The Old Mill Flashback

As a crow flies, it might be a five minute bike-flight to the Old Mill from their cottage. But Nate figured it would probably take at least twice as long to get there on the ground. You had to follow Hillside Road past his cottage, then make a left onto Mountain Road and stay on that road for a while. He’d only been by the turn off for the Old Mill in the car when his father was driving. 

He overheard his older brothers talking about riding their bikes there when he came into the barn to put air in his tires.

“Can I come too?” he asked.

“Nope, you’re too little and it’s too far,” they'd told him. 

But he followed them anyway.  Nate peddled as fast as his legs would go to keep close enough to hear them, but far enough back that they couldn’t see him. They always left him out; he’d just turned eight and they weren’t that much older at eleven and twelve. 

Trees rose from the ground on both sides of the road, one after another, only inches from the pavement, and formed a canopy over-head so thick the sky was blocked from view. Nate wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and wished he’d brought his water bottle. 

When Nate rounded the next bend, he saw them turn onto a gravel road. Stopping his bike, he glanced around, taking a deep breath and stepping from one foot to the other. This was the farthest he’d ridden from the cottage and all he could see in every direction were trees. 

He turned down the gravel road hoping they hadn’t gotten too far ahead. The Old Mill came into view after a few minutes and as he got closer, he saw their bikes leaning against the building by a set of double doors that were ajar.

The old building looked like it was ready to fall down. It listed to one side, rustic old boards and wood chips littered the ground around it, and the two windows he could see had no glass. 

Leaving his bike by the water wheel he crept forward and cautiously peeked inside the doors.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ here?” Chris said, spotting him. “You weren’t suppos’ ta follow us.”

“I ’m old ‘nuff,” he replied, lifting his chin a notch higher.

“Hey Chris, maybe he wants to see the kittens we found in the back room,” Sam said, elbowing him.

“Oh, yeah. Nate, there’s some kittens back here. Come and see,” Chris said giggling as he led Nate to the small room at the back of the building.

Nate stepped into the storage room and his brothers slammed the door and locked it.

“That’ll teach ya’ to follow us.”

“Hey, lemme’ out,” Nate said banging on the door.

He could hear them laughing. “We’re leavin’ now. Bye.”

He looked around the small room. There were no kittens. He saw a window, but it was too high for him to reach. Nate sat down and tried not to cry, but it was no use. Big fat tears slid down his cheeks and he gulped great breaths of air as he looked around and tried to think of a way out.  Surely they would come back for him.

Hugging his legs to his chest, he put his head down on his knees.  Then he heard her.

“Look around you. See the boxes. If you stack them, you could reach the window.”

He looked around. There was no one there. But Nate closed his eyes tightly and in his mind he could see her. Long dark hair pulled back with a ribbon, about his age, in a long blue dress with ruffles at the sleeves. The same girl that had helped him when he fell out of the apple tree and broke his leg. She had sat with him then until his grandfather found him. He couldn’t see her, but had felt her presence beside him. Just like now.

He stood and pushed the wooden boxes next to the window, then stacked them one on top of the other. He’d stopped crying, but was shaking as he moved two more boxes next to the three, then another box beside that, making stairs to the window. He rubbed his leg before he started climbing. 

Balancing on the top box, he could reach the window sill. He found a smooth place and pulled himself up, climbing with his feet on the wall, got one leg over the sill and brought himself up to a straddle position. There was no other way than to fall to the ground outside. Nate gave a shove and pushed himself away from the wall, falling on his backside in the wood chips below.

“You still there, girl” he said out loud, brushing the chips off his legs. “Hey? Girl? Well, thanks.”

There was no answer. 

He ran to where he had left his bike.  He’d been afraid they would hide it from him and then he’d have to walk all the way home, but it was still there.

Nate peddled as fast as he could to the end of the gravel road, then screeched to a stop. Which way should he go? He was turned around. He looked at the ground and saw the bicycle tracks heading left, so he turned in that direction and rode like the wind. It seemed to take forever, but he finally saw the turnoff from Mountain Road to Hillside Drive and home. 

Boy, were his brothers ever going to get into trouble for this. Nate grinned as he went in search of his mother.

25th Anniversary Dinner at the Side Door Cafe in Gleneden Beach

 “Happy 25^th Anniversary” written in blue and yellow chalk adorns the sidewalk outside the entrance to the Side Door Café in Gleneden Beach. I called ahead for reservations and mentioned we were celebrating this special event. Inside, our table is decorated with red rose petals and a twisted red streamer down the center. That’s just the start to our delightful celebratory evening.

A refurbished tile-production warehouse is the home of this exceptional café, just off the beaten track of Highway 101. From the booths and tables situated around the room, you can see a large window at the front of the restaurant and a cozy lit fireplace to the side. The high, dark, exposed beams at the ceiling along with the mahogany-colored walls give the interior a rich elegant feeling. Hanging plants drape the sides of the booths and different colored pots of plants placed around the room add to the lush interior. 

Our waiter is friendly and eager to make our dinner a memorable one. He smiles at our delight in the chalked welcome at the entrance and the decorations at our table. Throughout the dinner he appears and disappears, as if by magic, taking care of our every whim.

The smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the room. As plates pass our table to their respective guests, the spicy rich aromas of the entrées tease our noses: Parmesean Encrusted Fresh Halibut atop Cappelini Pasta, Dungeness Crab Cakes on a bed of Sautéed Spinach in a pool of Tomato Saffron Broth, Fire Roasted Rack of Lamb with Summer Vegetable Risotto, Seafood Fettuccini tossed with Sherried Pesto Cream Sauce.

We have eaten at the Side Door Café several times before and know exactly what we want for our anniversary dinner. Honey Mustard and Herb Rubbed Local Chinook Salmon drizzled with Marionberry Glaze, accompanied by Fruited Wild Rice and Fresh Sautéed Seasonal Vegetables, a Caesar Salad to split, and a bottle of Cristom Pinot Noir (2007 vintage) completes our order.   

While we wait for our salad, we glance around the room. Even though it’s summer, the small fire gives off an intimate warm glow as if respecting the muted conversations and ambiance of the evening.

Our wine’s smoky cherry nose gives way to sweet spices of anise and cinnamon with a raspberry fruit follow through on the palette. The Caesar Salad is cold and crisp with a tangy pleasant bite to the dressing. The superb Salmon flakes easily and the Marion Berry sauce adds a wonderful sweet flavor to the hint of honey mustard coating. Fruited Wild Rice is an amazing accompaniment and soaks up some of the berry sauce. Sautéed vegetables of zucchini, onion, and carrots complete our dinner. 

We remember to save a little room for dessert, and choose to share the bread pudding with chocolate chips, which does not disappoint. Custardy bread pudding with chocolate chips layered throughout and a drizzle of chocolate syrup is a piece of heaven and a perfect way to end the evening.

Memories of the Neskowin Beach House

Neskowin Beach House 1962

I would stick my head out the window eager for the sweet smell of ocean air, squirming in my seat, barely under control, and ask for the umpteenth time, “Aren’t we there yet?” 

In the summer of 1958, we were on our way to the beach cabin for three weeks. My younger sister and brother and I, the oldest at ten, sat crammed together in the back seat of the Pontiac amid boxes, books, sacks of food, toys, blankets and other necessary items for our extended stay. 

The weather-worn beach cabin sat at the top of a sand ridge and from there you could hear the dull roar of the ocean and see its blue expanse, but not the waves themselves. A two-block flat section in front, filled with tall skinny stalks of lime-green pokey grass and purple-flowered stinging nettles, had to be trekked before you climbed over the last big dune to the glorious white sand beach and the ocean. We made clever paths around the plants, jumping from rock to sand to driftwood to avoid being poked or stung on our bare legs or feet.

The rugged wooden deck along the back of the cabin faced the road and a golf course across the street. The deck became a source of several major foot splinters, as we were always running and usually without shoes. Dad paid five cents for each golf ball we found and we would take our earned nickels and walk to the country store to buy penny candy from barrels lined up across the front of the counter. The store smelled of cinnamon, and the shiny wood floor felt cool and smooth on our rough bare feet.

“Will it be the licorice, the jaw breaker, or the peppermint today?” the grocer would ask.

The house had a living room with a hide-a-bed and fireplace, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen with an ancient stove that Dad had to light a fire in before Mom could make coffee or breakfast every morning. 

I slept on the hide-a bed in the living room, and one night a bat came down the chimney. I was terrified and hid under the covers while Dad killed it with a broom. The next morning we were amazed to see how far the paper-thin wings spread out and how scary it looked.

Mom would set out a 500-piece jig saw puzzle on a card table and we would add pieces to the picture, finishing it by the end of the vacation. At night we played Hearts or Gin Rummy, or read. Dad always took me to the school library to check out my favorite books, Sue Barton Student Nurse and the Nancy Drew Mysteries to read while I was there. 

The handsome horses from the stables at the end of the street attracted me like the flies around them. Dad would rent the one I picked out and lead us, usually two at a time, around the streets of the small town. When I turned twelve, I could ride the horses on the hour-long tail rides down on the beach and became inevitably smitten by the leader, usually a cute teen-aged boy.

This special time in my life exemplified complete carefree family time. We stayed and played together during trips to that magical cabin for the five years it owned us. In 1963, Dad sold the beach house to build a Sports Camp, and the rest of our summers growing up were spent working there. Ah, yet another memorable story for another time.

Haikuing with Nature

Italian Cypress
Now burdened with cold wet snow
Stoops like an old man

                                              Tall wispy branches
                                              Naked and reaching upward
                                              Pray for warm sunbeams

The stream runs madly
Giggling its bubbly song
Tripped up by boulders

                                              Huddled together
                                              Horses dressed in drab blankets
                                              Stare as I pass by

Sky washed in dull gray
White silhouette of the sun's
All that shows today

The Grocery Store

The local grocery store is a gathering spot for our small community, a meeting place of sorts. Today I counted four groups of people stopped in the aisles, carts side by side, comparing experiences of the snow storm that dumped 13 inches of white powdery snow on our community this week.  Old and young were out to replenish food supplies that were depleted during the week of school, business and road closures. It was most likely their first venture out now that the streets were safe to drive again. 

Two elderly women, dressed in rubber boots and heavy coats with bright blue flannel scarves, were standing at the front entrance when I arrived, and still there 30 minutes later when I left.  The slump of their shoulders and the sad and somber looks on their wrinkled faces spoke of some recent tragedy. 

In one aisle, a mother was trying unsuccessfully to quiet her young crying baby, while the father hurriedly gathered canned vegetables and tossed them in the already chock-full cart. Their young daughter glanced around, head down and eyes darting to either end of the aisle as if she were embarrassed her baby brother was behaving so badly.

A brilliant rack of ruby red valentine decorations and heart shaped boxes of chocolate covered candy filled one aisle making sure everyone knew it was time to get ready for the next holiday. Three teenaged girls were reading the valentine cards, laughing loudly, making smooching sounds, and poking each other in the side.

Even though the harried check-out clerks were busy, they had a smile and a sincere word of salutation for each customer. I stood in line behind a young boy who simply couldn’t stand still.  His mother carried a cake with “Happy Birthday” written on it.  She raised her eyebrows and laughed, “Grant has ants in his pants.” Grant said, “I’m six, I’m six!” as he hopped forward like a kangaroo when the line moved. 

 As I left with my purchases I was surprised to see bouquets of golden daffodils and flats of purple, yellow, and white pansies displayed to the side of the entrance. They did look cheery, but with snow still in my flowerbeds, I wasn’t quite ready for spring yet.