When I woke this morning and saw gray out my window I thought, “Rats. Should have joined the masses who drove east.” August 21st mornings in Waldport, Oregon historically have been cloudy 50% of the time.
Sammy, not understanding my malaise, wanted his usual morning romp, so like most other mornings I poured a cup of coffee into a travel mug and walked the half-mile to the Alsea Bay. When I got there it was so foggy I couldn’t see the bridge. Double rats.
Sometime this winter I will get my fifteen minutes of fame—well, after editing, probably three minutes of fame leaving me 12 minutes for some later date. Last month I got a call from Mark Kachelries, a producer with the Travel Channel’s TV series, Mysteries at the Museum. In each show Don Wildman, putting on his best Indiana Jones persona, tells stories and interspersed through out are historic reenactments and comments from experts. Mark wondered if they could interview me.
My 1995 year-end letter where I talk about a typical day, waking up in bed with starving pets, working in a supposedly haunted Lightkeepers House, a description of The Hair Curler from Hell (the most imaginative use of binder clips ever known to womankind), and building a Dr. Seuss-like greenhouse. Continue reading 1995 Highlights: A Hum Drum Day on the Oregon Coast
They’re going to get rid of Newport, Oregon’s Coast Guard Helicopter because supposedly it’ll save $6,000,000 a year.
Six million dollars is a lot of money. Is it more than a drone strike? I don’t know. How many American lives does a drone strike save? I don’t know. How many American lives does the Coast Guard Helicopter save in Newport? I’m not sure. Is it more than a single drone strike. Once again, I don’t know. I do know that a few years ago the Newport Coast Guard station made 400 plus rescues, not all of them as sea. Newport is home to the largest fishing fleet on the Oregon Coast, Oregon State University’s oceanography department, and home to the NOAA’s Pacific fleet. Ship crews and passengers are not the only one’s needing help by the Coast Guard, though. Tourists who are awed by the ocean and don’t realize the danger they’re in when straying off a path are many of the rescuees. This new’s footage happened near my place on the same week that the “budget saving” measure was announced.
My puppy, Sammy, ate a cantaloupe-size clump of llama wool in one gulp the other morning.
Fret not. No llamas were attached to the clump. My neighbors, Toni and Paul, run a llama rescue operation. Just a few months after moving here from urban southern California they said I had to come over to see what they got at the Lincoln County Fair. I figured they’d bought some homemade pies or maybe splurged on a quilt. Continue reading Llamas, Slugs, Ducks, Geese, Dogs, Poop & Worms
The Oregon coast has topless beaches in that if you’re feeling particularly frisky, feel free to take off your sweatshirt. I feel practically nude if I’m not wearing a sweatshirt.
When it’s 100° inland, it’s often foggy and windy on the beach because cold air is sucked off the ocean.
“Honey, it’s 100° in Portland,” I imagine someone saying, “but only 50° in Yachats. Let’s spend the weekend on the beach.” They come wearing shorts and flip-flops and since it’s 50° they buy a coastal sweatshirt.
A month later the scenario repeats itself. One of them says, “Honey, it’s 100° in Portland but only 50° in Yachats. Let’s spend the weekend on the beach.”
Again they come wearing shorts and flip-flops, and, having left their coastal sweatshirt at home, they buy another. I’m not complaining. It keeps our economy going.
I imagine going into peoples’ homes in Portland, opening their closets, and having dozens of coastal sweatshirts come tumbling out. Eventually they have so many they give them to the Goodwill, which is where I buy all my coastal sweatshirts.
Early last century the railroads tried to lure people to the coast claiming we had a Mediterranean like climate. Yeah. Right. What the real draw was booze. Even then most of our visitors came from the Willamette Valley and at the time it was dry (i.e., alcohol was banned). Alcohol flowed freely here and if you drink enough you might think you were in the south of France. Hey, drink enough and you might think that when I’m not wearing a sweatshirt I’m a Greek Goddess.