I met her June 28, 2021; the last day of the solo leg of my summer adventure. I'd just spent eight days camping by myself on the northern California, Oregon and now the Washington coast.
Ten states, two travel partners, tent camping 20 nights of the 30. A great adventure to be sure.
An extrovert, I'd looked forward to talking to other campers, thinking I would be lonely, but I wasn't. I had a few chats in coffee shops along the way, but the only campground conversations had been here at Cape Disappointment, two short ones. One when a sweet family seeing me sitting in the shade of my Subaru sweating profusely offered their shady site for my use while they went to the beach; the other when a couple had walked by and did a double-take at my Missouri plates asking where in the hell I was from.
Other than a few waves here and there from women my age and a preschooler yelling hello from his bike as I sat by my campfire, no one else had talked to me for those eight days. Until this day, this last solo adventuring day at Cape Disappointment.
Author Kim Blevins
Writing has been important to me since I started listing how to spend the $5 I made picking blackberries as a child. At the top of that list was a large fuzzy foot rug I never got. In high school I wrote of the boys I loved, the important decisions I had to make, the homework I dreaded, and which family member had annoyed me the most that day. I lost writing for a few years, then got paid to write, lost it again for many years then being a part of the National Writing Project took my hand and led me to it again. I turned my back on it one more time chasing a love that didn't work out to then find this fierce obsessive love that will always be a part of my life, the love of words, of stories, of musings and mullings. Thanks for reading.