Lost Coast

When I feel lost, like I kind of do today, this is where I want to be this time of year. It’s been way too long, truth be known. My body wants to be out in the wilds. Out in the woods. Out at the coast. This coast. The Lost Coast. Usal Creek.

Growing up we spent weeks there each summer. It seems like I almost could call that home. A couple of years ago I went back for the first time in forever. It was exactly the same. My heart healed a little. All the destruction we thought was marching relentlessly toward that paradise was averted. Thanks to tireless souls who labored to have it protected.

Now I’m piling my camping gear into the car. Now I’m loading up the dog. Now I’m driving north, out of the smog and the traffic and the constant rush rush rush of life. Now I’m passing Indian Maiden Rock. Now I’m passing Hopland. Now I’m passing Richardson Grove and the Eel River. Now I’m approaching Leggett and the turn off. Soon I’ll be where it’s quiet and the creek water is cold. Where you can fry up some little night runners over the fire and then walk to the beach for the day through a grove of cottonwood trees and birches. Where you can walk under old growth redwood trees for miles and never see a soul. I’m going to get lost there. And then I’ll be found. Maybe. If I’m lucky.


About dakinigrl

writer, loopy artist, mom, armchair visionary, guerilla know-it-all, elitist twat, both a dog and cat person, owner of a leather sofa
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