My last day in Coos Bay, and I watch the fog whisking among the fir branches and treetops as the wind whips the dune grass. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to stop and smell the salt air—better than roses for my mind and psyche. The packing is just about done, the errands all run; now is my time to say goodbye to my favorite place.
As I sit and ponder, a tug appears far down the bay guiding the huge ship Glorious Lotus, home port Singapore, to sea. Probably more wood chips bound for the Far East where they will make chip board and once again send it on a huge ship back to us. She towers over the small boats stuck to their piece of ocean, crabbing, and then silently save for her bellowing horn, disappears into the mist and her far flung ocean voyage.
The harbor remains wreathed in fog as I note a new boat tied up, a huge catamaran that has the look of something odd about her like she is very possibly homemade. She dwarfs the other boats around her and her straight sided lines and angles look reminiscent of a 1970’s apartment building, not a boat. She definitely looks stout but like an ungainly ugly duckling at the same time.
Too soon, it’s time to leave Charleston to do more packing. I am so anxious to see Marc; so sad to leave the coast. We have no time line on this journey to return; it’s all in the great mystery called remaining gainfully employed if possible, so weeks could stretch to months and into years. The ocean will continue to call me so I take my photographs for my memory scrap pile and file away the sounds and smells which leave no tangible reminder save for lingering memory.
