What I Should've Brought

Woke up yesterday to sun-washed rooms and that sweet, pine-sap smell that tells of an Oregon summer. I had big plans to spend the second of the two 88-degree days forecasted this week rambling through the woods to a miraculous beach on the Sandy River. But first! I had like a million things to do. So ... I drove all over town, I sold something old to a stranger and bought something new to replace it, I tamped down work-related fires as best I could, and then, then I got a piece of bad news right around lunch time—and this news was all I could taste as I ate a bowl of boiled eggs and potatoes.

My point? I was distracted—frazzled if you will—when departing on my preordained adventure. And so I forgot everything.

Here's all the stuff I wished I'd had with me as I hiked down a mountain to a river and then back up again.

-An ice-cold can of grapefruit Perrier. For sitting on the beach. With hurty feet and hot sand all around.

-Another dog to entertain my dog while I snoozed face down on my towel (instead—I spent the entire time throwing sticks as far as I could across the bright, glassy water).

-The best thick white zinc-oxide sun screen for my pasty, Oregon, sitting-in-front-of-the-computer skin (instead, today, I have sun burn).

-Salty chips to crunch on. Fruit, cheese, and bread to make it a meal. You get hungry wandering through woods—and I have long believed that sitting near a river listening to water rushing over rocks is a best-case scenario for eating a good meal.

-A panama hat to block that slanty late-afternoon sun, which dips at such sneaky angles that my current foam-mesh deal is rendered powerless.

I love these mossy tree trimmings—like pearl necklaces for the ancient creaking pines.

Northwest good luck. You can pick this stuff and pop it in your mouth—it tastes bright and lemony.