The alluring photos of Sitka Sedge State Park enticed me to take a drive back to the coast the very next weekend. A lake, the ocean, a forest, sand dunes: this place had it all.

But one thing I didn’t take into account was the weather. Despite spending almost all of 2021 where weather exists (like winter in Connecticut and summer in Georgia), being back on the west coast, I was suddenly in the Southern California mindframe: the sun shines every day. And while that is basically and scientifically true, it doesn’t show itself quite too often in Oregon. And much like Los Angeles, the land is transformed by the sky above.

We arrived under grey skies, but the thing about grey skies in Oregon is that it’s more of an immersive experience than just a change of lighting. You’re more “in” the clouds than below them. The color of the foliage and even the water, was muted by the grey above (and all around) us.
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We walked along the marshes first,

Then through the forest,

Then as if this was Christmas at Pismo Beach, we entered the dunes.

Eventually we made it to the beach.

The Pacific Ocean is right there. Honest. It is.

I’m sure the views are stunning when the clouds lift.

We returned on the back end of the loop to the lake, where again, had it been blue skies and sunshine, would have looked drastically different.

But this is what we saw.

Nothing wrong with it, just different. It proves that your perception isn’t just colored by your perspective but by everything around what you’re looking at. We don’t look at one thing; we absorb it all. I always wonder how Tucker perceives our hikes. He’s having an entirely different sensory experience than I am. The scents and the world he experiences I cannot even begin to imagine. For him, whether it’s cloudy or not, his imagery may not change. But with the rains, the scents take on new depths, and a breeze can scatter the smells in all directions.

Perhaps we shall return another time to experience this place under blue skies. Perhaps I will come with a different perspective as well, and the colors around me will change in light of it all.

With a good night’s rest behind us, the truck all packed up, and a 2pm appointment to sign the lease of our Portland home, Tucker and I headed to an oddly named trail: God’s Thumb via The Knoll.

There were some differing opinions on where to start the hike—all the way at the bottom that led through some streets, or closer to The Knoll, a hike that was just a stopping point on the way to God’s Thumb.

Given that it had been some time since we had extreme elevation gain in our walkabouts, I chose to get as far uphill as possible with our trusty steed before we hoofed it ourselves.

With a time commitment ninety miles away, I couldn’t lollygag through this hike, and I wanted time to enjoy the sights that took my breath away, not stop every five feet to catch my breath from the physical exertion of the climb itself.

It was as described: a straight up climb. Even my truck rested on an incline. As I came to the turn the Knoll, I relished the anticipation as we walked along the mostly flat narrow trail through the meadow.

The trail opened up to a wide expanse looking southward along the Oregon coast. The word “Knoll” didn’t do it justice.

We stayed and took it all in: the fog across the mountains, the clouds above the sea, the secret mountain lake beyond the trees.

And once we felt we had had our fill, we journeyed back into the forest to get to God’s Thumb.

Most was forest, up and down, not a consistent climb, but having already done a pretty steep hike, I worried a little every time we went downhill, wondering if I’d be able to make it back up at the end.

Once up and out of the treeline, we came to a group of hikers sitting on the grassy area overlooking the Thumb. I saw the quick descent downward which would then go up again like a rollercoaster to get to the top of the Thumb. I wasn’t sure I needed to do it, and with an appointment only a few hours away, I knew I wouldn’t be able to just run back up the hill.
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Just watching one person climb up made me hesitant--

—and seeing how tiny people looked from where I stood. The app was saying it was less than half a mile away, which on flat ground is like five minutes, and it looked like it was right there. But...

I turned to the group: “Have you guys gone out there?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

"Not this time.”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Just trying to determine if it’s worth it,” I said. I didn’t mention my fear of heights and being on a precarious pile of sand and rocks on the edge of the ocean might not be the best idea for me.

One member of the group shared a sage perspective. “I came to see God’s Thumb and I can see it from here. If I’m on it, I can’t see it.”

Valid point. Here it is. We had accomplished our goal.

I sat on the ground overlooking the Thumb and watched a few people disappear out of sight as they journeyed further. One person stopped and asked me if I knew if there was way to get to another cliff north of where we stood. Cross-referencing the actual landscape with my digital map, it certainly seemed there was, but I couldn't advise how to get there from here.

He asked if I had done the climb to the top of the Thumb. I answered that I wouldn’t be doing it; I was happy to enjoy the views from right here without any fear of slipping off the precipice into the rocky ocean below.

We stayed a little longer to take in the views and to give the hiking group a lead. For me, hiking is a solitary, spiritual experience (solitary with Tucker; he’s so much a part of me—or me a part of him—that I consider us singular). However, I do appreciate that for others it is a social occasion. I have had a few social hikes myself. But overall, I appreciate Nature without additional humans around.

We ventured down the mountain and took one more look from the Knoll before meeting back up with our trusty steed and racing back to the city. Lease signed on time and my heart at peace, we drove to our temporary lodging in a new neighborhood for us to explore: Woodstock.

Tuck makes himself at home wherever we go. Even if in this basement apartment that didn’t even have room for his crate.

I try to emulate his sense of ease in our travels. Perhaps because he’s not in charge of locating lodging, he can be a little more relaxed about it.
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For the next few days, between work and sleep we ventured around this neighborhood. One afternoon we even took the trails of higher learning. Reed College, just across the street, was more of a park than a campus. Having the city of Boston has my college campus, this was like a whole other planet.

In the first nine days in Oregon, we slept in three different beds, explored two different neighborhoods of Portland and a seaside town, worked seven of those days from various desks and couches at these temporary lodgings, and then finally got to settle into our longterm housing. Sometimes it takes a little while to find your place in life (and in Oregon), but that’s okay. Enjoy every twist and turn of the journey, knowing that each step brings you closer. And as long you don’t settle for what doesn’t seem right, you’ll eventually come upon exactly what you've been searching for: Home.

Back before hiking apps, my own sense of where a trail would lead me was in written description and maybe an old black and white photograph. I could only guess where I would end up, or what it would be like along the way. I went on the trail to experience the trail, not necessarily where the trail would lead. Although I always appreciated a sweeping vista or magical waterfall at some point.

Now I see photographs from crowd-sourcing apps before heading out and have detailed maps that track my every move and let me know if I’m off course. But there is no app for life’s many trails and paths. You just go along and if things get murky and difficult or the path becomes unclear, you just have to muddle through and keep on going. There’s no turning around on life’s trails.

After the past year and a half, with it’s mud, snow and ice (literally and figurative), I certainly didn’t expect life’s path to finally come across the trail that led to Portland. I had first heard the call of the Pacific Northwest in the early 1990’s. From the stories I had heard and the few visuals I could find, it was a place of untouched beauty, and Portland was a place of eccentric people who came to live there to be stewards of such beauty. I had heard of many a sci-fi and fantasy writer who made their home here, to listen to the wind and scribe the stories told upon the summer breeze.

So when I got the call for a little movie (with a general plot of  the perfect covid-compliant film I had been asking for since 2020) to go to Portland, Oregon, I couldn’t say No. I had finally come to the Oregon Trail (so to speak… and hopefully I wouldn’t die of dysentery before arrival).

But it appeared while I was ready to go to Portland, Portland wasn’t quite ready for Tucker and me. Searching for lodging for a couple of weeks was turning up nothing for the timeframe we needed. I changed the timeframe, hoping to get something maybe not so long or started later, and still nothing.

Three days before departure, I found an Airbnb that would at least get us till the next Saturday after arrival. I had hoped while in town, it would be easier to find a place.
Out Airbnb was a cute area of town. Much like San Francisco, Portland has various neighborhoods, each with its own personality. In the Sellwood district, dogs rode bikes and wore capes.

And people didn’t just lend out books here, but also rocks. With the right stone at the right time, anything is possible.

I probably should have borrowed a rock for some needed support on our quest for home. Because four days in, the possibilities were still nil. But I had to trust in the universe. The production office was also having trouble finding itself. I didn’t even have a location to dump my belongings or work equipment. I was circling the town without a landing place or even a place to parachute into.

The day before the end of our Airbnb, I contacted two more places. And Saturday morning, while taking Tucker for his morning walk before packing up the Airbnb, I received two calls back.

The first place was definitely in “the city”. The graffiti on the storefronts, the bars on the windows, and trash on the streets… I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t feel safe walking Tucker more than a block away. It was a cute house, but it wasn’t for us. So onto the next one.

The moment I rolled up to it, my heart leapt from my chest to embrace it. It had a Portland address, but was a little on the outskirts. The neighborhood was warm and welcoming, and the trees on the property made the house a home.

The owner showed me around the house, and the only thought in my head was, “I need to live here. This is our place.” The rent was the right price, but moreover, the place was the right place. I told him how much I loved all the trees, and he said he and wife bought this house precisely because of the trees. The wide windows and sliding glass doors, the deck, the firepit, the vegetable gardens, the fenced yard… it was my Portland home.  But he had other people interested in renting it--and for a longer term.

Without a moment's hesitation, I told him I’d give him a three month lease (even though at this point, I’d probably only need it for two). I wanted to stay to vacation here, so I put that card on the table. He said he’d get back to me.

So Tucker and I, now homeless (just another Portland experience), headed west for the weekend. If I had to pay for a hotel room, it might as well be some on oceanfront property, and we could do some exploring.

We were half way there when the owner called: he and his wife discussed it, and I seemed to be a good fit. I was elated. Tuck and I had a home! And it was THE home. But we couldn’t get in for four more days. Every cleaner in town was booked till then.
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So be it. With our Portland long term home ready, Tuck and I went to greet the ocean.

Unfortunately, with our late start due to checking out housing, we missed low tide so our beach adventure was cut a little short.

But all was well. We could get a good night’s rest, look for some short term lodging, get up early, and do a long hike in the morning before heading back to town to sign the lease.

However, even the coast wasn’t ready for us. After an hour in the truck calling various hotels, I finally found one half an hour away. It was a hundred dollars more than I wanted to spend. I asked the woman if it was an incredible place with a beautiful view and she said, “I’d like to say that, but I’m not going to lie. It’s just a hotel room overlooking the parking lot.

I had to take what I was given. Trails don’t come to an end; they keep going as long as you put one foot in front of the other. It may not be the prettiest footfall, but if the earth is stable, it'll hold you.

While the price wasn’t ideal, it was a clean, safe place to stay. And Tucker got a gift bag, so he wasn't complaining.

There was a pizza place right next door, so I could easily get food (they even brought it outside since I couldn’t go inside with Tucker), and best of all, despite us having a view of the parking lot from our room, the ocean and sunset were just a block away.

Our first week had been a bit tumultuous, but like every trail, if you just keep going, eventually the terrain and the view will change. So we kept going. Now that we had a homebase locked in and a short term airbnb lined up to carry us through a few more nights, we could get to some real exploring. The Oregon Trail may end in Oregon, but it's only so a vast more array of trails can begin.