You never quite know where a day in the van may take you.
Most days are like any other, but in van life, there’s always a sense that something could happen, could change at any moment.
On Monday, something did happen.
I was at a beautiful campsite, on the shores of the Rouge River where it meets the Pacific Ocean. I needed to plug in to recharge my batteries after a particularly smokey weekend and I never pass up an opportunity to be waterfront. It was small, just three sites in the driveway of a rental property.
I spent the morning outside, watching the harbor seals chase fish through the water. Turns out, it’s salmon spawning season in Oregon and the river was crowded with boats – well over 100 small fishing boats parked at the mouth of the river. After work, my husband and I took our dog down to the beach to run.
When we got back, our site neighbors, an older couple, broke away from the group they were chatting with and walked up to us.
“Hey! We saved you a salmon filet.” The older gentleman said to us. “You’re not vegan, are you?”
I was completely taken aback. They saved us a cut of their harvest?
My husband was all in. I was slightly more reticent, having never enjoyed sea food (or any life that lives under water.) Fish are at the top of my “yucky no-no” list – but here I was being handed a premium cut of fresh, wild-caught Cohoe salmon. If there was ever a time to try again, it was now.
We gratefully accepted the filet, which spanned my forearm from my wrist to my elbow. It was a beautiful pink color. Having never cooked seafood in my life, I let my husband take charge. He sauteed it with oil and seasonings and finished it with lemon juice in tin foil. We paired it with some simple white rice.
How was it? Well, I can’t tell you I’m a salmon convert or that I’ll be searching it out on menus – but it wasn’t bad. I’ve always found salmon to have an offensively fishy odor, and thus taste, but this was mild and inoffensive to the palette. There were a few bites that were almost too fishy, but overall I ate a decent portion of it, surprising myself, my husband, and my entire family.
I didn’t embark on a van trip to stay inside – I wanted to take chances, see things, and meet people. And that’s just what I did this week.
Our neighbors left the site without us exchanging names, but we had another wonderful conversation before they pulled out, and I expressed my deep gratitude for their generosity. It touched me that they would think of us and set aside food for people they had never met, and would more than likely never see again.
I didn’t enjoy my time last week in Eastern Oregon. I found it hot, smokey, and a pervasively negative vibe. Since we got to the coast, I’ve been living more of an Oregon fantasy, parking the van next to the crashing waves and watching the sunset color the sky long after it sank beneath the horizon every night. The salty sea air wakes me to the fog surrounding the trees in the morning and temperatures are much cooler than inland.
I have long wanted to visit Oregon, to wander the beaches and watch the sunset. I am still impatient to know what’s coming next, to have a lease signed and a place to go, but it’s easier to be present here. Diamond goes crazy on the beach in the afternoon and my husband and I embrace a playful attitude, jumping around the dunes like children.
Yesterday, something else happened.
The three of us were walking down the beach when a group of large birds caught my eye. At first, I thought they were gathered around a rock, but no – it was the corpse of a dead sea lion, small and recently passed. The vultures scattered when we walked up and again I found myself taken aback.
My first instinct was to walk away without looking, but I want to be the kind of person who looks at the world unflinchingly, even when it is hard. The carcass was fresh: the birds had only taken the eyes and begun to rip into the abdomen. I wonder if it will still be there this afternoon when I return, and the state. This is nature. As Oliver says, we receive, then we give back. (The River Clarion.)
In towns like this, a routine emerges. We have somewhere to park at night that no one bothers us and a place to go during the day to work. Grocery shops are close at hand and dispensaries are next door.
Western Oregon is making it deliciously easy to soak up these last weeks of full-time van life. Your perception of time slows down with novelty and every day I see something “that more or less kills me with delight.” (Oliver, again.)
