Cannon Beach is a delightful north Oregon coastal village. I knew as soon as we rolled into town that we had unwittingly discovered a little gem. It's pretty and quaint with neat wood buildings, nooks and crannies, an abundance of colourful petunias hanging from baskets, bright geraniums gracing the sidewalks in window boxes and appealing restaurants, art galleries and candy stores.
Even an evening trip to the grocery store to buy a litre of milk for our morning tea was a treat. Its enticing warmth and maze of narrow aisles are in contrast with the wide bright superstore where I shop for groceries back home. I would far rather browse the aisles of a grocery store than a clothing store. I love to smell the fresh bread, feast my eyes on varieties of olive oils in their attractive bottles, choose my fruit and vegetables with care and fill my basket with a colourful array of select, savoury and some sweet items. This time, though, we just picked up the litre of milk for the fridge in our room at the conference centre.
We walk one block from our lodge to the conference centre for our breakfast and dinner and to attend the morning and evening sessions. Not being on the conference centre site, we enjoy one of three routes that connect us from the beach front lodge to the centre. Each one is picturesque. Each one appeals to the romantic in me. Except for the auto shop right next to our lodge - complete with banged-up cars from their misadventures, large tow trucks and the smell of oil. It is out of place next to the saltwater taffy store which entices with its hand-made candy, caramel apples and the smell of cotton-candy calling my name from right across the street.
On the third day of walking past this eyesore, M says, "Let's go look at the art gallery in there." Art gallery, what art gallery? My eyes are still disdainfully taking in the cars being serviced - not a flower basket to be seen! I walk sceptically across the oil stained concrete as though we are going in to pay for our gas.
The cash register is still in its original place but the walls are filled with photographs, framed and unframed, of Cannon Beach. Scenes all photographed within a 10 mile radius of the auto shop. The proprietor, Gary of Gary's Service Center, is in attendance to explain the transformation from auto shop office to rudimentary photo gallery. With awe, I take in scenes from stormy seasons and snowy seasons and sunsets that I will never witness myself. I browse and choose cards and postcards in support of an auto mechanic's dream. View his artistry at http://www.garyscannonbeachphotos.com/.
I leave humbled at our serendipitous find. I leave encouraged by one man's decision to live his life and his dream where he finds himself. To go out, in all weather and at all times of the day and night, to take photographs; to move his auto shop office elsewhere so that he can display his art work to the public and to nurture a creative life for himself in his approaching retirement years.
We don't have to wait until the kids grow up or leave home or we have a new job or we retire before we can start to do something that breathes life into us. We start where we are, with what we have and, drawing on what we already know, we may just stumble across something valuable we weren't looking for.
Even an evening trip to the grocery store to buy a litre of milk for our morning tea was a treat. Its enticing warmth and maze of narrow aisles are in contrast with the wide bright superstore where I shop for groceries back home. I would far rather browse the aisles of a grocery store than a clothing store. I love to smell the fresh bread, feast my eyes on varieties of olive oils in their attractive bottles, choose my fruit and vegetables with care and fill my basket with a colourful array of select, savoury and some sweet items. This time, though, we just picked up the litre of milk for the fridge in our room at the conference centre.
We walk one block from our lodge to the conference centre for our breakfast and dinner and to attend the morning and evening sessions. Not being on the conference centre site, we enjoy one of three routes that connect us from the beach front lodge to the centre. Each one is picturesque. Each one appeals to the romantic in me. Except for the auto shop right next to our lodge - complete with banged-up cars from their misadventures, large tow trucks and the smell of oil. It is out of place next to the saltwater taffy store which entices with its hand-made candy, caramel apples and the smell of cotton-candy calling my name from right across the street.
On the third day of walking past this eyesore, M says, "Let's go look at the art gallery in there." Art gallery, what art gallery? My eyes are still disdainfully taking in the cars being serviced - not a flower basket to be seen! I walk sceptically across the oil stained concrete as though we are going in to pay for our gas.
The cash register is still in its original place but the walls are filled with photographs, framed and unframed, of Cannon Beach. Scenes all photographed within a 10 mile radius of the auto shop. The proprietor, Gary of Gary's Service Center, is in attendance to explain the transformation from auto shop office to rudimentary photo gallery. With awe, I take in scenes from stormy seasons and snowy seasons and sunsets that I will never witness myself. I browse and choose cards and postcards in support of an auto mechanic's dream. View his artistry at http://www.garyscannonbeachphotos.com/.
I leave humbled at our serendipitous find. I leave encouraged by one man's decision to live his life and his dream where he finds himself. To go out, in all weather and at all times of the day and night, to take photographs; to move his auto shop office elsewhere so that he can display his art work to the public and to nurture a creative life for himself in his approaching retirement years.
We don't have to wait until the kids grow up or leave home or we have a new job or we retire before we can start to do something that breathes life into us. We start where we are, with what we have and, drawing on what we already know, we may just stumble across something valuable we weren't looking for.
