Frosty Dawn at the Beach
At 6:38 on a dark Monday February morning, Elmer and I drove to the beach to begin our day. I always feel at my best when I see dawn materialize at the beach. It feels like a secret weapon because nobody else is ever there and that matters.
It was 32 degrees and frost covered everything near the ground.
I took it slow on the drive. We passed the high school where my high school teaching career ended. I did some good creative work there a decade ago, but it seems utterly irrelevant in the big picture today, as does almost my entire teaching career. That realization does not depress me; it sometimes excites my imagination what I could have done in other professional fields.
We cruised across a slick bay bridge and I saw a homeless man walking in a narrow shoulder going against traffic. A mile later I saw another homeless man riding a bicycle and carrying cans.
I didn’t turn on the radio to hear the morons on sports radio opine about yesterday’s Super Bowl. It was just me thinking about a Christmas tale I am currently writing, one set in Seaside that has really taken off in interesting directions I never could have foreseen.
One vehicle in the parking lot. Dammit!
No matter, everything was enshrouded in fog so I knew I wouldn’t see anyone to pollute my solitude with my great dog.
Elmer and I hit the trail to the beach, turned left at the jetty, and I beheld 14 lights of freighters offshore waiting for the right tide and decreased fog to begin their trip over the Columbia Bar.
Elmer and I traversed the dunes. A little light was emerging above the Coast Range.
We jumped down a bank and onto the beach. I let Elmer off leash. He ran wild and so did I. I spotted a pickup truck parked in a weird place on the beach. I surmised it had been there all night, some fool who didn’t know the tides and realized he couldn’t drive to safety without washing away into the ocean. So he slept in his rig. He was probably still asleep.
Elmer did his thing at the wrack line. I did my thing at the ocean’s edge. I picked up two sand dollars and stuffed them in the pocket of my 30-year-old pea coat that I’ve worn walking 5000 miles or so down Oregon’s ocean beaches. It will outlast me and I know exactly who I am willing it to.
More light filled the sky. I saw a bald eagle fly overhead. That never gets old.
Elmer darted over and we began running and roughousing.
We went on for a couple of miles and then turned around.
It was time to go back to the city and deal with city matters. But I was fortified for all that entailed.