Far, far away...

Just like a whale, I've resurfaced...and on the ocean, no less. Well, the bay, anyway. Mom lives in Bay City (of course), the small town I grew up in right on Tillamook Bay in Oregon. It's grown a bit, the usual changes that come over the years. But the important things remain the same. Small town friends to chat with as you take an evening stroll, little corner grocer still has candy bars, post office has a few more boxes in the foyer. The flavor of the town is like licking your favorite icecream cone. Forever in your memory, forever looked forward to, always a treat to savor.

Mom's dining room window overlooks the town park one block down, named for my dad (former mayor, many moons ago). It has a creek running through it (not a river), which offered hours of trout fishing and exploration for kids willing and tough enough to scramble through brambles and swampy willows. Now you have to have a license. Imagine that. And no fishing allowed. But the swings are still there - newer, of course.

While we were eating lunch today (crab cakes, freshly made from crab cooked in my brother's secret formula), a big fat racoon scooted up the creek bank, shamelessly hustled across the street and returned to his crawdad search on the other side of bridge. This is "downtown", mind you.

Returning to the coast means fresh fresh FRESH seafood. Oysters right from the bay only 3 blocks away. Crab. Clams. Deepsea fish right off the boats at the docks. Indescribably delicious, tasting of sea salt, and ozone from the huge breakers pounding the beach, and "home". Mom met me at the door with pan fried oysters and succulent lingcod (which is one of the ugliest fish in the whole world, but redeems itself with unmatched flavor). We've had clam fritters, dungeness crab, petrole sole, razor clams, salmon, homecanned tuna. Next on the menu: clam chowder!
The bay is surrounded by flat farmland on the east, nestled in the arms coast range hills. Forested hills seem to echo the ocean movement, as wave after wave of misty greeny-grey ridges march to the east.


The bay has so many moods, it is never the same from one tide to the next. This view is looking west, from the highway just before turning off to enter Bay City. Mist, drizzling rain, frosty mornings - the texture of Tillamook Bay area.

I might also mention, an artist's paradise. Whether your tools are a camera or paint brush, scenes unfold with enticing calls to be recorded.

Some I just have to hold in my heart - there isn't enough wall space in the cabin to take the Oregon coast home with me....