Dear Mom,

Darrah is so lovely. I know she was one of your trio in college, and you would already know all of this, but Donovan is very lucky to have her.

Somehow she knew I was ready to dive into a little nostalgia because my third and last day there she pulled out her photo albums, and we laughed and cried while she told me stories of your adventures in college and how you were terrible influences on Katrina, and completely corrupted her.

When I was little I always thought Darrah was so sweet and kind, and it’s only since I’ve been here these last few days that I’ve seen the spark of her sass shine through.

I’m grateful to see her this way even though her light is dimmed a little by your loss. Every once in a while I would glance up to see her watching me with a puzzled look on her face, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s not sure why I left everything so completely or something else only you would understand.

Leaving San Jose felt strangely muted.

Everything feels a little muted, and I think I should maybe be worried by that, but I’m not. It’s a relief to not feel every string of my heart being plucked by the loss of you.

I drove up the Coast Highway yesterday and today, stopping in random towns and exploring the little crafty stores. Newport is my favorite town so far on the Oregon coast though Astoria and Coos Bay come close to it.

Every business in Astoria has Goonies merchandise and it makes me think of curling up on the couch and watching it with you. The people who own the house in the movie aren’t very friendly to tourists, so I didn’t get to see the inside of it, just took a peek from the road.

I sent Meg a picture of the coast and she texted me back immediately that she and Tom are thinking about moving to Oregon. I can imagine her here, feeling the cool humid air of one of the coastal towns for the first time and just staying.

Once I completed the drive of the coastal highway, I said goodbye to the crashing surf and rocky wilderness of the Oregon beaches and followed one of the curviest roads I’ve ever experienced through the coastal range.

The highest pass I drove over on my way into the Willamette Valley was about eight hundred feet, and these hills are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. The countryside is verdant green and driving through the twists and turns of the mountain highway felt almost like I was going to accidentally stumble on the seven dwarves or maybe Beorn’s house.

I remember your joy at the green of spring, every flower catching your wondering eye, and I can’t keep a few tears from my own eyes. The hollow in my chest isn’t quite as aching as it was when I started this journey, but my longing for you is a never ending presence. A ghost sitting in my passenger seat waiting to be acknowledged.

The good news is the Willamette Valley is a dream of green things and fresh fruit. The people are mostly kind. The bad news is that I found out people were kind when my car broke down and I had to get it towed to this tiny mechanic shop situated almost under the highway in Corvallis.

The proprietor took one look at my poor beat up Evans (yes, I name my cars) and told me it would take a few days to get the parts. He looked so concerned I felt guilty to put my presence on his shoulders like another burden.

While I sat and waited for my rental car he told me about his daughter in California and I could see the pride he felt for her shine from his face. He’s going to visit her over the weekend and he promised me twice he’d make sure to get my car fixed before he left.

My rental didn’t have a hitch, so the owner of the shop told me I could leave the teardrop there. I packed a few outfits in a bag and, since the sun was setting, went looking for a hotel.

The odds were in my favor. At the intersection a hotel sign from across the road shone in the semi-dusk, and I walked inside to find one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever met behind the counter. Her southern drawl put me right at my ease and she got me booked into a room for the next three nights before directing me across the street for Italian food.

The next morning I drove to Albany. It’s about the same size as Corvallis, but has a very different feel. It was Saturday, so of course people were out in droves. I still drove down by a lake in the middle of town and took the last parking space in a very small lot.

I walked around Waverly Lake, and only came close to falling in once with my usual grace. I sat on the grass and watched the ducks and geese swim around the lake. I thought about the reservoir and how we used to take picnics there, and how even with all the rugged beauty of Colorado, there wasn't any green and beautiful place quite like this. Eventually I climbed back into my rental and drove back west toward Corvallis.

Sunsets here hit different than they do anywhere else I've been. The light is different, and I just wish you could have seen the Willamette Valley awash in the last rays of a dying day. This, with all the surprises and glorious people, with all the green abundant beauty and the ocean only a little ways away is life.

This is a life I could see living if you were only here too.

But as it is, with all the beauty surrounding me, and the people who keep pushing their way in, it's just not quite worth the pain.

I miss you.

Too much.

Bo.

I've met too many people here to count. I can't believe I'm moving on from this place. Somehow it feels like my last place.

I could happily die here, molder in the earth and create from my ruins more of the abundance everyone who lives here enjoys.

I know these are dark thoughts, but there's a certain symmetry to them as well.

If I'm being completely honest, when I stood ankle deep in the ocean, feeling the sand give out beneath my feet, I considered how easy it would be to just start walking, and not stop. The inexorable pull of the tides would make my decisions for me, and that would be it. So easy.

But I have to keep going. The undeniable urge deep inside that started me on this trip hasn't lifted its grip and I want to see more of the country and cover more ground.

I'll keep going. I have to.

I can still feel the motion of the waves around me like they're rocking me gently to sleep. I hope wherever you are, it's as peaceful as this.