Our last stop when Mom and I were on our recent Christmas Holiday road trip was Ocean Shores, Washington. At sunset we hung out on the beach and watched the fiery ball drop into the Pacific. I made photographs.
Over the years my photographic habit has gotten to be something Mom teases me about, in a good-natured way. We’ll be talking on the phone and I’ll say “I cut firewood today,” or “I cleaned the gutters,” and Mom’s reply is usually: “Did you take pictures?” The subtle humor underlying Mom’s question is that there are no obvious photographs to be found in the firewood lot or up on the roof of my house, but Mom knows my image-seeking quest means that I’m always keeping my eyes open.
You never know what you might see.
I’ve been thinking about past trips where Mom and I watched the sunset and I made photographs. When she was in her 70’s, Mom and I hiked to Second Beach in Olympic National Park (a walk that some people in their 40’s would not be adventurous enough to do.) We hiked the mile-and-a-half forest trail in fading light, emerging from the trees to the sight of a sandy beach, sea stacks, and tide pools. After we watched (and I photographed) the sunset, we did the hike back to the car through a pitch-black forest, using flashlights to follow the trail.
Another time Mom and I watched the sunset in an even more exotic locale -- we were on a beach in Maui -- and the memory of how that trip came about warms me as much as any sunset. Mom and I had been having one of our daily Seattle/Ohio phone conversations and I mentioned that many of my wedding clients seem go to Maui for their honeymoons. Mom said she’d always wanted to visit the Hawaiian Islands but she doubted she’d ever get there. She said she thought the tropical flowers would really be something to see. She sounded kind of wistful.
“We should go,” I said.
And we did.
