I spent the first few days of August sneaking around southern Oregon, trying to keep my presence a secret and hoping not to run into anyone I knew. Grants Pass is a small town though, and I was unsuccessful in avoiding all the faces that have become so familiar. My secret, however, was kept safe until the 3rd when I made my own way to the coast.
The drive from Grants Pass to Arizona Beach takes you south into California, west to the ocean, and back up along the coast of Oregon. There were a few stop the car moments along the way.
I arrived at the campsite to the delight (and confusion!) of a handful of american family members, the youngest of whom being this beauty who dashed from the shore with her sisters to take me to the beach.
We spent a lot of time there over the next few days.
There was the discovery of the fish, the pronouncement of its death, and the need for 30 little fingers to each have a turn to touch its little scales.
They were mermaids...
...and surfers...
And synchronized cannon-ballers.
And sometimes they were just exhausted little girls.
In the midst of it all, there were kites to be flown...
...a bit of whittling...
...berries ripe for picking...
...and plenty of family time.
And all of it was spent collecting memories, like seashells from the shore.
