On the Waitlist

Waiting for the boat to Astoria

I’ve been tackling the nearly impossible task of going through the nearly 10,000 photos and videos on my phone — deleting duplicates and creating albums for frequently photographed subjects: ceramics, dogs, flowers, books. It’s harder than I anticipated, because I keep engaging with the very photos and videos I’m trying to delete. Honestly, this may be an impossible task.

This morning I stumbled on the photo and video stash from my May 2025 Mother’s Day trip with Natalie to Astoria, Oregon, a small city on the Columbia River near where it meets the Pacific Ocean. Over time, Astoria has become one of the places on this earth where I feel most connected to the landscape — where I feel grounded, and where I feel a deep sense of belonging.

Each time we’ve visited, Natalie and I have stayed on a pier, always certain to secure a room where we can watch the river, feel the river under us, hear it slapping the pilings, listen to the calls of the California sea lions, and be in the shadow of the Astoria-Megler Bridge .

One of my favorite things in the world is to watch and track the ships as they make their way up the river to ports, and from inland ports to the Pacific Ocean. The Columbia River Pilot’s Association hosts an amazing (!) website that provides a real time marine traffic report, so I can follow the ships, track their locations, and Google the kinds of cargo they might be freighting. I spend hours doing this each trip, at all times of the night and day.

My dad was a plane watcher, and a young man I dated loved to watch the trains as they swayed and creaked and clanked through our tiny hometown, bound for bigger - - and very different - places. So maybe that’s where this comes from.

That week in May we also adventured to Cannon Beach, a new favorite place. It was one of the last normal weeks our family had before Bill’s medical emergency and cancer diagnosis.

Scenes from Astoria, Oregon

With Bill on the mend, I’m hoping to returning to Astoria again this year for a special boat ride. Each year, the Portland Spirit sails from Portland to Astoria, following the trail of Lewis and Clark, plying you with fabulous food and historical narration about the river and that famous expedition. One trip runs in May, another in October. It’s one-way — you have to take a bus back — though I’d happily just stay and watch ships. I’m currently on the waitlist for 2026 and prepared to travel to Portland on just a few days’ notice if a spot opens up, because that’s how this operation rolls. If 2026 isn’t my year, then it’ll be 2027. Fingers crossed.

Astoria (and to a lesser extent, Cannon Beach) is a place that I imagine finding my way to later in life. If I could manage it, I’d live in one of the old Victorians with crooked stairs, perched precariously on the hillside. I’d go up to the Astoria Column often, where last year we saw bald eagles. I’d have my daily coffee at the Blue Scorcher Bakery & Cafe. Mostly I’d walk for hours along the banks of the river and the ocean sand, letting the wind whip my hair until it was tangled beyond repair. Then I’d sit inside sipping coffee by a spray-spattered window, a warm fire at my back, watching the ships making their way to other places across other seas and oceans. Sitting there (and sitting here, now), it’s impossible not to feel both how vast the world is — and how closely connected together we all are.

Today, though, I’ll just enjoy dreaming about past visits, my next trip, and marvel at the string of sunny, warm days and blooming everything in my own backyard.