As we approached the end of our stay in Florence, the dense sea mist continued to rise and mingle with the grey drizzle, draping a big wet blanket over us. We were forced to acknowledge that we were in the midst of the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, and of course the endless rain, making it a typical Autumn in Oregon. We embraced it. It made a happy change from the beating heat of the Arizona desert that we had endured for two decades and more.

The colors of Fall were all around us. The leaves fell from the skeletal branches of the trees surrounding us at the campsite, bright, burnt oranges, sunny yellows, mottled greens and chestnut browns carpeting the ground. If we were lucky enough to catch a leaf as it danced and helicoptered to the ground, we held it close to our hearts and made a wish. We could smell the campfires of our neighbors and it prompted us to make our own fire. . We stood with glazed eyes watching the blaze glow in the half light, listening to the spitting flames lick at the wet logs, watching our breath make its own morning mist with every deep sigh, sinking our hands into the pouches of our hoodies. We started thinking about soups and stews for dinner. Every season has its own treasures.

With Henry settled for the day sorting out his latest Pokemon cards that he had picked up at Fred Mayer, Kim and I set out to find Sweet Creek Falls, a famed local beauty spot, recommended to us by the locals in town.

We followed the twists and turns of the Siuslaw River, eerie in the mist. We spied a fairy tale Hansel and Gretel wooden cottage, smoke rising from a stone chimney, a wrap around porch with weathered adirondack chairs positioned for the best view of the river, and a little jetty with a gently bobbing boat, with oars at the ready, at the bottom of the garden. We spotted an elk or two raise their heads as we drove by, lazily watching us from the grassy banks of the river. There was hardly any traffic and we drove in silence enjoying the stillness of the day.

We made a sharp right turn and drove about ten miles or so following Sweet Creek to reach the signposted trailhead.

Well, words cannot adequately describe the quintessential Autumnal scene before us. The colors of the leaves carpeting the path, the waters of the creek with the swirling pools and gentle falls, the surrounding woodlands, dark and deep with promises to keep, was simply idyllic. 

I hope the photos convey the beauty of the scene. We really need Willy Wonka smell-o-vision so we can close our eyes and fully inhale the woodsy smells of the dripping, damp ferns, the tiny lichens and impossibly green mosses, fallen branches, leaves mulched into the muddy ground and the fresh scent of the sweet creek. A true sensory experience.

We walked a five mile round trip on leaf littered pathways, zig-zagging wooden bridges and slick river banks. It was heavenly!

​Breathe it in!

Kim and I continued with our quest to seek out and find all eleven lighthouses in Oregon with a day trip out to Bandon, between Gold Beach and Coos Bay on the Oregon coast. This time we set out to find the Coquille River Lighthouse.

We found Bandon to be delightfully charming with plenty of cool cafes, galleries and mom and pop gift shops. It is perhaps most famous for its Circles in the Sand annual event, now in its tenth year, where groups of artists create mesmerizing labyrinths and other elaborate designs in the sand on a mission to spread love, joy and kindness.  Unfortunately our visit didn't coincide with the event but we saw the lovely wet, sandy beaches, perfect for this style of artwork.

We stopped in the old town for an early lunch in a beautiful old building that housed a co-op of local artists. We sipped our specialty coffees and we each had a lovely bagel with cream cheese, lox, capers, dill and lotsa freshly squeezed lemon on top. Delish! We then mooched around the artists stalls, enjoying the diverse artistic styles and media. I enjoyed the sculptures made out of reclaimed plastic and other debris found in the ocean. I especially loved the crested puffin that reminded me of the macaroni penguin. I have a bit of a thing for penguins and puffins as they are loyal, eccentric and comical, a bit like me.

After lunch we walked around the old town marina where we saw an array of colorful boats bobbing on the river, saw the skeletal wooden legs of bygone docks, listened to the barking seals and screaming gulls, did a bit of window shopping, and generally mooched around town.

We then returned to the truck to get the most advantageous view of the Coquille River Lighthouse. Built in 1896, the purpose of the lighthouse was to light the entry way into the Coquille River and to provide safe passage for local fishing vessels through the perilous sandbars. As well as the lighthouse, a fog horn was also built at the site to help guide boats through to safety when it became too foggy even to see the light. It was first lit on February 29, 1896 and it was the last official lighthouse to be constructed on the Oregon Coast. The lighthouse was fully functioning until 1939 when it was decommissioned and an automated beacon was installed on the south jetty to take its place. 

From our viewpoint across the Coquille River, we found it to be a quaint little lighthouse with a bright red base, whitewashed walls and dark top, only 47 feet tall, built adjacent to a squat octagonal keeper's house and boathouse. Through the rising mists it looked beautiful.

After taking numerous shots of the lighthouse we explored the southern end of town through Kronenberg County Park and onto Face Rock State Scenic Viewpoint. By the time we got there, the mist had descended and was swirling around the rocks making a spooky scene worthy of the witches of Macbeth. The words "something wicked this way comes" turned over in my mind. The black rocks below resembled witches hats and the churning ocean became some kind of  powerful potion. Once again we had stumbled upon nature's magic. I was mesmerized and let the mist swallow me as the wind whipped my hair and took my breath. Fabulous!

We really fell in love with Dunsmuir, so Kim and I set off to explore more of the little town, located about an hour north of Redding, California.

I had never heard of the town before, but I was aware that my dear cousin Pippa was in touch with the local Mount Shasta Goddess Temple and was astonished to discover it was located in Dunsmuir. I had to find it! Having visited Glastonbury in the UK so many times and enjoyed its spiritual vibe, especially Glastonbury Tor that is believed to be the heart chakra of the world, I was excited to delve deeper into the history of Mount Shasta, believed to be the root chakra of the world, and connected energetically to Glastonbury.
 
Kim and I sauntered through the town, most of which seemed to be shut down for the season, peering through the windows, enjoying the murals and the honest, down-to-earth sense of community. There was a huge art gallery filled with excellent work in various mediums from local artists.  

Of course we found the home of the Mount Shasta Goddess Temple at the Sacred Well Metaphysical Store. I explained my cousins connection with Yeshe and the Temple to Albert, the kind gentleman behind the counter. He made us feel very welcome. Of course I had to buy a moon shaped obsidian crystal that just called out to me. 

​A lovely low key afternoon. ​

Off to Sonoma in the wine country of California for a "Date Day" with Kim.

Local fine wine coupled with a cheese and meat charcuterie board at The Girl and The Fig. Delicious!

Henry decided he wanted a day to himself so Kim and I set off on a "Date Day."

Hand in hand we headed south on the US 101, the Pacific Coast Highway, towards the Monterey peninsula and Pebble Beach to drive the winding 17-Mile drive, a private road tracing the rugged Pacific coastline, a microcosm of the region's natural beauty.

We stopped at a roadside fruit stall on the way, somewhere near Moss Landing, for a quick snack of peaches and cherries that were deliciously sweet and juicy. We also picked up some local sage and wildflowers raw honey and some huge avocados, jalapenos, ripe tomatoes and a big bunch of cilantro to make a salsa for a light dinner. As I write this now, I can tell you that the honey with whiskey and hot water is THE BEST thing I have drunk since beginning the trip! Sooooo gooooood! I digress. Back to the 17-Mile Drive...

We paid a small fee to enter the guarded entrance and set off towards the beach. It was an overcast day and it began to drizzle. This was such a welcome change after weeks and weeks of sunshine and beating hot days that we welcomed the weather by opening the truck windows and weaving our hands through the rain. We reached the beach and it was cool and walkable, so with hoods up, we slowly combed the shoreline. Pelicans sitting on top of the seaweed-bedraggled craggy rocks jutting out of the blue-green ocean, the fine sandy beaches rimmed with smooth grey pebbles and driftwood that seemed to be artistically placed for the most pleasing effect, waves gently breaking in a serene rhythm, created a landscape worthy of an artist's dream. It felt surprisingly wild and yet cultivated at the same time. ​

We made some iconic stops along the route. The Lone Cypress, a withered tree clinging for dear life to a granite outcrop rising from the ocean, has become a symbol for strength and resilience, especially for golfers who live and play in the Pebble Beach area. The dignified solitude of the brave little tree, all alone, withstanding the weather and erosion was heartwarming. You couldn't help but root for the little fellow.