It's the sound of 1,000 rivers that, after eddies and falls and dams and farms and whirlpools, have finally found their lowest home. They greet each other like long separate friends - joy, but also the ferocity of lost time and the acrid scent of salty tears.
This past weekend I took a vacation to the Oregon coast to celebrate a friend's birthday. When people asked why I was going I said, "To NOT fly fish. To NOT adventure, to NOT push it, to NOT find adrenaline. I'm going to eat brunch and sit in a hot tub and maybe wander on a beach." We found the best biscuits in town for a few days in Portland, then drove along the turquoise blue Wilson River to the Oregon Coast.
I grew up inland but with family to the West we'd always make an ocean trip once a year. I didn't realize how much I had missed it until I smelled it.