Water, Water, Everywhere
June 6, 2008
Truly, no one is as tired of looking at rain-drenched plants than I am, but I had to stop the other evening and photograph these poppies. They are paper-like and delicate. I loved the color and thought, " Who knows when the sun will finally arrive--if, in fact, there IS a sun..."
This morning, as I pulled out more grey and black long-sleeved items from my closet to put on, I wondered if it were still January, or, maybe we had moved on to March. The flowers are out after all. Listening to the rain hit the windows, I watched the waves churning, responding to today's storm. Definitely not linen pants weather.
I was talking with someone this evening about how I've gotten used to falling asleep to the rain on the roof, and, last night it stopped raining when I went to bed. I couldn't sleep! The worst part of this little anecdote is that it was so cold we could see our breath while we were talking. It's June. We should not be seeing our breath.
The locals are all commiserating about this weather droning on. True, there are worse weathers--floods, tornados, lightning sparked fires... Here, the plants are green (or pink) and fresh. It's just harder to enjoy them when your sopping wet, soaked to the skin and have been in that state since October.
If you have the opportunity to read Michael Burgess's Uncle Mike's Guide to the Real Oregon Coast you'll see what I'm talking about. Actually, here's a small excerpt describing "The Inhabitants" on the Coast: "These aren't people you should get to know. Or, for that matter, turn your back on. Set aside those warm, fuzzy notions about the family of man. To the water-logged little gnomes peering out from under their rain hoods, you're a visitor from another world: a world of sunlight, laughter, and dry clothes whose existence they know only by rumor and bitterly resent."
Most of us aren't quite that far gone, but we're starting to sympathize with those who are.
Meanwhile, tomorrow (Saturday) I'll be photographing the Annual Sandcastle Festival. Hopefully the weather will clear for awhile.
Truly, no one is as tired of looking at rain-drenched plants than I am, but I had to stop the other evening and photograph these poppies. They are paper-like and delicate. I loved the color and thought, " Who knows when the sun will finally arrive--if, in fact, there IS a sun..."
This morning, as I pulled out more grey and black long-sleeved items from my closet to put on, I wondered if it were still January, or, maybe we had moved on to March. The flowers are out after all. Listening to the rain hit the windows, I watched the waves churning, responding to today's storm. Definitely not linen pants weather.
I was talking with someone this evening about how I've gotten used to falling asleep to the rain on the roof, and, last night it stopped raining when I went to bed. I couldn't sleep! The worst part of this little anecdote is that it was so cold we could see our breath while we were talking. It's June. We should not be seeing our breath.
The locals are all commiserating about this weather droning on. True, there are worse weathers--floods, tornados, lightning sparked fires... Here, the plants are green (or pink) and fresh. It's just harder to enjoy them when your sopping wet, soaked to the skin and have been in that state since October.
If you have the opportunity to read Michael Burgess's Uncle Mike's Guide to the Real Oregon Coast you'll see what I'm talking about. Actually, here's a small excerpt describing "The Inhabitants" on the Coast: "These aren't people you should get to know. Or, for that matter, turn your back on. Set aside those warm, fuzzy notions about the family of man. To the water-logged little gnomes peering out from under their rain hoods, you're a visitor from another world: a world of sunlight, laughter, and dry clothes whose existence they know only by rumor and bitterly resent."
Most of us aren't quite that far gone, but we're starting to sympathize with those who are.
Meanwhile, tomorrow (Saturday) I'll be photographing the Annual Sandcastle Festival. Hopefully the weather will clear for awhile.
I have loved spring best of all the seasons. It was a time of promise and a season of insistence, When all that had been dead was born again. The flowering of the earth, the singing of birds, the rich smells of tree and vine. I have missed the fine touch of sea too sand.
I have missed the Oregon coast.
thank you for your work!
Jeff Stapleton
Kansas..
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