Thursday, August 20, 2020

Fifty Shades of Green - More walks in Bandon Oregon Area

Tuesday we hiked the last three miles of trails at the National Estuarine Research Reserve.

There is a theory that many of your feelings or reactions today are a result of something that happened to you at an earlier time, and that by understanding your past, you better understand your present. I don't agree with this 100%, but wonder if my love for green places such as parks and forest is a reflection of the joy and freedom I felt while playing in a small wood lot near my home when I was in second through fourth grade.

It was part of a old farmstead that had been donated for a park but not yet developed. There was a large pond, a creek, and a wooded area that was quite overgrown. 

Sixty plus years ago it was safe for a little girl to play in the woods by herself. It was my imaginary kingdom. I remember pretending I was a pioneer. It was were I learned to love nature. 

Most of the time I went there alone, and if other children were around, we avoided each other! 

I remember some boys had a tree house in the woods. Not the kind you can buy at Lowe's for $1000. Theirs was made with scraps of old lumber. They built it themselves, and no girls were ever allowed. 

Hours spent "in the woods" were some of my happiest. And now, although I suffer from the aches and pains of age, a walk in the woods remains one of my favorite activities. 

I feel like I have come full circle so to speak. But now I have a nice boy to share the woods with.

The large old growth trees of the Estuary land were logged out in the past. Some of the old stumps are still there.

 

 

On the drive back to Bandon, we stopped at a place where you get a pretty good view of land that is being logged.

From Beaver Hill Road, the many stages of destruction and renewal can be seen. From clear cut to full grown forest, each its own shade of green. As much as I love the forest, I realize it is a resource. Trees harvested for lumber are a crop. I'm just glad they set aside some for recreational hikers like us.

Thursday we went hiking at Bullard's Beach State Park, starting at their "horse camp".


The first mile of our hike was on a soft sand equestrian trail. It wasn't really hard, but I count it as a mile and a half because of the sand!

By taking the right turnoff, we came out into the regular RV camping area. From there we walked a very civilized asphalt path along the road back to the Horse Camp where we had started. Another three mile day. 




 



 

The Coquille River, flowing to the ocean, separates the park from Bandon. It was just across the road from the path we walked.

This would be a great place for a picnic, under a really great tree!

 Maybe we will bring lunch here next week when we come for a walk to the lighthouse.

Me

6 comments:

  1. Yip. Trees are our only renewable natural resource. If we don't manage and use them, they burn like right now in California. Good to see you guys having a good time up there.

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  2. Your post evoked fond memories of the past and times spent by myself in the outdoors. My memories involve a creek at the edge of the prairies and at another time some woods along a creek with the prairie on either side. thanks for sharing!

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  3. I do believe you are right about things we enjoy today reflect back to things we did as children. Sad to see the areas of Clear Cut Forests otherwise beautiful scenery.
    Be Safe and Enjoy your adventures.

    It's about time.

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  4. As a young boy growing up on the beach of cape cod I have sand in my shoes an at 76 I still do
    So you must’ve gotten a leaf in your shoe that you’ve never been able to get out it’s amazing some of the simple little things that we enjoy and reflect leaf or sand They call it a happy please

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  5. Yes I believe my love for camping came from a childhood also.

    Nice hike and I would love t picnic under that tree.

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  6. Thanks for sharing fond memories. We're spending our summer in an area where I vacationed as a child.

    Sounds like a great hike and place for a picnic.

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