Thursday, December 15, 2011

Lincoln City of Love.

It was difficult for me to explain Lincoln City just right so that Garrett would ditch out on poetry to go. Yep, I said ditch out on poetry. Guilty as charged, ya'll.

 I think I said something like, "It's great. It's so great. It's just--agh--it's just so great. You're going to love it." Tsk, tsk. T'was criminally vacant of...everything. Luckily enough, Garrett had been to Lincoln City before and liked it enough to return.

I could tell you that Lincoln City is a picturesque beach town full of beautiful little beach houses and warm, kind beach people. I could tell you it is like every good dream you ever had. I could tell you the ocean is savage here in just the right way so that the whole world is Edgar Allen Poe romantic. I could tell you it is magic--only one brave drive through a dark, enchanted forest away. It is more than that. 

It is canoeing on Devil's Lake and flirting with the poor saps (hotties) who work there during the summer. It is late night bonfires on the beach even though we're afraid of sneaker waves (which, incidentally, are real). It is fresh fruit. It is laughter and antiquing. It is deer in the garden. It is even more than that.

Please fall in love with Lincoln City via some favorite pictures from summers past: 

First, click play for some Decemberists to set the mood.
(Disregard the fact that this song says "California" several times. It's the right song, okay?)

Then, smile softly. Everything is almost in slow motion...

I would like to go so far as to say that Lincoln City is a true home away from home, but it is not exactly that. The truest, realest home away from home, for me, will always be my aunts' houses. Home, to me, is lovingly worn furniture in a modest house full of wrestling children and curious eyes trying to engage in a conversation too old for them.

But, Lincoln City certainly is the purest kindness of strangers-turned-friends. Lincoln City may not exactly be home, but Lincoln City is safety for the soul; peace.

For this reason, it is easy to adore the Jacksons. They opened their home to us completely. I did not feel like a trespasser. Exhale.

Grandpa Jackson is a tall, bearded, sweater-vested old man with the perfect twinkle in his eye and a soft Southern accent. A real gentleman. Sophisticated in his manners and interests, he is a delight to listen to. His stories recount simpler, happier, more mischievous times.

Grandma Jackson is a cheery-faced sprite of a woman armored with gentle kindness. She is that grandmother who tries her hardest not to meddle in your business but once in a while a "now you be safe out there!" slips out. She is the one who sends you off to the next adventure with a bag of fruit, trail mix, and cookies. She makes sure there is enough hot cocoa in the house--and marshmallows.

I cannot express my full gratitude to Katelyn for sharing them with us.

Essentially we spent 4 days reading, writing, adventuring, eating delicious food, telling stories, listening to stories, laughing, talking, sharing beliefs and experiences. Living softly.

Thug Life. 
("Stop, what are you doing? Are you taking a picture?"

Katelyn and Grandpa Jack 
(This is the only picture I got of our wonderful hosts, 
and it's missing 1/2 the equation. Sorry folks. I swear I'll be better next road trip)

Katelyn had to get back to Salem to work. We wanted to stay a few more days at the beach house (wouldn't you?) So we decided to take her back to Salem and return to this paradise. 

Behold, a Great Last Day with Katelyn. 

Katelyn and I insisted on Breakfast at Mo's.

"We can't order the same thing. If you order biscuits and 
gravy first, then I can't order biscuits and gravy."

"Agh. I didn't do my hair today." 
"Me neither. Tradition."

"C'mon, man. Why are you always taking pictures?"
"One day you'll thank me for this."
Nope, Chuck Testa

 Pumpkin bread french toast. Fave. 

Visiting Grandpa Jack at the visitor's center. 

This is the picture I sent to my mom to which she replied, 
"He looks like Jesus."

Antiquing at our favorite antique mall. The name escapes me right now...
 unless it's called Antique Mall? Anyway, it's distinctively red on
 the outside and has a red bird painted somewhere. 

I. Just. Love. Katelyn. 

Faaaabulous, daaaahling. 

"Hahaha c'mon Garrett. Take a picture of us! Hahahha 
This is sooooo fun, huh, Garrett? You love this. You love us!"

"I'm not wearing this dumb hat." 
"Yes you are. It's tradition."
"Grumble, grumble, grumble."
This might be my favorite picture of them all. 

These wooden shoes are still here. 
I still want them really, really bad. 

Proof: 2 years ago. Wanted them bad then, too. Is it a sign? 
(Yep, too lazy to flip the picture for you. Sorry, kind of.) 

Gah. Adore. 

"Hey, Jeannette, I found a sign of our names: 
Snyder, Sherwood, and Resner!" 
"Well, I mean, it's kind of the same."

For Kylie. 

Some pictures from the experience sans-Kately (tear): 

That evening, I once again talked Garrett up until he had to play some tunes. 
I requested "Harold gon' be," as per usual. Happiness. 


I took a long walk one day to soothe my soul, calm my restless feet, and think about my current situation. I walked along the tallest road on the hill. I spent a long time imagining what's behind the windows of those empty houses. 

I still felt restless. 

I had to climb the mountain.  I found a spot that looked somewhat trail-like off the road, secured my wrong-shoe-for-this footing, and pulled myself up by the roots of the trees. I climbed. Smiled. Climbed some more. 

I found a spot beyond where the trail seemed to die. I stood still as a deer for a long time trying to lock the sound of the waves crashing into my memory. I smelled the freshness of the pines, ferns, and dark earth. Grey skies are prettier than we give them credit for.

I love getting my hands a little dirty.

I tried to talk to God. It was awkward. I didn't know whether or not to take the trees rustling at just the right moment as a response to my let me know if you are out there.

I closed my eyes and breathed in what might've been God's breath.

It was too big to push me over.

The view from when I climbed the mountain. 


No comments:

Post a Comment