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Everybody Has a Story: Blustery day at beach reminder of veterans’ service

America's military carries on despite challenges

The Columbian
Published: November 10, 2010, 12:00am

“Left on Heceta Beach Road,” said the young man, gesturing. “Take a right at the fork. The beach is just past The Driftwood Inn.”

I hopped back into my little pickup and turned on the radio. Elvis belted out the last line of his rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” in honor of Veterans Day. As he gloriously held onto last note, the radio guy announced, “A high wind warning for the Oregon Coast with heavy rain.” I breathed it in. My favorite combination, I thought as I crunched into an out-of-season pear. “The Veterans Day Parade will go on,” continued the announcer. I grinned, then shuddered. Icy, cold rain and high winds. Beautiful to look at, but not to march in a parade, however typical of people living in the Northwest.

As I rounded the corner past the inn, the beach, more beautiful than I had ever remembered, grabbed my soul. The extreme whiteness of the foam atop each wave covered most of the green-gray ocean. That color always reminds me of my son’s eyes.

I parked and walked quickly to the beach to take in the cleanest air smells and the quiet roar of rolling waves, while the icy rain pelted my cheeks. It pushed me toward the Driftwood Restaurant, where I walked in and sat near a window. I slowly sipped and sniffed my hot apple cider with extra cinnamon.

A group of seagulls huddled together along the shore, with heads down as if to say, “That’s what we get for living at the beach.” One gull broke away and chose to allow the cold wind to lift and toss him until he soared. Farther and farther away he flew until he disappeared into the foggy mist. Soon another one picked himself up, flew and soared for a few seconds, then came back and assumed his position with the others.

An older couple came into the restaurant. The man helped his white-haired wife with her jacket and then sat down at the table next to mine. “Armistice Day,” he told the young waitress in the bright green apron.

She puzzled a little. “Is that the same as Veterans Day?”

“Unless you’re an old-timer like me,” he smiled.

I couldn’t resist telling them, “They are still having the parade in spite of this weather.”

The couple smiled. “Sounds like Washington.”

The waitress handed them menus. “My grandmother remembers hearing the bell ring. She tells us the story over and over.” She changed her voice to an elderly one: “‘That bell rang out on the eleventh month, the eleventh day, at the eleventh hour.’”

I turned back to the window to watch my little seagull family, but they were gone. Where did they go? Why did they leave?

Wait, no — there was one lone seagull, not flapping, but soaring on the blustering wind currents. He didn’t disappear into the mist like the others. Instead he flew left to right, following the shore line, back and forth he dipped and soared, loving life, unaware of the cold rain.

I thought about how free he was, and how free we all are because of the millions of veterans who gave their life for us. I wondered how often I was like a bored seagull, standing around complaining about the weather, when I could be taking advantage of the wind gusts, letting them lift and guide me, ignoring the coldness of life and just enjoying the freedom that was bought for me by people who never met me, but hoped that they were doing the right thing by fighting and dying for their country. Thank you, veterans.

Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions of 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. E-mail is best so we don’t have to retype your words or borrow original photos. Send to neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA 98666.

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