Jul28
A Child on the Beach
Yesterday, I found a “pearl” on the Oregon Coast – Fogarty Creek Beach. The day was radiant with sunshine sparkling on the ocean waves. Walking along the beach, I finally decided to “give into” my inner-child and sit on the warmed rocks and search for agates. Gentle waves washed over the tide pools as I found many sea treasures. It reminded me of the carefree day last summer I spent with friends Ray and Terrie near Newport, searching through the sand for similar beach rewards.
An older woman was with her family on vacation actively scouring the beach for surprises. At first sight, I thought she had a “camel-pack” for water. Upon closer observation, I realized it was a portable oxygen tank – the smallest I’ve ever seen. She was quite animated, and I silently hoped that the tank was nothing more than a temporary nuisance for her.
When I was younger, the extent of family vacations was an annual trip to visit my grandmother in Southeastern Kentucky. Before the advent of interstate highways, the trip took several hours along roads that snaked through the mountains. My father would come home from work on a Friday evening and rest for a few hours. In the wee hours of the morning we’d leave in our station wagon, stopping at daybreak for hot donuts before reaching my grandmother’s house.
We’d spend the days exploring along the creek, hiking along country roads, and watching “community” movies with my cousins on Saturday night at my Uncle Alex’s general store. There was always a big Sunday dinner, with fried chicken (we were assigned to pluck the feathers after a dip in scalding water), creamy mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh corn and green beans, cornbread, and always a huge chocolate cake for dessert. I never took up the offer of buttermilk – preferring the cold, sweet milk or fresh water from the well.
Visiting sacred spaces are good triggers for forgotten memories…
And it’s a good forgotten memory too boot! I wonder how we entertained ourselves on those interminable car rides as small kids.
I know I’d be a vegetarian if I had to pluck feathers! I’ve seen it done before and wouldn’t eat chicken for a long, long time.
Except for the chicken feather part (and hopefully it was the chicken that went in the scalding water and not the kids!). I remember road trips before interstates. Somehow they seemed more special and you felt more in touch with your surroundings.
What a lovely picture and how nice of you to take us with down the memory lane – it brought back some good once from my trips with the family in the good old days too!
Btw: I know you love fish – my wife is serving as a guest blogger:-)