Monday, October 24, 2016
Memories of memories
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| Rich at Bullards Beach |
During my first year at Natural Bridge
Campground in southern Oregon Cheryl took a picture of me while I
was contemplating journeys made in my youth with my family. We would
stop near Union Creek and have a picnic by the Rogue River. Sitting
beside the Rogue River near the area where we would picnic vague
memories surface and a nostalgia for my family arises. All who
experienced these childhood events are gone except my brother.
Between the two of us we have vague memories.
The past week as we have been traveling
up the Oregon coast. I again have vague memories of family. Passing
by my old grade school in Jerome Prairie. Passing by Wilderville
where I performed a trumpet duet with Jerry whose last name I don't
recall. I remember us going up the hill in back of his house to
watch crows come to a tree. There were 100s of them. We passed the
turn off to Lake Selmac where I remember riding with my dad in a home
made sail boat. Something broke and we were blown across the lake
and had to walk back. Passing by Kerby where I remember missing 10
foul shots in a basketball game. Passing the turn off to Greyback
where we would camp every year and somewhere near Cave Junction a
turn off to go down the Illinois River to swim.
When we passed Jedediah State Park I
remember camping there and playing in a pick up softball game. Then
on through to Crescent City looking for the camp ground we used to
use that was right on the beach. But I could not find it. One of my
memories there of being 15 and wanting to strike up a conversation
with a couple of girls my age but was too shy. Passing by Azalea Park
in Brookings and visiting Harris Beach where we saw a dead whale.
Then on to Humbug Mountain Campground
where I got the worst sunburn in my life as we camped on the beach
with a shallow place to swim. Calling my brother I wanted to verify
that was the place and we again both have vague memories.
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| Bandon, Oregon beach |
Then on to Bandon where my father lived
but as I searched my memory I cannot ever remember going there. We
went to Sunset Bay a lot. I have a sadness that I do not know more
about his life growing up. I have memories of stories. Memories of
memories told not by my dad but by relatives. One being when he was
a young man driving down seven devils highway when he sees the front
wheel of his Model A? T? rolling down the hill in front of him. But
little about his life there. I know he built a house at one time and
his dad died working in a sawmill.
I have other family stories of my mom
who was born in Coquille Her father had 3 or 4 logging trucks that he
lost during the depression. They then moved to Jacksonville and he
worked as a caretaker at the Henley Ranch which is just a mile or two
from where my brother lives now.
So vague memories of my own and
memories of memories of stories is what I carry. When my brother and
I are gone so will those memories evaporate in the mists of time and
the mists of our minds.
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| Sunset. Subject to interpretation. |
