the beach.

I realized I forgot to upload some of the awesome photos from our vacation (which was, erm, a month and a half ago or something) to the Oregon coast. I don't have anything interesting to say, just wanted an excuse to put up some more photos as I learn to use my camera. :) The Oregon coast is so beautiful with its craggy rock formations, giant bull kelp, and turbulent waters. 

The Oregon coast.

What is it about the ocean that calls to humans? I know it's not just me. Granted, I grew up in Maryland where I was a stone's throw from one of the largest estuaries in the U.S., unknown-square-acres of vital wetlands, and the Atlantic Ocean. I worked at a state park situated on the "fall line," an area where the Appalachian, western side of the state drops down towards the nearly sea-level Eastern Shore. This meant lots of gorgeous streams and tiny rivers flowing and water-falling through forests made up of beech, walnut, and tulip poplar. It's a forest full of birdsong, the green of fresh leaves, berries, and the movement of wildlife. It's a forest that sustains life. And so I am tied integrally, at my deepest level, to water. Without it, life fails. With only little of it, only the hardiest of life survives. It becomes harder for lifeforms up the chain to survive.

A patch of bluebells in the Maryland forest.

I miss the East Coast for its lush greenery and how life just hums along for most of the year. Here in the "high desert," (a misnomer since we actually get 2 inches more precip per year than a real desert), there's a great big river and the earth is soaked with snow in the winter, but it's different. It's not green here, so much as grey and brown. Only the wildflowers remind me of my previous life on the green side, and even they are fleeting. Interestingly, there is enough vegetation to support a rodent population that can support a coyote and raptor population. Mule deer thrive and even elk, and here and there are cougar. Somehow, this stark, vast landscape of monotonous colors and plant type support life.

Smith Rock State Park, Central Oregon.

And so, in a way, I think something primal within me - and within us all, as humans - draws me towards water. The ocean calls to everyone, but why I couldn't say. Perhaps it's some ancient knowledge inside that once, a small amphibious life-form crawled forth from the foam and became our collective ancestor. Perhaps it's because the oceans are the only thing that separates our species, or that the water is so vast and so powerful that it challenges some primitive notions of eternity in our mind's eye. Someone once told me that, really, it's because the ocean air is full of negative ions, which makes us feel good when we're exposed to them. I can't imagine though that there's only one reason. The ocean is like a siphon that sucks away my troubles, churning them into bubbles and fish food. The vastness of the horizon and the intimate connection of that horizon to the setting (or, in the case of Maryland's coast, the rising) of the sun slows time. Then, as if the ocean hasn't given enough, it regurgitates treasures along its shore. Shells, agates, even glass float balls all the way from Japan are left in the wake of this great beast. 

The Oregon coast.

Let's not forget to mention the myriad creatures who manage to thrive in an ever-changing, sometimes violent, always saline environment. 

Anemones in a tide pool.

Gooseneck Barnacles and some clams.

A sneaky shore crab.

A sponge from deeper waters, washed up on shore.

Starfish.

Thanks for sharing my rambling rants on the ocean. Hope you enjoy the photos. If you're up to it, leave me a comment about what draws you to the ocean, if anything.