Most often places that you dream of being are found so far away. This time, I found myself there.
In a small Scandinavian founded fishing town at the very northern most coast of Oregon, a Kinfolk dinner was held. The building, once a fishing loft, was for the afternoon converted into a place of gathering. A foreign, hidden corner of the town became a familiar and common place. A dinner shared around a table, a place for like minded folk, a celebration of the comfort found through imperfection and of wabi-sabi, a messy meal.
Sharp light fell on floor boards, soft faces sauntered up stairs. We sat picnic style at the long table, peered through windows and passed fire roasted fall roots and Japanese fare. The sun set, the north western light softened and fall arrived; the way I imagined the Oregon October to behave. Drizzle, breeze, golden light. They laughed and shared warmth and I pinched my left arm to be sure. And then I found myself there. So close. This place. An evening of unforgettable. And I was, so gratefully, there.
Part II coming soon.