Far from the home I love

Today marks the first day of a vacation/camping trip that I am supposed to be on and couldn't go. I don't want to get into the reasons that I'm not there...that's another topic, not one I care to discuss at the moment. My family is getting together at the Oregon Coast to camp for the week, near Tillamook. I already had a fabulous excursion this year, so I don't necessarily feel slighted, just....empty. The Coast was our vacation spot for years, ever since we moved to Washington. Sometimes we were there three times a year-Spring Break, summer, and Thanksgiving. A huge piece of my soul has been sitting there ever since. The drive to the beach is almost as important as being there, like going through the ups and downs of a pregnancy before the birth of a child. The Dalles, the Columbia River, Multnomah Falls, Cascade Locks. The big Flying J outside of Portland, an important stop for gas and a bag of chips. Portland is a beautiful, interesting city. The freeways are lined with green overgrowth-trees, shrubs, ferns are all sprouting buildings. It's a strange paradox that could start us on a discussion of man vs. nature. The best part of the trip is a sign that restarts my heart everytime I see it-Ocean Beaches. I have never, ever gotten used to or tired of that sign. The rest of the trip, the last leg, the ninth month, is usually the worst. The roads are winding and narrow and I've lost my lunch on it more times than I care to remember. It's so worth it-seeing the ocean peaking through the trees has a tendency to wash away car sickness, like seeing your brand new baby and wondering what was so bad about the past nine months. I've been to many bodies of water-Chesapeake Bay, Puget Sound, up and down the California coastline, Lake Tahoe, etc, etc. They are okay, but nothing is as exquisite or breathtaking as the Oregon Coast. It's not overrun with big box stores and tacky tourism. The sound of the ocean is like a heartbeat; a dull roar, a soothing motor. It's always there, yet always changing. I spend a lot of time while at the beach inhaling, sniffing the salty seawater-ish air. It's totally intoxicating, like the way a baby smells after a bath. (I still sniff Hannah. She smells so good.) Sitting on driftwood, barefoot, burying toes into cold sand; looking for shells and tidepools after a storm, watching the uncertainity of high tide; a beached baby shark; getting knocked over by a sneaker wave. Campfires, crabbing, kiteflying, eating fudge and Brown Cow ice cream. London is amazing, New York rocks. But nothing could surpass the experiences and deep love I feel for my favorite place on earth. I'm sad that I can't be there this week with my parents and older siblings (Jacob couldn't go either), but I feel strongly that I will be back. I can't stay away, and if I have my way, we will live there someday...after our Utah sentence has been served and we've earned the privilege.