Home from the sea

Adventures recent included a hike over and around sand dunes near Florence (not Italy).

The day’s inland heat drew a cloud band that nursed the shoreline. We saw sun off and on. More off. But we found the “hidden” trail my son had heard about, and it led to a quiet space (as in no four-wheelers buzz-whirring and chucking sand). Spiky grass blanketed dunes.

My mom and dad supported our efforts by chugging up the pathway’s first hill to pose near proliferating scotch broom.


Parents returned to their fifth-wheel for a nap while Tim and I trailed our boy.


Lagging behind, we spied a sparrow's hole.


Next destination: the beach. A higher dune climbed, a denser cloud enshrouding, we discovered a driftwood architect's handiwork. But we passed on setting up residence.


Nearing home late in the day, our van’s windows down as Willamette Valley fields rolled by, we all inhaled deeply. Done snapping photos, I allowed grasses mundane as baked bread to ease my tensions like a warm massage. The ocean’s fine, my family and I agreed, but we’re content in the valley, relaxed and undramatic. At least until the chance arrives to hike a mountain.