Category: Oregon Coast Aquarium

Am I a Real Oregonian yet?

As of this week, it has been 17 years since my husband Fred and I moved to Oregon. The other day while walking my dog Annie, I saw a U-Haul truck at a nearby house. Looks like somebody is finally moving in. I’ll probably meet the new neighbors soon. I won’t be surprised if they moved up from California like we did.
The moving truck brought back so many memories. While we thought about it for years, our move was sudden—the house in San Jose sold in five days—and difficult—the truck broke down twice, it was over 100 degrees out, and we had to leave a lot of stuff behind for a second trip. (You can read all about it in my book Shoes Full of Sand.) By the time we left, I was beginning to realize what and who we were leaving behind. We both quit jobs we loved and said goodbye to family and lifelong friends. We had moved before but only within the Bay Area. We had no idea that this was a lot more than another change of address; we were embarking on a whole new life.
From the get-go, Fred loved it all, while I wanted to go home. We had never lived anyplace so beautiful or where the people were so friendly, but we had almost never encountered so much wet, cold, windy weather. We had never lived in a small town without shopping malls and lots of places to work. The gynecologist and the music store were 50 miles away in Corvallis. The airport was in Portland, a three-hour drive through snow and curvy roads. That first year, Fred went back to San Jose for two months to continue his income tax business while I was alone in the worst of the winters, missing my family so bad it hurt.
But we adapted. Although we knew only our realtor when we moved in, we made friends at the church, the aquarium, and various singing and writing groups. It got so we couldn’t go anywhere without running into people we knew. We relaxed into life surrounded by trees, rivers and the ocean, with clean air and no traffic. No more lines, no more crowds, no more angry, stressed-out people. With time to dive into our dreams, Fred volunteered at the Oregon Coast Aquarium, worked for the Flying Dutchman winery, and sang with the Coastalaires barbershop chorus. I wrote and published five more books, earned my MFA in creative writing, taught at the community college, sang in several different groups, and got a job playing music at church. Would this have happened in San Jose? Probably not. We’d still be stuck on the freeway.
Life brings sorrow as well as joy. We have suffered many losses in these Oregon years: my mother and both uncles, Fred’s parents, our dog Sadie, many other loved ones, and finally, two years ago, Fred himself, after a long struggle with Alzheimer’s Disease. I often find his loss unbearable. This house we bought together is too big, and the loneliness can be overwhelming. But my new dog, Annie, already five years old, is a huge comfort, and God has filled our lives with many blessings.
I love Oregon. When I come back from visiting California, I shout and honk my horn as I cross the border back into the Beaver State. When I think about moving back to the Bay Area, I feel as if I have been here too long to go back. After all, 17 years is almost one-third of my life. Of the 26 years Fred and I were married, we spent 15 of them north of the border. If we were plants, by now we would either have died or become firmly established in this sandy Oregon coast soil. How long does it take to become a real Oregonian? It depends on who you ask. To many, I’m an old-timer now.
My family’s roots go way back in California to the 1800s, to the arrival of John Cameron Gilroy, said to be the first English-speaking settler in California. And yes, they did name the town of Gilroy for him. But the Fagalde branch originally settled in Oregon. Jean Fagalde and his wife Maria Refucia Alviso lived in Damascus, southeast of Portland. They had 13 children, one of whom was my great-grandfather Joseph, who moved to California and married Luisa Gilroy. I’m still learning about that Oregon connection, but it makes me feel good to know I’m not the first Fagalde to live here.
Do I have regrets? Some. The biggest is not being close to my 91-year-old father at this time of his life, or to my brother’s family, who live near Yosemite. Fred’s kids and grandchildren have all grown up while we weren’t around. I hate that. But I don’t regret moving here. I just wish I could convince everyone to join us so we could all live here together.
Will I stay here forever? I don’t know. It’s where I am now, and I thank you for taking this journey with me. Keep coming back. We have so much more to explore.

Hiking Newport’s tsunami trail

Last week, I hiked Newport’s new tsunami interpretive trail that leads from the Hatfield Marine Science Center to what is being called “Safe Haven Hill,” a little rise that has been designated as the gathering place in case of a tsunami for people who live and work along the south shore of Yaquina Bay. It was a beautiful sunny day, and I enjoyed an easy walk along a paved path with informational signs that talked about tsunamis and let walkers know how many minutes they were from higher ground. I passed the boat launch, the RV park, and the marina, where folks were setting up tents for next weekend’s seafood and wine festival. I passed the Rogue Brewery, a bus stop shelter, sinks where two men were cleaning fish, and old concrete restrooms. I followed the signs south to the foot of the bridge and then I . . . got lost. Where was the sign to tell me where to go next? What if the tsunami came now while I was trying to figure out the map? My walk had brought me closer to the beach, not farther away.

I climbed up the steps to the bridge, climbed back down, walked under the bridge, climbed up the other side, climbed back down, drove south and parked near a hill I had climbed before, and climbed it again. There’s an old cemetery up there, but I don’t think that’s Safe Haven Hill. It’s a rugged climb, and it would be crowded with 10 people. Where would they put the hundreds, maybe thousands of people coming out of Hatfield, the Oregon Coast Aquarium, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration complex, the marina, the RV park and the brewery, all of which would be in the path of a tsunami? Maybe it was the hill across the exit ramp, all sandy and smooth, with a no-trespassing barrier and a sign that proclaimed it the property of the Oregon Transportation Department. Folks are still working on creating a smooth trail up the hill on the north end and a gravel road on the south side.

Fortunately, the people who work in the zone have practiced this walk, and if the earth starts shaking, they will know exactly where to go. I just hope when they get up there, stranded for hours on a hill while the water goes crazy below, there’s a restroom and maybe something to drink. I don’t live in the tsunami zone, but who knows where I might be when it hits?

People are thinking a lot about tsunamis here on the Oregon Coast these days. It’s hard to miss the blue and white signs along the highway that let one know one is entering or leaving a tsunami hazard zone. Signs at our state parks alert beachgoers to carefully collect and bag debris washed up on the sand from the March 2011 tsunami in Japan, reporting anything too big to put in a bag. Mostly what we see is bits of foam rubber and the occasional plastic bottle, but we have had a massive dock arrive at Agate Beach, and about two weeks ago, a barnacle-covered fishing boat washed up on the Salishan spit near Lincoln City. So tsunamis are on our minds.

I walked the trail at 11 a.m. on a sunny day. What if the tsunami hits at night during one of our frequent storms? What if the power is out and all those lovely lights along the way are dark? I guess that’s why people practice heading to higher ground. Tee shirts available in local gift shops say “Tsunami evacuation plan: run like hell.” That’s pretty much the drill. First, during the earthquake that is likely to precede the tsunami, duck and cover. When the earth stops shaking, go immediately to higher ground. Do not stop to gather your things or wait for an official warning. If it’s a 9.0 or bigger quake close to shore, you will only have 15 to 20 minutes before the tsunami hits. You can find tsunami evacuation maps and other information at https://www.oregongeology.org/pubs/tsubrochures/NewportSouth-EvacBrochure_onscreen.pdf.

Let’s pray the tsunami never comes, but at least now I know where to start.