Cannon Beach




I grew up going to this beach. It’s where my parents met years ago. Summer day-trips always involved blankets, campfires on the beach, and sweet salt-water taffy from Bruce’s Candy Kitchen.

If we were lucky, we’d go to Mo’s and get a bowl of Clam Chowder. It was always delicious and all of us kids would try to score a seat closest to the windows that overlooked the beach. We were always wet and sandy from playing on the beach – a messy lot of children. I don’t remember any dirty looks from other patrons. It’s just what you did.

Cannon Beach is a family town. The people who live there are normal. They live in cute little beach shacks with thatched wood siding. My mom used to work summers at the Cannon Beach Christian Conference Center and my dad went to Ecola Bible School.

Last year, Cannon Beach was a place that I went when I needed to clear my head. I woke up at 7 am, grabbed the keys, and was out the door by 7:15. I pulled up to the parking lot, journaled, and bawled my eyes out. I lost my favorite camera to the sea that day. Darn sneaker waves! But by the time I walked away from the ocean, I had put some things to rest in my soul. Driving home was a good feeling. I was refreshed.

I went to the beach last time I was home. It was good just to be. To have no real agenda except enjoying the day and enjoying the company of the one I was with. Lovely, really. More days should be so simple.


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