“You were already more beautiful than anything I dared to dream. In our years apart, my imaginings did their best to improve your perfection. At night, your face was forever behind my eyes. And now I see that that vision who kept me company in my loneliness was a hag compared to the beauty now before me.”
These were the words of Westley in William Goldberg’s The Princess Bride when he saw Princess Buttercup after five years apart. Few quotes so perfectly encapsulate my feelings each time I return to Oregon. I’ve visited this awe-inspiring state five times in the last ten years, and each time, it’s a new experience. Each time I want to stay. Each time, leaving feels like heartbreak, and I feel silly crying during take-off.
It’s been three years since my last time back; three years since I’ve seen the world in amazing technicolor, stood in the warmth of the waters at Sunset Bay, seen a cranberry bog, or walked through the radiant gardens of Shore Acres.
My last day in Oregon was the morning of August 27, 2023. Before returning my rental car to the Rogue Valley Airport, I took one more detour down Hwy 99 so I could take the long route from Central Point to Ashland. Ashland, Oregon has always been my magical playground. That morning, it became its own love letter.
Walking through Lithia Park that morning, beneath the lingering haze from the California fires, I walked to the pond and realized– I needed coffee. Unlike my first visit to Ashland in 2016, I was simultaneously much more adventurous and a smidgen more lazy. I had only walked a block before I discovered the tiny Handlebar Bike and Coffee Shop with its scrumptious selection of sweeties, coffee, and a community art wall.
Walking back through Lithia Park with a coffee in hand, I heard music. At first, I couldn’t find the source. Following a path through the park felt like following the sound of my life’s soundtrack, and I wanted to know what the next scene would look like. At the end of the path sat a man wearing a red hat, playing a cello. This was the defining moment when I not only fell in love with the sound of the cello, but also with the spiritual joy of impromptu live music. His name was Daniel Austin Sperry. The song he played I remembered best was Butter Yellow Lullaby Dance for Carol. He said it was a song he wrote for a lady who liked to paint every home she lived in yellow.
“I’m done with the game, the Queen of Hearts called,
Crying for past illusion’s abyss
Of a home of butter yellow
And memories not her own.
Life turned its corner
Once the strings were cut.
A card of music was turned;
The Ace wore red
While drinking from a turquoise cup.
The trees coughed and whispered their applause.”
As Daniel played, I scrawled out some poetic nonsense that only I would understand. Reading it now, I captured a description of the moment in all its ephemeral sanctity.
That moment encapsulated everything I love about Oregon; the literature-inspired architecture of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival overlooking the park, the colorful yoga mats waiting for the morning class as a student who looked like Gandalf warmed up nearby, a doe and her fawn strolling along the lawn and past the stores as if going school shopping, an outdoor market set up nearby with artists who enjoy taking a moment to share about their creative journeys and beam with happiness when their work was discovered and cherished.
Oregon is where I first noticed the main character vibes of the world. A place where the scenery and atmosphere flirt with the senses, making the moment feel like a movie and the main character (you) feel alive. It’s beautiful and tragic all at once, fulfilling and fleeting.
This is my love letter to you, Oregon. We’ll be together soon.
If this love letter spoke to you, you can help support the journey through Buy Me a Coffee.
~Miss Marie
