At the front desk, once again. A full house with all reservations checked in leaves me the evening free to take reservations over the phone, respond to requests for available rooms, act as concierge for those guests looking for dining and entertainment options and, of course, to run at their beck-and-call for extra towels or pillows, etc.
Out on the lawn, a while ago, straightening chairs, with the incoming tide bringing the ocean to the base of our retaining wall and with tendrils of a light fog swirling about, I was struck by a wave of nostalgia. Nearly at this time a year ago friend Larry and I were aboard ship cruising the coast of Alaska. Instead of gazing out over the unbroken expanse of the Atlantic, as I do here, it was the Pacific that stretched to the curvature of the earth.
Today friend Larry is introducing a mutual friend to the same parts of Oregon that I was introduced to then. Most impressive is the Willamette National Forest through which courses the waters of the MacKenzie river bent on joining those of the mighty Columbia. Massive Douglas fir and cedar trees line its banks, so tall and straight. I wonder if they'll cover 12 miles of it as we did a year ago.
Here now, looking toward the west, the fog has dissipated and a cloud laced sky is glowing with the pinks and reds painted by final remnants of the setting sun. The sky beyond is the color of robins' eggs. Now, the wispy clouds turn deep gray retaing the brilliant color on their westerly edges as the sky becomes golden.
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