Monday, November 3, 2014

Overnight Guests

As promised, my dear friend Elizabeth and a friend of hers make the trip from Portland to come visit us and see the sights. The rain slackens as they pull into our campground, and for a few hours we comb tide pools and climb up the switchbacks behind the lighthouse without dodging raindrops.  Darkness falls as we eat dinner and play a few rousing games of Settlers of Catan, which Hubs always wins.  Elizabeth has brought a bounty of curious and delicious treats, one of which is (fittingly) a box of severed finger cookies.  I stick to the box of owl cookies which are chocolate and look much less like the picture from her medical missions photo album from Papua New Guinea.  

We have never had overnight guests in our Airstream before, and the arrangements seem comfortable enough, but then again I am not the one sleeping on the short couch.  Murray and Otis are ecstatic to have captured two more people in their trailer, which means four more hands to pet them and two more plates to beg from.  

The next day begins with rain, which steadily changes from vertical to horizontal as the wind strengthens.  By noon, I am pouring hot chocolate into my thermos and about to step out the door for work when a ranger shows up and tells me the lighthouse is closed for the day.  Nobody in their right mind would walk up the hill to the lighthouse in this weather.  Elizabeth and Tiffany set off for home, and by the time they are back in Portland, driving rain is battering our rooftop.  It's okay, I have a whole stack of books to read and a space heater to keep us warm.  

During the evening, the wind's furor increases, and large trees around the campground are thrashing about, raining pine cones and small branches down on our trailer.  A constant roar sounds above our heads as the wind hits our sheltering hill and passes over us. Rain pounds our roof with a deafening clatter, and after the wind has gone, the deluge continues.  We can hardly hear each other over the din, which rages for about twenty four hours, finally subsiding into steady, gentle drops.  Rain, rain, and more rain follows for days.  Sometimes it is soft, sometimes I fear it will wear a hole in our roof.  A break in the clouds comes, and we dash to the beach to enjoy a glimpse of blue sky.

An enormous tangle of several varieties of kelp has washed ashore in the violence of yesterday's storm.

Suddenly the squelchy beast lunges at me and I am sucked into the center.  

My camera alone survives to tell the tale, taking in the last glimpse of the last clear sky I will ever see.


  1. I love your kelp shots! A friend of ours makes beautiful baskets out kelp!

    1. Wow! I didn't know such a thing could be done...does your friend have a website?