Caitlin had heard that in the village of Otis just back from the coast that there was a café that was to be reputed to having the best pie in western Oregon. We had a destination. Doogan was passing his dog traveling tests with stars and Caitlin was contributing by brushing him again at the campsite before loading him into the Jetta. I did raise an eyebrow when she walked away from the numerous tuffs of dog hair spread across the ground but figured that some animal would delight in it for nesting material. Little did I know.
As we headed down the Oregon coast the small towns and long beaches were broken up with high headlands. We got alternating views of close-up beach surf and long sights of wide beaches from where the road climbed to the top of a ridge marching to the sea. We went down past Pacific City and Neskowin then turned inland on the highway that connected Salem/Interstate 5 with the coast following the smell of pie like a salmon seeking its spawning stream. We had no problem finding the small café on the side of the road. Finding a parking spot was another issue. Otis is made up of an antique store, post office and the café. The café crowd took all the parking spots of the other establishments. The café only seated about two dozen folks so Caitlin and I joined the porch people waiting in the sun to be called by one of the family members that ran the eatery. We got seats at the counter next to a California couple who we had run into up the coast and who we told about the pie place. We had a great chat with them plus eating delicious pie. “Ordering one whole strawberry/rhubarb pie to go” was our request after savoring our single slices. Of course we had sick Will’s enjoyment in mind.
After returning to the coastal highway, we hit Lincoln City. Something was happening on the beach because there were crowds and cars and lots of kites in the sky but we managed to plow our way through the congestion and onto the south side of town. There wasn’t anything in the town that spoke to us, but on our return back through town I thought that perhaps it would be a good place to buy a kite so we stopped at a store across from the beach parking lot. We found out what all the excitement was about: Lincoln City Kite Festival – the best place in North America to fly a kite. We went to check it out because I had never seen a kite festival. It was billed as “Oodles of Octopi” and there they were their long lines tethered to heavy stakes in the sand. Lining the parking lot barrier were speaker towers pumping hard rock out to the crowd on the beach. It was a festive atmosphere. Okay, we saw all the kites flying and people hanging out which was really cool and were about to go when the music stopped and an announcer called out that that was so and so from such and such and next up was a guy named Lamb from Vancouver, BC. What was this all about? The announcer said that the music was queued up and was waiting for the signal. “He has lifted his leg; he’s ready to go!” Music, quiet music. We looked and saw nothing unusual. Music rising and there lifting out of the sand was a kite shaped like a bat wing. It was connected with an invisible bond to the music. The music and the kite were one. I stood slack jawed as I watched this incredible seductive dance between the kite, the wind and the song. The kite climbed, floated, turned and stopped and hung only to move again then pause then move and fall. I had never believed that a kite could show such raw expression. I was a convert. I wanted to be that kite, that kite handler, that choreographer. There was a shift that occurred within me. I had to know more.
When we got back to our land boat I went directly online and looked up Revolution Kites. See the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYqzQB3xPJc and you will see why I fell in love. Here were six kites but we saw only one kite which was magic. It was a time of joy.
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