds me To feel the water splashing my face
