Looking at them easily transports me back to being a child. The houses along the beachfront in Manzanita sit back from the beach. It can be challenging to describe the distance, but I would give it a few hundred feet. Within the area are gently rolling sand dunes covered with native grass. The kind strong enough to stand the strong winds that whip across the shore. During my childhood, I can recall yearly weekends in the fall. Being spent with extended family, along the Oregon Coast. Many of those weekends where spent in the rented homes of Manzanita. Not unlike the one I recent spent time inside. For a few days, removed from the hustle and bustle of the Seattle suburbs. As an adult, the trip to Manzanita looks a little different than during my childhood. The sudden games of baseball and football don’t occur like they did at one point. The kind played on an empty beach, often in the cold, and sometimes in the rain. The beach fires aren’t as prevalent today and s’mores are a distant memory. However, being alongside the ocean today, brings its own kind of clarity. The golf still gets played, at the short nine-hole course up the street. But, more time is spent these days, walking the beach, trying to answer the larger questions swirling in my mind. As I reminisce on the memories gathered during my childhood.
The years of storms along the coast have changed the picture of the gentle dunes. They have been pushed back, the sand being washed away, into the Pacific. The native grass, now showing its roots from the beach, below. Places have to be carefully selected for a dissention onto the beach. Not as I remember when coming here for past fall weekends. We would scrounge around for hours. Looking for higher and higher location to jump off. Knowing the soft sand below would provide for good landing. the game was to get a running start, jumping off the highest point of a sand dune. With feet, out in front of my body, the landing would be stuck in the soft, downward sloping, sand. There was little possibility of getting hurt and large possibility for fun. I remember spending hours jumping off the top of sand dunes. Walking up and down the beach in search of the largest peaks of sand, to jump from. Which, probably amounted to nothing greater than ten feet. But, back in the days of playing in the sand, ten feet of air time was priceless. Back then, each gap in the native grass led to a gradual slope onto the beach. Some were steeper than others, and those were the diamonds to be found. When walking out there today and proceeding through a gap in the grass. It has become likely to see a sudden drop. A wall of grass roots, where all the sand has been washed away. The soft places for a young jumper to land have been eroded away in the storms.
Another ability I felt blessed to have. Cerebral palsy could have taken away the chance to enjoy those fall weekends. It was true, my ability to jump out as far, was probably limited. I couldn’t get the air under my jump to sail a great length. But, the amazing thing about jumping off the sand dunes was the length didn’t matter much. The same feeling could be experienced, without it depending on the landing spot. I recall my feet burring themselves in the soft slope of sand, following a jump. Similar to the long jumpers I would watch in the summer Olympics. When their feet would dig, what seemed like craters, into the sandboxes. It was the same feeling I recall attempting to achieve. Something else great about the made-up game was its low risk of injury. A concept always running through my mind, especially at a young age. The concern with losing my balance and hurting myself, was always a factor. Falling during games of football, basketball, or baseball, often seemed to be a risk, with my disability. Accidents with cerebral palsy seemed more likely. They could also be more damaging, because of my difficulty controlling my body. Throughout my youth, finding games to play, which avoided many balance risks, was amazing. Even better was when others enjoyed in them, as well. Jumping off the sand dunes was a memorable game during childhood. One, washed away from the storms.
Walking to the beach on this trip, looks different from childhood. Along the stretch of dunes and native grass, there are few areas to enter the beach. In days gone by, most any gap in the grass would provide a path to the beach. Today, there are steep drops from the highest point of the dunes. Like cliffs, one might be excited to jump from, if there were deep water, below. Those steep drops where once ideal to plunge off. As, in the days of being a kid, there would be a steep hill of soft sand, rather than a sheer drop. It has been surprising to see, on all of walks down to the beach. Walking along the dunes doesn’t feel as safe, as it once was. I have to be sure in keeping my balance, in places. But, walking along those high dunes has been fun for the week. Providing an elevated view of the beach below, as I stroll to the low point found to enter. There have been two points to enter the beach from the upper dunes. The place for the week is situated between the two gradual entrances. Though walking to the right, when the end of the dunes is met, has brought back the most memories. Walking along the dunes above the beach, my memories wonder in and out, like the sea below. Not all memories of the coast at Manzanita bring happy thoughts.
The best memories are the ones of jumping off the high dunes. Landing feet first in the soft sand below and running toward the beach. Back at the rented house, removed from the fun of kids playing in sand dunes. The chaos of drinks flowing like water, reigned supreme. Kids don’t know it to be anything abnormal. The acts of waiting for the children to fall asleep, before some adults walked to the bar. It wasn’t much different from the weekend nights alone. When a father would head off to a buddy’s house, after the kids went to bed. It felt like, no matter what the joy of a beach day might bring. The fear of a drunken night always loomed in the background. Creating fear over things a child has challenges understanding. The other thing known for sure, was the overwhelming sense of fear. Though inside those homes by the beach, having more people around, dealing with the scary nights, was made a little easier. Then, as we grow, there becomes a more profound understanding of the emotions. I’m left with the understanding that what was experienced back then, wasn’t my doing. But, the aftermath leaves behind the triggers to deal with on every visit. So, the visits to the coast in Manzanita bring a variety of emotions. The good of spending time with loved ones. The bad, were scary nights that couldn’t be escaped by a child.
Today, the trips to the Oregon Coast have much more peace. They are void of the chaos experienced during my childhood years. No late-night trips to the local bar, for more hours of drinking. The quiet of the coast helps different activities for my life. Time spent reading books, while the calm of the sea helps me write. Walking along the beach unlocks my imagination and helps me ponder important topics. The favorite places are explored with each coastal adventure. The bakery in Cannon Beach and Bruce’s Candy Kitchen. To gather candy, I should probably skip, but cannot resist. There’s always Mo’s for some great fish and chips, but don’t miss out on their clam chowder. Fultano’s has some of the best pizza I have ever tasted. While, Insomnia Coffee should be high on the list, for a visit. It’s all a part of the Oregon Coast experience that has been part of my entire life. It is true, Cannon Beach doesn’t carry the triggers of the scary nights spent in Manzanita, during my youth. The small town of Cannon Beach can have you feeling like you just walked into a Hallmark movie. Either way, a trip to the Oregon Coast can provide a relaxing way to get away from life for a while.
A Journey With Cerebral Palsy 