Oregon Weekend

I’m staring out the sliding glass doors of my second-floor condo, watching the lazy trail of white steam disperse from the top of one of many tall structures in the Los Angeles Harbor. Their purpose to me is unknown and I am at enough distance for it to be indiscernible. At night, the conglomeration of grey industry twinkles with lights, making it appear much more magical than it actually is.

If I had to pick an ideal morning coffee view this would probably not be at the top of my list, but occasionally the smog is absent and the foothills I used to live next to become visible and it is nice. I sip my cooling coffee and think about all my favorite morning coffee views. There have been some really good ones over the past few years: Rocky Mountain National Park with a dusting of snow, hills of Uganda in the rain, and bright mornings on a porch in Zion.

I went to Oregon a few weeks ago to visit my roommate from college. She’s working at a camp on the coast, with forested hills to one side of her and the ocean on the other. We awoke on Saturday to a gloomy morning, but without the pounding rain we experienced the previous day while walking around Portland. I lived in Oregon until I was ten, so there was a comfort in the crisp air and perpetually puddle populated ground. After eating peanut butter and Nutella toast, we took mugs from her kitchen and walked to the dining hall to fill them with coffee. I take my coffee black, she takes hers with vanilla creamer.

Carrying our open mugs, we dodged muddy spots until we reach the edge of the camp and stairs leading up to a walking bridge allowing for crossing from camp to beach above the busy freeway. Continually throughout the weekend I told my friend what a dream she is living. Immediate accsess to the beach, an endless playground of trees in her backyard, unending coffee (albeit camp coffee, but all camp coffee tastes the same which brings a sense of familiarity), and the vast Oregon coast to explore.

We held our mugs close as we stood on the windy beach, watching the grey sky matching the grey waves stacked tightly atop one another. Driftwood is scattered and broken up all about the beach due to a recent storm. My friend notes how different the landscape looks, she hasn’t been down to this spot since the waves grew high, the wind blew, and the rains showered, flooding areas of the quiet coastal towns.  

Later, we hiked the hills surrounding her camp, scrambling up large tree stumps to get a better view across acres of trees to stare at the beach we were previously standing on. The next day when I was leaving Oregon behind, watching Mount Hood disappear, I realized how much I was in need of a new view. To look out windows and see treetops and cloudy sky instead of smog and city. I needed to reach the apex of a hike at an unknown vista and to breathe deeply a scene more clear than crowded.

I need new views, changes of scenery do good for my soul. I’ve always had the drive to go and see and be in unfamiliar places and spaces, living with the duality of wanting settledness and getting restless often. It centers my soul, this thing of travel, despite the movement. Living out of a small bag for a few days, eating when we are hungry wherever we feel led, and spending hours making art for simply creativity sake is a rhythm I will never tire of.

My coffee is gone now, the bottom of the cup always the most disappointing part of mornings. The clock is ticking down the minutes until I must leave for work. I wish every morning could be filled with slow sipping of coffee. Sometimes I debate buying a flight to somewhere so I have a reasonable excuse to wake up, go to a cute breakfast place or the top of a hill with a thermos of coffee, and just be for a few hours. So if anyone wants to get me a flight somewhere, I'd take it. Oregon was clarity and stillness in the haze and hecticness.