09-30-2025 September The "Big Birthday" Month

 

The lower half of the property is dry all summer until the rains begin in the fall

As I write, it is early October and already raining. Fall this year has been much different than we usually see here in Grants Pass. Often it’s still dry and warm, and I watch flowers, lawns, and trees suffer with heat and drought even into October.

No matter how much I water, the dogwood suffers the most from our hot summers

As September began, life was about easing into the changing needs of early fall. We caught up on doctor visits, skin checks, eye checks, and took care of the myriad chores that somehow take up so much time. We had to have keys made for the new truck, with a big surprise when I learned they would cost $120 each! Mo harvested the last of the apples, and I made another pie, even better than the last one.

The flowers love it when the temperatures of summer ease into fall

This year, September gave the gift of wetting rains on the 7th, then again for a few days mid-month, and another shower on the last day of the month. It was amazing to watch our dry pasture grasses begin to show green long before September was over. Usually, we don’t see green until mid-October, sometimes even into November.

Look at that green grass coming already, and the springtime poppies are really confused

My friend Maryruth and I were laughing the other day about our California friends who think of Oregon as a wet and rainy state. They don’t realize that “Oregon” and “Southern Oregon” are very different regions. Our climate here has more in common with the hot, dry parts of Northern California than the misty forests up north. Another fact that’s often forgotten is that more than a quarter of Oregon is what we locally call “high desert.”

Followers of this blog know that Mo and I love the high deserts of Oregon and have spent many happy travels camping there. The Oregon high desert feels like another planet with wide horizons where light and shadow trade places all day long. Sagebrush and juniper scent the wind, and the silence is palpable. Volcanic ridges and dry lakebeds hold the memory of ancient seas, and as Mo and I often say, “I can feel my eyeballs stretching.”

However, this September we had other plans.

I was three in the photo the kids enlarged for the birthday party

In celebration of what’s considered a somewhat momentous birthday, my 80th, our family planned a shared outing to the coast. Originally, I chose a house just south of Cannon Beach for the gathering. The daughters hunted for the house and reserved it more than a year in advance. We had imagined spouses, grandkids, and extended family joining us, but we learned quickly that many houses have a one-week minimum stay and won’t allow pets under any circumstances. After a bit of sticker shock for a week near Cannon Beach, we did some rethinking.

None of us really wanted to stay an entire week, and the cost was prohibitive, especially after we learned that Deanna’s husband Keith, couldn’t make it and Melody’s husband Robert, would be working out of the country.

The house in the middle, barely visible above the beach pines, is "Once Upon a Tide"

Instead, we chose three perfect days at a great house called Once Upon a Tide in the beachfront town of Rockaway Beach, on Oregon’s northern coast in Tillamook County, stretching about seven miles along the sandy shoreline.

The view south along the coast from the trail to the beach

Rockaway Beach is a laid-back, family-friendly town where visitors come to walk the shore, fly kites, hunt shells, and breathe salt air. In town there’s a sprinkling of local shops, seafood restaurants, and the Cedar Wetlands Nature Preserve, home to the “Big Tree,” thought to be hundreds of years old. Once a resort destination connected by train in the early 1900s, Rockaway still carries that nostalgic coastal charm, quieter than many Oregon Coast towns yet rich with shoreline drama and sea-wind stories. It was the perfect choice for our celebration.

Originally, when I chose Cannon Beach, I imagined the shopping opportunities, the great restaurants, and the beautiful beach. The more we planned our time at Rockaway, the more we realized that eating out and shopping weren’t high on the agenda and that simply hanging out together was the priority.

We planned our meals with each daughter sharing a night of cooking. All I needed to do was show up with a couple of salads.

In addition, the fact that our time together was limited to just Mo and me and the daughters made it even more special. It has been years since I’ve had time like this with my three girls, and I treasured every single minute.

The kitchen and dining area were very roomy and comfortable

The house was lovely, with two levels. The top floor included the kitchen and dining area, a big cozy living room with lots of reclining chairs and sofas, and a wonderful master suite with a very comfortable bed.

The three bedrooms were downstairs in what was obviously a space designed for large parties with a pool table, ping pong, beer fridge, and big screen TV. I only needed to use those stairs a couple of times, once entering the house and once leaving.

The living room faced the outside deck with a somewhat limited view of the ocean beyond the sea grass. It wasn’t a long walk to the beach, and there were no dunes to climb to get there. In addition, there was a big, spotless hot tub on the deck.

Yummy drinks and wine with our first night supper of beer-battered halibut and chips with cole slaw

We arrived on Sunday afternoon and settled in right away, with Melody taking charge of dinner that night. She brought a huge chunk of fresh halibut and made superb beer-batter fish and chips. I haven’t had halibut that good since Mo and I were in Alaska.

Lots of room for relaxing and visiting

The evening stretched into a lovely sunset, and the five of us sat around laughing and talking together until that comfy bed finally called to me. I think the girls stayed up much later, scheming plans for the next day.

The girls went all out for the birthday decor

I woke up on my birthday morning and stepped out of the bedroom to the most amazing sight. The girls had filled the upstairs with decorations, flowers, candles, birthday signs, and balloons. I was so moved and so thrilled. Everywhere I looked, there was something delightful and creative to smile about, such a wonderful surprise.

Look close and you can see Mattie off leash to the right of Mo on this lovely beach morning

One of the nicest things about staying at this particular house was the ease of getting to the beach. We could walk there whenever we felt like it, all together, or just Mo and me, or Mo and Mattie. I’m not sure how many times we walked the beach, but each one was a treasure.

For lunch that day we drove the two miles into the main area of town to visit the famous Pronto Pup. Rockaway Beach claims a delicious bit of history. In 1939, George and Versa Boyington were selling hot dogs near the sand when a rainstorm ruined their buns. George whipped up a cornmeal batter, dipped the franks, and the Pronto Pup was born. They trademarked the recipe soon after, making Rockaway’s stand the first of its kind, though Texans still swear by the Fletcher brothers’ “Corny Dog” from the early 1940s, and Illinois boasts its own Cozy Dog claim. Still, on the Oregon Coast, locals insist the corn dog’s true birthplace came with a view of the Pacific.

The corn dogs were wonderful, although I still think the foot-long ones Mo and I shared at the Balloon Festival at 5:30 in the morning, waiting for the sun to rise, were the best ever. On the other hand, the pickle dog was a true bust, nothing like the fried pickles that Mo and I had at Pickle’s Burgers and Shakes in Seaside, Florida.

Melody enjoying the goodies at the fun beach store

After lunch we did succumb to a bit of shopping in town, enjoying the eclectic offerings at Flamingo Jim’s Gifts and Clothing. Deb found a garden bench she loved, but I didn’t spend a penny there, in spite of all the treasures that filled the aisles.

Melody took the photo so she isn't in this one

That evening was the “birthday dinner,” a magnificent spread of home-smoked ribs that Deb prepared before coming, with all the goodies to go along with it. 

After dinner, we shared another wonderful walk on the beach, watching the sun set over the ocean. Everyone took so many gorgeous photos of the family and the sunset that I created an entire album of just that evening walk on the beach.  Here are just a few:

This last photo captures the perfect essence of our time at the beach and I will treasure it forever

The day was topped with a delicious birthday cake that Deborah made, a perfect rendition of a favorite of mine, Sticky Toffee Pudding. She even made a creamy caramel sauce to drizzle on top and gifted each of us an extra jar to take home. Another surprise was a shiny new Cuisinart Ice Cream Maker the girls bought for me. We christened it that night with a batch of truly luscious vanilla ice cream to go with the cake.

Our last day at the beach was sweetly calm and lovely. In spite of some talk about “doing something,” we ended up just hanging around together, talking and laughing. We had even brought puzzles to share, which stayed in their boxes. We never once turned on any of the TVs in the house. 

On our last evening at the beach house, Deanna treated us to her special recipe chicken enchiladas. It seems on that last day, I didn't take nearly enough photos, and completely missed photos of the enchilada supper.  They were so yummy, and we had plenty of leftovers.  In fact, we all left the beach with halibut, ribs, and enchiladas to take home and enjoy.

My best memory of the trip was simply the time with my girls, watching them enjoy each other and interact in ways they hadn’t had the chance to in years. With some of us living miles apart, it’s a rare gift to have everyone together all at once. It was the very best present I could have received.

I came home feeling loved, cared for, and happy to settle back into our daily rhythms.

Shortly after we returned from the beach, we were treated to an overnight visit from Joan, a friend from my years in northern Idaho. Joan travels between Idaho and Morro Bay for the winter season, and her route passes near our home. Once again, our choice to live near Interstate 5 paid off, and we offered Joan a cozy stopover. She insisted on taking us out to dinner as a thank you.

We slipped back into our Sunday brunch routine with Deborah, yard work during the day, puzzles in the afternoon, and preparations for fall. We enjoyed our first symphony of the season and spent an evening listening to music at Schmidt Winery with friends.

This time of year is so rewarding.  The grass gets greener, the flowers respond to cool temperatures and shorter days by growing fuller and more brilliant with each passing day.  

The most exciting thing toward the end of the month was the long-awaited tree work. An old madrone near our front gate was almost dead when Mo bought the property in 2012, but all these years later she was really gone. We could see space between the trunk and the ground, a clear sign she was about to tip over.

look close and you can see the tree climber in that big oak on the other side of the garage

We called our dependable tree guy, Rico, and he gave us a bid for that tree and another madrone leaning over the pump house. He also noticed that the huge oak beside our sidewalk was rotting at the base. We decided not to take any chances and had that one removed too.

It was sad to see her go after years of trying to keep her healthy. Her roots were disturbed when the house was built, and we always knew she might not survive long. Rico trimmed her a few years ago, but the top was much too heavy for the weakened base. Watching his climber take that tree down was both exciting and a little scary, but it all turned out fine. The empty space along the sidewalk feels a bit strange now, though I’m sure we’ll get used to it.

As I mentioned at the start of this post, it’s already October. The rain is expected to last a few more days, and the air is chilly. This morning I turned on the gas fireplace, our favorite marker of the shift from late summer into fall.