Avenging the Owl By Melissa Hart 224 pages – ages 11+ Published by Sky Pony Press TODAY- April 5th, 2016! Synopsis- Solo never knew that avenging a beloved pet’s death could get him in …
In what single place can you find a Russian vodka bottle, a Japanese fishing crate, and a Coke can from the United States?
On the Oregon coast!
This morning, we woke up early and headed to Florence, Oregon to join 4,800 volunteers taking part in Spring Beach Cleanup Day, sponsored by the non-profit organization, SOLVE Oregon. With gloves and buckets and our adventure terrier on a leash, we trekked over a sand dune to a long stretch of chilly beach dotted with other ocean-lovers and their gloves and buckets. Our goal: To remove as much litter as possible from the sand while other groups up and down the coast did exactly the same thing.
SOLVE’s literature let us know that along with large pieces of debris, we’d need to be on the lookout for tiny bits of plastic that fish and other sea creatures ingest. We crouched in the damp sand and began to pick up fragments of pink and yellow, blue and green among the brown and white shells and rocks. The plastic shards made a beautiful mosaic at the bottom of our bucket (better there than in some poor fish’s stomach).
Almost immediately, we spotted a woman dragging a heavy tangle of netting and crates across the sand. We ran to help; the woman turned out to be Julie Daniel—a passionate sustainability leader and writer who has long been one of our local heroes. She taught us to identify the pelagic barnacles clinging to the side of a big blue bucket, and later, made several more trips from one end of the beach to the other, loaded down with crates and more bucket fragments and rope and netting.
Along with trash, we saw some pretty wonderful creatures on the beach. The terrier chased little white sand hoppers across giant strands of bull kelp. We marveled at tiny blue and white velella velella (see my short essay about them here) dotting the sand and gazed at an immature bald eagle that periodically sailed over our heads, flaunting its six-foot wingspan. We were glad to spare the raptor the agony of ingesting a plastic luncheon.
For three hours, we dropped rubbish into our bucket, surrounded by families and retired couples and high school students working to fulfill their volunteer hours. We learned that we loved getting outside in the gentle rain to help clean up the beach together. We learned that people discard an unbelievable number of plastic bottle caps. And we realized just how far litter can travel. We can only assume–after checking out the Russian and Japanese trash that washed up on our beach–that our debris washes up on theirs, as well.
We gathered together around dumpsters in the early afternoon, checking out each other’s hauls before moving on to picnic lunches and ice cream at B.J.s in Florence. At the end of the day, SOLVE sent us an e-mail report noting that volunteers had removed 90,000 pounds of litter from 363 miles of Oregon coastline. Sure, our bucket weighed only about 10 pounds, but we’re thrilled to be a part of the Spring Beach Cleanup.
Want to get involved ? SOLVE sponsors numerous Earth Day projects across the state. And don’t miss the Washed Ashore Gallery in Bandon, dedicated to making art from those interminable bottle caps and other plastic pieces. Visit the gallery and help create massive sculptures of fish and seals and sharks that go on display across the country.
See you on the beach!
I love traveling with my family—see my new essay in High Country News as proof of how much I adore our adventures together. But once in a while, it’s fun to travel alone—to meditate, silently, on museums or hiking trails or why the train’s three hours late. While no mom is an island (sorry, John Donne), I’m excited to visit one in two weeks.
With Washington author and essayist Ana Maria Spagna, I’ll be teaching the art of compassionate writing for “Writer Island”—a weekend creative writing workshop at Kangaroo House Bed and Breakfast on lovely Orcas Island near Seattle.
I discovered Orcas 18 months ago while on book tour, and stayed overnight at Kangaroo House (named for the kangaroo that used to reside there). The owners made me a gorgeous breakfast and invited me to teach.
I’ve taught writing workshops in bookstores, in hotel ballrooms, in my living room with four cats, and once, in an old ice house–but I’ve never taught at a bed and breakfast. I’m relying on the resident cat for inspiration. (Intrigued? There’s still time to register for Writer Island, if you’re interested!)
But what if you can’t stand to leave your family behind? Bring them to the island (the ferry ride’s half the fun) and they can head off adventuring while you write. The hike to Mount Constitution in Moran State Park offers intrigue and excitement and really weird mushrooms! Look for banana slugs around the many lakes and climb the lookout tower to check out the historical displays.
The rock structure, built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1936, looks like a medieval watch tower. From the top, you get a hawk’s-eye view of the San Juan Islands and surrounding mountains. I also got a fine look at the back of a red tailed hawk flying below me!
There’s a wonderful bookstore, as well—Darvill’s—perfect for browsing if the weather turns rainy. I loved it so much that I went twice in two days and spent a small fortune.
Can’t make Writer Island this year, but want to meet me and Ana Maria Spagna? We’ll be reading at Lopez Bookshop on Lopez Island with writer Iris Graville on Thursday, February 25th and at Darvill’s on Friday, February 26th. We hope to see you soon!
Say the words “Petersen Rock Garden” to native Oregonians, and a wistful expression may glaze over their eyes. “Oh,” they’ll sigh, “I remember that place from my childhood.”
Of course they do. This is the quintessential bizarre family roadside attraction, with something for everyone—rock castles and historical replicas, peacocks, an abandoned 50s diner, and a fascinating backstory.
In the early 1900s, Rasmus Petersen—an immigrant from Denmark—made his home between Bend and Redmond, Oregon. He fell in love with the area’s rocks and began collecting obsidian and sunstone and jasper and thundereggs in an 85-mile radius. Until his death in 1952, he used the rocks as building material to construct a sort of fantasy landscape that struck me, on my midsummer visit, as way more interesting than anything Disneyland has to offer. (Don’t tell my eight-year old.)
Pull up in a dirt parking lot, and the first things you’ll likely notice are peacocks strutting their stuff around wide lawns and a stone replica of a U.S. Capitol building (step quietly up the stairs and look inside to spot the resident cat). Other monuments include Independence Hall and the Statue of Liberty, standing stately between a rock castle, rock, bridges and a lily pond.
At the base of the depiction of the Statue of Liberty sits an unnerving plaque. “Enjoy yourself,” it reads. “It is later than you think.” We pondered that message in arid heat as we made our way over to the abandoned diner. Still decked out with classic 50’s Formica and salmon-colored wallpaper and a soda fountain and a menu on which sodas and sandwiches cost mere pennies, it struck me as the weirdest curiosity of the entire place.
I stood for a long time peering in through a broken window as unseen dogs parked somewhere behind the building, trying to picture the people who’d once eaten and worked there. Did Petersen himself (here, you can buy an image of him on EBay) in his hat and striped tie periodically stop there for a root beer float in the midst of his work on a fanciful new sculpture? I could have asked his granddaughter-she showed up as we wandered around, but the place was hopping, and numerous people crowded around her to talk.
As the July sun walloped us with heat, I couldn’t help wishing we could step inside the diner to an icy blast of air conditioning and a cold Coca Cola. The attraction’s Wikipedia entry mentions the possibility of the owners opening up a café. Given that families like mine spend hours exploring the place, that sounds like a winning idea to me.
But my daughter seemed undaunted by the weather, and impervious to a tiny white freezer labeled “Ice Cream” in the shade of one building. She wandered, wide-eyed, through the peacocks and looked for tail feathers, finally purchasing one in the gift shop for two dollars. She walked around and around the castle—rock instead of ice, but still, it looked like something that Elsa from Frozen would inhabit. I could tell then that decades from now, she’ll feel a wistful sort of joy whenever she hears the words “Petersen Rock Garden.”
Petersen Rock Garden is located at 7930 SW 77th St., Redmond, OR. 541-382-5574. It’s open daily, 9-5. Cost is $5 donation, on the honor system. Find more information on the Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/petersensrockgarden .
- Dangly silver earrings with sparkly blue stones
- A giant eggroll
- A temporary henna tattoo
- A worm composting bin
- Tie-dyed boxer shorts
- A unicorn horn
If you live in Oregon, you know about Country Fair; it sprawls across 280 acres of forest and river every second weekend in July. If you’re new to the state, or you’ve shied away from attending because of the counterculture vibe and the presence of a handful of bare-breasted people, get over it and go. The counterculture is delighted to teach you how to juggle and belly-dance, and the bare breasts are canvases for beautiful paintings of sunflowers and goddesses.
Confession: My husband hates the fair. Early on in our courtship, he did the chivalrous thing and escorted me on our bicycles to watch the spectacle. Undone by crowds and heat and dust, he boosted me up to a stilt-walker’s bench (lately discouraged by Fair staff) and we spent hours watching parades of marching musicians, dragons, giant puppets. He tried to love it. He didn’t. Now, I attend with The Spud on the free shuttle from Valley River Center on Friday, 9:30 sharp so we can board one of the first buses out of the parking lot.
The Fair’s a child’s paradise, with opportunities for hands-on fun everywhere. Much as I’d love to organize my day with the schedule in the Peach Pit (OCF’s official event and entertainment guide) and move from vaudeville show to band gig to spoken word performance, with a child under 10, that’s not going to happen. Instead, we get off the bus, I point her in the direction of the ticket taker, and she’s off. Here’s what she got ahold of last Friday:
- A compost bin full of worms and lettuce
- A booth at which she learned to fold a cootie-catcher
- A hand drum on stage with a musician singing about the importance of recycling
- A table full of recycled inner tubes and leather, needles and thread and awls and stamps and rhinestones (she made a purse)
- A playground with a jungle gym on which frolicked some of her school chums, most of whom wore clothes
- A fairyland hideout built of moss and lichen and stones and other wonders
Go for the day, and give yourself over to the weirdness, or become part of it. We’ve painted our faces and danced in the drum circle and tried the giant hula hoop and chowed down on strawberry shortcake and ice cream and given quarters to the dozens of single and group musicians who play on the sidelines. We’ve taken refuge in the shady library when it all got to be too much, and we’ve stayed until the end of the day, until we’ve fallen asleep dusty and sated, standing up on the half-hour shuttle ride back to Eugene. There’s magic around every corner at the Country Fair–see you in 2016!
BELLINGHAM, Wash. – Travelers of all ages rushed with their stuffed backpacks to the top deck of the M/V Malaspina to secure a camping space in the open air.
For years I had gazed at a Sunset Magazine clipping on my bulletin board describing adventurers pitching tents on the Alaska Marine Highway ferries. Now, my husband and I were on a three-day voyage along the Inside Passage from Bellingham to Juneau, Alaska.
Since 1951, eleven ferries – the largest of which accommodates 499 passengers – have traveled 3,500 miles of routes along the marine highway. These comfortable ships venture as far south as Bellingham and as far north as Skagway, Alaska, with port stops in between. For many Alaskans, the ferries are a primary source of transportation between small, hard-to-reach coastal towns.
In Bellingham, we filed on board past a pickup truck overflowing with boxes, furniture, and potted plants. I overheard the driver saying that his family couldn’t make a go of it in the lower 48 so they were heading home. They joined us on the marine vessel’s top deck, where passengers were spreading sleeping bags across lawn chairs in the solarium and pitching pup tents outside. (If that doesn’t appeal, travelers can get an inside cabin – small, but warm.)
“You’ll need this,’’ the pickup driver said as he tossed me a giant roll of duct tape, explaining that once the ferry got going, the wind would kick up, threatening to blow tents overboard.
I watched as passengers affixed tent lines to the rough cement with layers of tape and heard horror stories like the one about the guy who had gone below to use the bathroom at midnight and returned in his boxer shorts to find his tent and gear in the sea.
We secured our backpacking tent and went to return the tape. The man shook his head. “Pass it on,’’ he said.
Generosity was infectious as we cruised along British Columbia’s forested shore. Passengers in the solarium shared pretzels, hummus, and cider (alcohol was forbidden on outer decks). Yoga mats appeared; guitars inspired a jam session.
Initially, I worried about seasickness, but the Malaspina sailed smoothly into the sunset. We walked downstairs to check the cafeteria with its tempting smells of salmon and steak, and explored a bustling bar, small movie theater, and glass-walled observation lounge.
Naturalist Brett Calhoun, 20, delivered four talks a day on topics ranging from the mating habits of humpback whales to survival strategies for bear attack. Between lectures, he showed nature films and handed out maps. Periodically, he or the captain announced photo ops over the intercom. “There’s a school of dolphins off starboard,’’ one would say, or “Breaching orca portside.’’
On our first night we worried that noise might keep us awake. But the ferry’s motor rumbled steadily, lulling us to sleep in our down bags on inflatable pads.
We got up at dawn to commune with a scattering of early-risers toting Canons and Nikons. I walked down to the cafeteria, hatted and mittened against the stiff breeze, for a quarter’s worth of hot water to add to my mug of instant coffee. In a protected outdoor alcove, I watched the sun rise over a bucolic coastal town whose residents waved from their balconies.
A passenger from Alabama said this was his first vacation in 30 years. Cradling his camera lens, he gazed at the view, saying, “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.’’
The pickup driver joined us, jerking his chin at bald eagles perched in a tree. “Dumpster ducks,’’ he sneered at the raptors, so common in his part of the world.
Ferry travel inspires an instant camaraderie born of wind and water and periodic port stops. In Petersburg, the captain announced a three-hour layover and passengers headed toward the town’s main drag to share pitchers of Northwest microbrew.
We returned to the Malaspina and stretched out on lawn chairs under a star-studded sky. A teenager who had boarded at Petersburg put up a giant purple dome tent that we nicknamed “the eggplant.’’
“Want to tape it down?’’ I said. He grunted and ducked inside. We crawled into our tent and fell asleep to the ferry’s purr.
At 3 a.m., gusting winds buffeted the tents. Those sleeping outside moved their bags into the solarium or onto the cushioned seats in the observation lounge. I slumbered on.
In the morning my husband recounted the night’s events. He had peered out of our tent to find the eggplant collapsed on top of the teen and had helped to tape it down. “Took us a good hour,’’ he said. “Good thing we had duct tape.’’
This piece originally appeared in The Boston Globe.
–From May to September the Alaska Marine Highway ferry leaves from Bellingham, Wash., every Friday at 6 p.m. and arrives in Juneau, Alaska, on Monday morning with several port stops along the way. Top deck $326, cabins $308-$533. Bicycles/inflatable kayaks/cars for additional cost. For reservations and maps, visit www.dot.state.ak.us/amhs/index.html.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Interested Interested in taking a writing class with me or coming to a reading of my memoir, Wild Within: How Rescuing Owls Inspired a Family? See my July schedule, below!
July 17th, 2015—Reading/Discussion of Wild Within, Paulina Springs Books, Sisters, OR, 6:30 PM.
“Mommy, was Pomp home-schooled?”
My eight-year old daughter (aka “The Spud”) and I stood in front of a statue of Sacagawea, famed Shoshone interpreter in Lewis’ and Clark’s Corps of Discovery of the early 1800s. The Native American woman gave birth to her son, Jean Baptiste (nicknamed Pompey, or Pomp), two months before the Corps began their journey from Missouri to Oregon. She simply strapped the baby on her back and took off on the expedition which would take two-plus years.
One of the original multitasking moms, she saw to Pomp’s needs, saved valuable expedition documents from floating downstream, made peace between Corps members and Native Americans on the journey, and taught her growing son and 31 men about the flora and fauna around them.
Jonathan and I have lately decided to home-school The Spud for a while. What better place to start than the Northern Oregon coast, rich with history? We popped in a CD by The Meriwethers, a charming Ashland-based band inspired by the Corps, and drove to Lewis and Clark National Historic Park to wander through an excellent little museum and a replica of Fort Clatsop.
“It that all?” The Spud asked after peering into a handful of rooms holding crudely-constructed beds and tables.
“That’s the point,” I told her. The Corps hunkered down in a similar fort among the Sitka spruce for three months, from December 1805 to March 1806, squashed together making maps and sewing moccasins for the return journey east while rain poured down.
This bright June day inspired us to hike the Netul Landing Trail beside the fort. With our intrepid terrier, we set out along a path picking salmon berries and pointing out bald eagles and great-blue herons. A family of adventurers could easily spend a day at Lewis and Clark National Historic Park, watching films in the museum, studying the exhibits, participating in the Junior Ranger program, hiking, meditating on a forest stump surrounded by the ethereal warble of the Swainson’s thrush.
Later, fortified by burgers and fish and chips and a puppy patty (a $1 dog burger) at Astoria’s kid- and terrier-friendly Wet Dog Cafe, we drove to Seaside to see The Salt Works. This tiny historical replica depicts the system by which members of the Corps boiled seawater to make much-needed salt for meat preservation and . . . well, you know, to improve the taste of half-spoiled elk.
While Seaside has plenty of attractions–boutiques and boardwalks and a glittering carousel–we opted to visit Fort Stevens State Park instead. We parked at Coffenbury Lake and checked out the anglers and swimmers, then walked the 1.5 mile path to the ocean. There, we found the wreck of the Peter Iredale, a sailing vessel that ran ashore in 1906. Families walked around and around the rusty hull, then dispersed to build sand castles and play Frisbee and brave the chilly waves. We lingered on the sunny beach, wishing we’d brought our bicycles to ride the seven miles of paved paths in the park.
A walk through Astoria proved just as much fun, however. Jonathan and The Spud visited the Columbia River Maritime Museum with its displays about shipwrecks and fishing boats and the Coast Guard while the terrier and I rambled down near the piers where just a few weeks before, 1,200 sea lions congregated, prohibiting boat launch until a man scared almost 1,000 of them off with his faux killer whale. (See the hilarious story here.)
The north coast of Oregon makes for a splendid classroom. You can visit museums, observe sea lions at rest and at play, wander beaches and forests, take a ride on a tall ship, and cross the gorgeous Astoria-Megler Bridge into Washington to gaze down at Clark’s Dismal Nitch where the Corps of Discovery once huddled against the rocks, stranded during a ferocious winter storm. Fortunately for us, the sun shone brightly this day, and we returned across the bridge to the Wet Dog Cafe for another couple of ciders, another Shirley Temple, and a puppy patty.
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Want to take a writing class with me? Check these out–enrollment ends soon!
June 29th-August 7, 2015–“Feature Writing for Magazines and Newspapers,” Whidbey Writers Workshop Post-MFA Course, 6-week class online, all writers welcome.
July 25th and 26th, 2015–“Heal Yourself Through Environmental Memoir,” Sitka Center for Art and Ecology, Otis, Oregon, 10 AM-4 PM both days. All writers welcome.