A little travel-and-food narrative
I snaked southward and hit 101 and ended up in sweet little Manzanita. The clouds were hugging the landscape in a tight embrace, not really wanting to let go. It felt cozy and muffled but still wild, unpredictable. Hardy. Buffeted. Shingled buildings hunker down along the main drag called Laneda. I don't recall seeing a stop light.
I've been sitting alone by this fire for what seems, now, like many moons. I'm breathing more deeply. Sighing a lot. Exceedingly glad to have lots of air and trees and quiet and birds around me (even if some of them are crows). I may have misjudged my city girl to country girl ratio. The hushed mood around here is pure medicine.
I'm cobbling together a fireside picnic. The delightful girl at the desk here at Coast Cabins, my home for two nights, offered me a healthy pour of a local Pinot when I checked in, so libations have been secured.
They have cute little homemade s'more kits and fruit on the table in the cabin, so that'll be the start. I got some "Loukanika" salami (Greeky with orange peel, cumin, oregano) from Olympic Provisions back in bustling Portland and some pickled okra from the farmer's market. I honestly meant to take them home but I'm going to eat them here instead. Promises to be tasty, especially when a slice of charred charcuterie ends up on the actual s'more. Spicy, vermillion-hued oil sizzling and dripping down the downy white of the marshmallow. Oh, yes sir.
“Every real thing is a joy, if only you have eyes and ears to relish it, a nose and tongue to taste it.” - Robert Farrar Capon