The Best Part of Travel, Part Two

We spent three nights at a little tourist town called Cannon Beach.

We walked on the beach where the famous sea stack called "Haystack" stands. Millennia ago it was connected to the land, part of widespread basalt deposited by a volcanic eruption near what is now the Idaho border. 

Results of that long process of erosion are evident in the beach sand, which is, like my favorite draft beer, black and tan. From this simple palette the tides create lovely abstract sand paintings. I love to photograph them, but have to guard against butting into the picture.

As we were walking we met another Shirley. She took our picture and I took hers.

Compared to my beloved Galveston Island beaches, this one is barren except for large pieces of driftwood piled against the grassy dunes. Still, there's always something interesting going on:

As we walked north along the beach we noticed a congregation of birds ahead in what we thought was a finger of the sea. As we got closer though, it was apparent that a creek was flowing into the sea, intersecting the beach. Crows, gulls and ducks were bathing in this fresh water and getting drinks.

At the end of our last Cannon Beach walk we climbed the steps that cut through the dunes. At the base of the dunes a thicket of blooming pussy willows caught my eye:

The next morning we headed north to Seatac airport. As we drove away Dennis said, "I'll be glad to get home." Nevertheless, I asked him to stop while I took a photo of one of the ubiquitous tsunami warning signs:

I asked him to stop again in Wheeler so I could document a fraction of the harvested logs we saw on this trip.

At last we were airborne and as the plane was preparing for landing in Kansas City, I was on Cloud Nine:

The best part of travel is always coming home.