I fell in love with Northwestern Oregon last summer. There was something about standing there on Cannon Beach and watching the waves crash. Feeling the water reach out to tickle my toes. The little seaside community with its adorable shingled houses and the salty sea air. Again this spring, but Rockaway Beach then. The fresh seafood. The rain that washed away my sadness and gave me a glimmer of how beautiful life could be.
I’ve lived in Montana since I was five… almost as long as I can remember. There are snippets of Colorado and even a few fleeting memories of my native New Mexico in there. But Montana has been my home for so long… a place I never thought I’d want to leave. The wide open prairies and the jagged snow-capped peaks. The sunrises and sunsets still call out to me. They still comfort me when it feels like life has gone sorta dark. My mountains… the Tobacco Roots of my youth, the Beartooths of my shaky adolescence, and the Big Belts of my now… Sleeping Giant to the north who stays steadfast when things just feel a bit too much… like I can snuggle up against my pillow and feel his strength in my bones.
But there was just something about the coast of the Pacific Northwest. Something about the salty spray… the mist over the mountains and the fresh rain that renewed the world around me. It made everything feel so incredibly vibrant. It gave me a sense of promise. Yeah, there was poison oak in the brambles around me, but there was also the stunning myrtle wood and sensation of a beautiful life blessed with rain to wash away the bitterness of broken dreams. I even loved the tsunami warning signs, something that kinda made a life-long landlocked girl go 😳 but also made me feel just a bit more alive. And Astoria and it’s Goonie history, no matter if the house itself is off limits. We managed to get the barest view of the house, and it was pure and true in my soul.
I think I could leave my beloved Montana… if it meant life on the beaches of Oregon…