Lost in the Fog

The sun seems to arise much more slowly in this part of the country but that’s to be expected on this tip of our Western world—with trees barely emerging through foggy mists—creating a morning gloom not seen in Arizona. Nights have been spectacularly quiet; just like we like them; without southern California’s frenetic traffic hum at all hours. 

We moved from our friends' place south out to the western tip of Coos Bay into Bastendorff County Park. It’s electric and water, and very private majestically treed sites for $24/day. We’ve been here two nights and finally saw the sun just barely peeking out for an hour’s spell about 4 p.m. on the third day. All of a sudden last evening we noticed a bunch of campers come in and were wondering why mid-week, until we saw the weather report. The Willamette Valley of Oregon is scorching hotter than normal and everyone is flocking to the coast.

We’ve just been running around Coos Bay doing a little needed shopping and a whole lot of relaxing. Surrounded by shrubbery and woods on three sides, our views are dark and lush and enclosed. The fog leaves drips off the trees every morning that sound like rain on the roof. But we hear the ocean’s roar and the whistle buoy not far off and the air is premium fresh. Our air card gives us internet, we’ve a stack of novels, our antenna brings in two Coos Bay TV channels for news, our heater works wonderfully for our 57 degree temps, and we’ve several bottles of unopened wine. What more could we ask as everyone else swelters in 90-100 degrees?