I started the day with a run in preparation for Voodoo donuts. We ran down to nearby Laurelhurst Park where I tripped on Henley and fell as soon as we entered. I did the slow roll to my back and Henley climbed on top of me, grateful for the rest. I hobbled to a bubbler and cleaned the gravel out of my flesh and washed the blood off both knees and an elbow. Fine, I didn’t want to run anyway. It was just my body’s way of telling me “No.” You should always listen to your body.
We walked the rest of the way to Voodoo while I watched everyone’s eyes scan down to my bloody knees. There was a line, but nothing like downtown’s. I do not wait in lines except sometimes I wait in lines for donuts. I waited for around fifteen minutes while Henley waited quietly outside, tired from the walk. I was next in line when I saw the “cash only” signs. This is why I should get contacts and this is why I don’t wait in lines. I left donutless.
After showering and packing up, we drove back to Voodoo. I wasn’t giving up. I got their classic jelly-filled voodoo doll and a vegan chocolate cake one because if it’s vegan it’s basically like eating a salad and, therefore, negates the second donut. We went to the International Rose Test Garden and mosied around the lovely flowers. I took pictures of Henley as other people took pictures of their children. ((Mine’s cuter and better behaved.)) We drove around Forest Park looking for a place to park and an entrance, but couldn’t really find one? I did give up on that and started to leave the city. The GPS said standstill traffic on the highway ahead and I wanted to eat my donut anyway so we went to Cup Coffee Co. Coffee, after gas, is my second greatest expense.
We headed north, entered the Olympic National Forest, rounded the Quinault Reservation, past Clearwater, and into the Olympic National Park. It’s a Twilight fan’s paradise up here.
I couldn’t decide if I should write this while memories were fresh and emotions still high or to save myself some embarrassment and wait until I calmed down. Well, as you can tell by the weirdness that is to come, I wrote right away.
The 101 finally brought me to the coast. It curved from west to north and even though there’s several yards of trees between the road and beach, I could tell it was near. I watched on my left side, hoping for a glimpse of it. Some spots were bare enough to see the foggy sky over the ocean through the trees. At the narrow road down to the first beach I got my first peek. I didn’t want to stop until I got to Ruby Beach, though, the last beach on this stretch. I didn’t want just a quick tease before getting back in the car. I wanted the full effect. I drove past one spot that was bare enough I could see the beach. It was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. It’s really embarrassing to say that because A) I’m not a cryer and B) How can something be so beautiful it makes you cry? I don’t know the answer myself. But it’s not just any beach. It’s not sand into water, the end. It’s so much more. I reached the little lot for Ruby Beach. I parked, put on flip flops and a hoodie, and started walking. A dirt path wound through lush forest down to the beach that was covered in drift wood. Not little pieces of wood but huge, whole trees. We climbed over the logs and walked over the smooth rocks and through the tide pools. I know I keep talking about all the beautiful places and they keep beating each other out for the number one spot, but this... this beach... I don’t want to say it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. That sounds generic and it deserves so much better than that. I just can’t describe my feelings for it without sounding like a freak. Person, place, or thing, I’ve never loved anything so much without knowing it. I love Massachusetts because it’s home. I love Ruby Beach because I was there for two minutes.
We strolled and wandered as the cloudy sky got darker. I didn’t want to leave. Even Henley sat down on the beach as we walked back in the direction of the car. I could have went back down to the campsite at one of the other beaches so I could have more time there. I could fall asleep and wake up to this coast. I just cannot swallow paying to sleep in my car and to be surrounded by people at that. The alternative was to keep driving north, through Forks, and find a place to sleep in the car. This would make tomorrow’s drive shorter. As the only way to stay near the beach was to stay in the campground, I decided to move on, but first I would have dinner with my new love before saying goodbye. The Washington coast was the hardest to leave of all the places I have left.
When I started driving, Cat Power’s Sea of Love played. It’s not like I’ve been listening to it this whole trip. It was actually supposed to be on the CD I’ve listened to a thousand times but it mysteriously disappeared from the playlist. Yesterday in Portland I finally remembered to put music on my phone to listen to in the car. This was the first time Sea of Love played. Between having to leave and this song, I cried a little again. Call me crazy, because I’m sounding crazy, but I can’t help but think that this is me and Ruby Beach’s song now. If I were to ever do something as silly as wed, I want to do it on this beach. I want my ashes spread at this beach. I’m going to name my first born Ruby. I’m going to give birth to Ruby on this beach. I’m going to die on this beach. I am totally kidding. Mostly.
On my way north, I drove through Forks. Forks is a small town with a population around three thousand. Only about four thousand people would ever know about it if it wasn’t for Stephenie Meyer. I’m at a rest stop of some kind except that it’s not a rest stop at all but has a sign that mentions resting at this stop so I’m sleepin’ at it.
Promise me you'll try to come here one day.
<3
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Look at that arm: injuries leftover from swimming |
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