Memory Lane
My sister is visiting from Arizona this weekend. Since she moved there two years ago, we only see each other a few times a year - when before it was just about every week. We still talk on the phone everyday though, so when we get together we kind of just pick up where we left off.
So today we left (all four of) the kids at home with grama and grampa and did a photographic tour of our hometown, Coos Bay, Oregon. The sites we visited were probably not the ones that you'd find on the Chamber of Commerce website, but more a tour of random childhood and teenage experiences.
Every good tour of Coos Bay begins with a cow in the road.
Hey Mr. Buffalo! Love your wings!
See? Dreary and beautiful at the same time.
The Newspaper is called "The World," which I always thought was a little presumptuous.
The old Tioga hotel: tallest building on the south coast.
We used to smuggle in bottles of wine in the sleeves of our letterman's jackets.
Seriously. That's a bad ass mascot.
Pre ran on this track. So did I.
My dad drove a 1963 Willy's Jeep with an ARRRUGAAAH! horn and for obvious reasons, I asked him to pick me up here, out of view of my classmates.
Of course, no tour of The Other Bay Area would be complete without a drive out to the beach. I use the term "beach" lightly. Oregonians don't swim in the ocean. We fish in it, crab in it, harvest oysters and clams; watch whales, and occasionally surf in it, but we do not Swim. In. The Ocean. Do you know how cold the Pacific Ocean is along the Oregon coast? Damn cold. But it is quite lovely. Very, very lovely.
An inlet at Charleston.
"Someone I knew" walked out to this island at Sunset Bay, hiked to the top when the tide was out and camped there. But it was not me. Because how stupid is that? If that person's big sister had know about that foolishness, there would have been words. Harsh words.
About 20 years ago, I was parked in this very spot, at night, with a boy, when we were hassled by the police for being in the park after closing. Now I know State Parks close at 10 p.m. And I married the boy.
Aw, shucks.
Wait, did I miss something? In September you lived in Montana. There’s no beach in Montana.
PS Love the picture on thepioneerwoman.com
I used to live in Montana, but haven’t for several years. I’m originally from Oregon and now we’re back.