We’ve been living on the RV for almost three years now. We’ve seen a lot and grown closer but we miss having a house. We remembered a little town we’d visited a couple of times, Waldport, Oregon. It had a good, comfortable feel about it like old jeans and flannel shirts. The ocean is the heart of Waldport and its breath is the rise and fall of the tide each day.
Its a little town where the morning haze softens the sunrise.
Or celebrates its cotton candy colors.
Its situated in a landscape where bridges are works of art.
Where bearded men with weathered hands leave their families for months at a time to fish and crab the cold north Pacific coast.
Or hunch in their drift boats fishing the the Alsea River.
Or dig for clams along the muddy shoreline.
Its a place of pristine, silver streaked beaches.
Happy dogs and dancing kites.
Storms that blow in with gale force winds.
And an eagle couple flies side by side into the incoming storm.
Hopefully we’ll still travel to far off places, but there is no doubt, we have come home.