January 17, 2005

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  The Siletz River

  
  

   

  
  

  Part II 

  
  

   

  
  

  Below the parking lot, hardly visible from the deck, are various shades of grasses:  deep dark-green spikes and tall, tan, plumed stalks.  Cascading alyssum and nasturtium fall beneath the railing, down into a path of shale, set in pebble rock.  The path is not meant to be walked on, as the shale would break.  It leads down to a landing above the river, accented with a massive, squat rock, upon which four might perch.  Below this giant rock they’ve dumped two yards of a mix of rock into which several sculptures stand, framing the edge above the bank.  Behind and in front of this throne of a rock stand  three (some kind of tropical looking thing)……..s; one behind and two in front, acting as guards to the entrance. 

  
  

   

  
  

  I stand in disbelief.  Somebody else saw its potential.  They saw way more than I ever could.  And they had the money and the guts to do it.  I look up and say a prayer of thanks, so grateful that people did the right thing here.  Leaning over the railing, I imagine what it must be like to sit in the sun on that mighty rock.  The geese complain but I linger, looking upstream.  I want to stand on that dock again.  I go back up to my car and notice the purple daisies still in bloom. They’ve planted them in between foliage, along the fence.  I guess they are kept warm by the big rocks they peek out from. 

  
  

   

  
  

  I head toward the campground.  It’s back in about a mile.  Once I brought my bike and rode back in, as far as I could go.  I took a trail up into the woods, found a clearing and stripped down to nothing but my socks and shoes.  It was so nice I fell asleep in the sun.  But I woke up with a start, to a rustling in the bushes.  I remember getting out of there in a hurry.   Today, as I round the corner and drive down in to where I camped, the place is empty.  I park and make my way past the little store where you check in, down to the dock.  This is absolutely one of the most beautiful  stretches of river that I know of.  It’s so narrow; I could probably throw a rock and hit the other side.  I walk down to the edge of the dock, in the direction of the restaurant, and stand where I’d spent long hours in the sun, with my daughter sewing and my dog swimming.  She learned to cross-stitch that day.  I look back as far as the eye can see, to where I go berry picking. 

  
  

   

  
  

  I suddenly remember that my car alarm is broken.  I made the mistake of locking the car and at any moment this serene setting could be ruined by the honk honk honking of my alarm.  I hurry back up the slick planks when I’m met by a pleasant fellow wondering if he can help me.  I explain that I was just missing the river and wanted a quick look.  He says, “You’re welcome to pull up a chair and a cup of coffee.”  And I am reminded of why I came to love this place.  The people who run it are wonderful.  I make it to my car before the alarm goes off and head back to the motel. But just as I am pulling back onto the highway, I remember the dream.

  
  

   

  
  

   

  
  

  To be continued…

  
  

   

  
  

   

  • 2:42 am
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