The same old silver grater, clear glass bowl, dented wooden spoon used to make round applesauce cake for first birthdays today made muffins for freshman and senior year. Instead of watching from your wooden high chair, bass boomed behind closed bedroom doors while green granny smith apples, bright orange carrots joined honey, oats, almond flour for you. Another day of beautiful childhood fleeting before lovesick eyes not done soaking up all the wondrous firsts, seconds of motherhood’s dance. Don’t blink they tell you; blink blink blink
My daughter and I visited the West Coast Game Park Safari located in Bandon, Oregon. While many people rave about this place, what I saw concerned me. Some of the animals seemed distressed or uncared for. While I appreciated being able to see them so close, I couldn’t help but wonder about the history of the animals and the park.
Before leaving I asked about the lovely chimpanzee named Daphne (the first picture below), but they couldn’t tell me anything about her. All questions were answered with “read the signs,” which were faded and had no information about where the animals originated from.
Today I did a little research before posting these photos and it seems the park has been listed on Peta’s list of Highway Hellholes and has received many citations for animal neglect. I wish I was wrong, but I don’t think this is a good place for animals and I can’t recommend it. However, I still wanted to share my favorite photos of these beautiful animal ambassadors. They deserve better.
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Some bonus photos from our travels through Oregon:
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She closed her eyes. She drew her shoulders back. She took a slow and steady breath. There was tension in the air. A weight. A wait. There was no wind. She did not speak. The world grew and stretched tight.
-Patrick Rothfuss, The Slow Regard of Silent Things
There’s nothing quite like standing on the beach at sunset and watching the sky and water play together with a dance of reflection and light. On our recent trip to Oregon my daughter and I sat apart from each other in complete silence watching the sun slowly descend into a bank of clouds. It was slow and sudden—a beautiful, fleeting moment of peace.
Today’s photo selections are of the place my father lives in Oregon called Little Whale Cove. It’s a hidden and magical gem we feel incredibly grateful to visit each summer. I hope you enjoy them!
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Stay tuned: Next week I’ll be sharing photos of our visit to the West Coast Game Park Safari.
losing power inside your deep roaring wild whitecaps fingers touch fusing together foaming—equal dance partners
last minute quick turn freckled face warmed red singing in sweet harmony until we meet again
While visiting Oregon last week, I stood on the bank of a beautiful green river and was completely overwhelmed by how familiar it felt. Had I dreamed of this place? Did I visit its rushing waters in another lifetime? I wanted to be within its icy water and feel the power sweep me swiftly away. It called to me. This poem is an attempt at processing this strange and odd feeling. Has this ever happened to you?
I’ve spent the last week traveling through Oregon with my teenage daughter. We started at my dad’s house in Depoe Bay, moved to Bandon, and then finished in Rainbow. I took hundreds of photos. Oregon is photogenic as heck! I’ve decided to split them up and share some each Monday for a few weeks.
My photos today are of tiny Depoe Bay and our whale watching excursion through Dockside Charters. We saw four tails and lots of spouts of water, but I wasn’t quick enough to capture a great photo within our hour trip. It didn’t stop us from having a blast standing at the bow of the ship as we bounced through the ocean laughing and scanning the water. It’s an experience neither of us is likely to forget.
I hope these photos of the peaceful coolness of the Pacific coast bring you a little bit of joy.
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joyful wild whispers dancing damp locks freckled face freedom
After spending the weekend surrounded by messages of peace and love, I traveled to the lush coolness of the Oregon coast. I spent the morning whale watching on a boat with my daughter. The world seems to be whispering to me to be still and observe. I’m listening.
For the last few days, I danced and listened to music at California WorldFest. This global music festival is held each summer in the heart of the Sierra Nevada. It’s become a family favorite and for us it means free roaming children, pesto pineapple pizza, dirty feet, giant bubbles, dancing until your dizzy, hanging with friends, and discovering new musicians to obsess over.
This year I took my camera for the first time and snapped photos while I danced near the stage, walked through the festival, and sat on my blanket beneath the beautiful trees. The experience felt magical and refilled my creative bucket until it overflowed. I wrote snippets of lyrics as they caught my ear—”joy rings like a mission bell,” “words are your currency,” “love=revolution,” and “will we lemon or honey?”
Here are just a few of the hundreds of photos I took this weekend. I hope you enjoy them.
Another fiery hot headache erupts inside your skull turning pale cheeks crimson. Disappearing beneath a thin, black blanket—you retreat into the cave’s deep crisp darkness. I suppress bubbling anger’s hot breath tight inside infinities compassionate heart; draining like cups lining crowded cracked windowsill. Please,
be okay. Worry lines crease, carve my aging mom face— chiseled rock tracing waters long cascading movements through life’s echoey darkness. Foamy pools of cooling relief sit waiting for moments to pass, for pacing eons to eek by into light’s laughing return. Heart remembers every nighttime outcry, each soothing back rub. Please,
be okay. Reaching through foggy depths flash flooded with writhing madnesses ugly nightmares, your fingers wind tight around blankets edge; my feather-soft motherly kisses on soaked brows do nothing. Anger ripples dirty clothes piled high igniting guilt’s powerful ringing rage pounding ancient rocks into fine powdery dust. Please,
be okay. Fear transforms uneven tapering columns into screeching monsters to slay. Drawing wet sword angry words drip, drip, drip through silence too thick for thinking. Screams soften by plunging heavy, headfirst into icy water’s depth to see through stinging eyes past adventures where love’s sweet patience held fast. Please,
be okay. Lashing, tearing with pain’s tired hoarse voice blame begets blame until desperate razor-sharp rockslides throw open windows repose letting sweet swirling wind signal truce. Whispered kindness wipes at particles left stinging, laughing off this dance, forgetting how darkness clung everywhere at once—embracing love’s shining light.
My teenage son suffers from chronic migraines. While I strive to be loving, kind, and motherly at all times, anger bubbles forth when he’s down. It’s anger at the situation, but it becomes anger at everything. We fight when it’s over as if we can keep it from returning by scaring it away. I’m not proud of this pattern and this poem is my attempt at processing my feelings.
It’s fascinating to discover the mood of a person’s home—the things they choose to collect, the way the furniture is arranged, and the items which make up the unique personalities of the people who live within its walls. I’d describe our home as weathered, warm, eclectic, and messy. I am sentimental. I have lots of artwork made by my kids, plants, a teacup collection from one grandmother, a glass perfume bottle collection from another, ceramics, and lots of books and photographs.
I’ve been mostly homebound this week so I decided to photograph things around my house—a tiny glimpse into the place I call home. I hope something here brings a smile to your face.
Next week I’ll be attending a music festival and should have some interesting photos to share with you. Have a wonderful week and, if you live where it’s heating up, stay safe!
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Bridgette Tales 