All things come to an end. But every end is another’s beginning—and in this case it was the beginning of a roadtrip, back to sunny Southern California.
But it wasn’t a smooth ending or exit. Clearly, Oregon and I did not want to part ways.
We awoke on December 27th ready to spend two days on the road before arriving in Point Arena, California. I had an appointment set for the 29th to see a potential burial site for myself. I gotta think ahead (hopefully very, very far ahead). At Better Place Forests, instead of buying a burial plot in a cemetery, you buy a tree—or rather, the rights for your ashes to be buried beneath the tree. Unlike most traditional burial grounds, you are free to also bury your pets’ ashes there as well. Not that there was ever a question about this, but yes, my pups’ and my earthly remains will be together after all of our spirits shed them.
I was excited to finally see the Forest after reading about it for years and to take a lovely drive down the coast, much like Tucker and I had done four years prior. But alas, the state of Oregon still wasn’t up to snuff on their plowing. The main artery to the coast that I had tried on Christmas Day was still covered in snow. And given that the driveway was icy, I was concerned about the rest of the city roadways. Having driven across the polar vortex in February of 2021, and in plenty of winter conditions during my lifetime, I theorized that if could get to an interstate, I’d be fine. But getting to the nearest interstate, I-5, and taking an inland southern route didn’t seem possible either. I knew I wouldn’t make it over Grants Pass on I-5, just north of the California border. That was notorious for shutting down in the winter.
My landlord, who was driving northbound from the Bay Area along I-5, called me first thing in the morning to tell me he wouldn’t be there to see me off. He had gotten just north of Grants Pass when he slid off the road, hitting a snowbank. He had popped a tire and was waiting for a tow truck at a nearby hotel. No one had plowed.
So, by 1pm, with only three hours of daylight left, I made the call to stay another night. The truck was packed, but there was no need to risk my life just to be on time to see where I might want to be when I’m dead. I also had been giving myself a lot of extra time to make it there, so if I waited a day, rather than two short days of driving, it would be one long one.
My friend’s Christmas package arrived as we waited, so instead of having it forwarded to California, Tucker got to one more Christmas gift to destroy. Because that’s the point of all toys.
But it wasn’t a smooth ending or exit. Clearly, Oregon and I did not want to part ways.
We awoke on December 27th ready to spend two days on the road before arriving in Point Arena, California. I had an appointment set for the 29th to see a potential burial site for myself. I gotta think ahead (hopefully very, very far ahead). At Better Place Forests, instead of buying a burial plot in a cemetery, you buy a tree—or rather, the rights for your ashes to be buried beneath the tree. Unlike most traditional burial grounds, you are free to also bury your pets’ ashes there as well. Not that there was ever a question about this, but yes, my pups’ and my earthly remains will be together after all of our spirits shed them.
I was excited to finally see the Forest after reading about it for years and to take a lovely drive down the coast, much like Tucker and I had done four years prior. But alas, the state of Oregon still wasn’t up to snuff on their plowing. The main artery to the coast that I had tried on Christmas Day was still covered in snow. And given that the driveway was icy, I was concerned about the rest of the city roadways. Having driven across the polar vortex in February of 2021, and in plenty of winter conditions during my lifetime, I theorized that if could get to an interstate, I’d be fine. But getting to the nearest interstate, I-5, and taking an inland southern route didn’t seem possible either. I knew I wouldn’t make it over Grants Pass on I-5, just north of the California border. That was notorious for shutting down in the winter.
My landlord, who was driving northbound from the Bay Area along I-5, called me first thing in the morning to tell me he wouldn’t be there to see me off. He had gotten just north of Grants Pass when he slid off the road, hitting a snowbank. He had popped a tire and was waiting for a tow truck at a nearby hotel. No one had plowed.
So, by 1pm, with only three hours of daylight left, I made the call to stay another night. The truck was packed, but there was no need to risk my life just to be on time to see where I might want to be when I’m dead. I also had been giving myself a lot of extra time to make it there, so if I waited a day, rather than two short days of driving, it would be one long one.
My friend’s Christmas package arrived as we waited, so instead of having it forwarded to California, Tucker got to one more Christmas gift to destroy. Because that’s the point of all toys.
Waiting out the weather is not something residents of Southern California are used to doing. I had to dig deep to my New England roots to find the patience—and the joy—of postponing my plans to give Mother Nature time to do her thing.
I took that time to appreciate our stay, our play, and our moments during our Oregon tour. And Tucker took the time to thoroughly deconstruct his final Christmas gift of the year.
And I got some extra time to clean up the mess his venture made.
Which isn't a bad deal considering how much joy Tucker gets from the whole experience.
The next day we headed south on I-5 (now cleared of snow and ice) until we could cross over to the coast where the temperatures were still above freezing. I still didn’t trust the mountainous terrain—or rather I didn’t trust government transportation departments—to be free from hazards near the border.
It’s a much prettier drive anyway, in my opinion.
Tucker didn't care either way, as for him it's more about the scents than the sights, but he seems to enjoy both.
It’s a much prettier drive anyway, in my opinion.
Tucker didn't care either way, as for him it's more about the scents than the sights, but he seems to enjoy both.
While there are no official rest stops along the 101 in Oregon, one can stop and rest just about anywhere. And so we took a moment to enjoy the setting sun and the Oregon beach before crossing back to the Golden State.
State lines are nothing more than man-made imaginary boundaries. The ocean, the land, and the skies do not care for such delineation. We humans put significance on things to create order and give ourselves milestones, even if they are sad ones. I had enjoyed Oregon, and would like to return. But it wasn’t because it was a place named Oregon. It was because in this area of the planet, Nature created a stunning coastline and beautiful forest with cool temperatures and an energy that resonated so in sync with mine that it made me feel at home. But that feeling does not necessarily end when we cross the border. For in northern California, much of the same energy resonates.
As the sun took its leave beneath the horizon, we started up our trusty steed once more and continued southbound, past the manmade sign letting us know we were back in the Golden State where redwood trees reach for the skies and the bluffs show off their character as they stand against the ocean.
As the sun took its leave beneath the horizon, we started up our trusty steed once more and continued southbound, past the manmade sign letting us know we were back in the Golden State where redwood trees reach for the skies and the bluffs show off their character as they stand against the ocean.
Just because we were leaving Oregon didn’t mean that the stunning coastline or beautiful forest just ended. There was still much to experience as Mother Nature doesn’t heed manmade borders, but spreads her art as far and wide as her creative vision sees fit. And regardless of the name we put to these places, Tucker and I will experience as many of these places as can fit into our lifetime together.
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