Personal Narrative Essay: My Last Trip To Neskowin '

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Nearly every summer and winter break of my childhood was spent in the heart of Tillamook Country— a small coastal community called Neskowin. My family would gather with a rotating pool of close relatives in our favorite beach rental, dubbed the Octagon House for its distinct shape, central fire pit, and wrap around porch. For the children, the vast beaches served as open fields for soccer and football. The coarse sand an open canvas for castle blueprints and secret messages. Sand dollars switched hands as if they were currency. The island just off the beach, Proposal Rock, supplied magical woodlands and week-long treasure hunts. A forest hid beneath the water— hundreds of ancient stumps and eroded roots that disappeared as the tide came in. …show more content…
As time passes, the various branches of our family find in increasingly more difficult to escape from our day-to-day lives. Even I, the youngest of the cousins, am quickly approaching adulthood. Plans for graduation and the impending move to college have been distraction enough over the last few months. Albeit naively, I had expected my beach to wait for my return. In the past, it had always reappeared, a near replica of the previous trip. Now, however, it is difficult to compare the reality that sits before me with the land I recall from my childhood. The massive accumulation of driftwood, resembling dinosaur skeletons and the bows of large ships, have been pulled back to their homes beneath the sea. Rising water levels prohibit access to Proposal Rock, locking away any chance of ever finding the elusive treasure chest. There is no longer any room on this beach for adventure or …show more content…
I have yet to muster the same courage. One long look down the beach assures me I must be the only person still willing to bear the harsh wind and brutal coldness. Don’t the others know it's dangerous to turn their backs to the Ocean? Every time I even begin to shy away, to attempt to forget my years of sandcastles and treasure hunts, I catch a glimpse of the tree that marks the trail onto Proposal Rock. For a moment, water is trickling between my toes and long strands of seaweed wrap around my ankles. I can see sand dollars buried in the sand and I know that, if I looked, I would find starfish clinging to the tree trunks that peak out of the water. My brother’s laughter floats with the wind and I faintly recognize my mother calling me in from the water after a long day on the beach. The warmth of a setting sun embraces me, a gentle breeze nuzzles my cheek, the wind tickles the hairs at the base or my neck,

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