Rockaway Beach, Oregon
hen I was a kid our family used to come to Rockaway Beach for vacation. It always took us a couple of days before we could sleep uninterrupted through the night so thunderous were the waves of open sea. Six thousand eight hundred kilometres as the crow flies from Rockaway Beach to northern Japan.
Mark's cousin Quentin took us on a full day's speedy tour of the northern Oregon coast and Rockaway Beach was one of our stops. For old times' sake.
It's not very much as I remember it. What I do remember is that it dumped buckets of rain on the Fourth of July but they set fireworks off on the beach anyway. We were soaked, squinting skyward, fresh water dribbling down our faces in streams, oohing and aaahing with other soggy bravehearts standing in the salt and the sand. It was great. I remember almost not going because of the rain and afterward being so glad I'd ventured out. In retrospect, I think it was somewhat of a pivotal life moment for me when I realized that going out in bad weather took the bite out of the thing.
Gee whiz. It's so hard to get these pictures just right, fingers pinched in the perfect place. Enter wind and wobbly elbows.
The wind blew, the rains came but we were not sugar and we forged on. Can you see the top layer of sand just a'flyin' in the stoutly breeze?
I generally have more fun getting blasted by wind or soaked by rain than I do in good weather. It's better than staring sadly at it from behind a window. Generally, I say. There are exceptions to most every rule. Sometimes there is nothing better than facing the world from underneath a big blanket, socks yanked up to your knees.