In mid-June 2016, my husband Peter and I along with an artist friend, Charlie Johnston, spent a week at the Chetco River Inn. It is about twenty miles up the Chetco River outside Brookings, Oregon, which is on the border with California. As I often do, I decided to make a series of daily journal videoitos aka digital stories.
The second in this series of five is a morning’s amazement at the beauty of the gravel bar down on the river not far from our Stone House cottage retreat.
At one time, okay, okay from about age 8 to about age 60! I hauled rocks home from my travels by the irresistible bucketful. Finally, I realized I really didn’t get that much enjoyment out of them once I got home and put them in the yard. The geologists are right to call them “leaverites,” as in “leave ‘er rite there.”
Now, I take photos mostly. I don’t say a couple of special beauties didn’t make it into the back of the Subaru, but at least the muffler isn’t dragging the ground.
This videoito is a celebration of Oregon’s geology once it’s been tumbled and cast up on the bar waiting for the next flood to take it on down to the sea.