Dark sky but light streets

Snow falling softly tonight

Wind whistles above

The once wet streets now covered

By morning the snow is gone

Warm summer night storm

Kayaking with my cousins

Breeze begins to grow

Lightning strikes across the lake

Touch of the land, we are safe

Neverending waves

Mist sprays me with a big crash

Drenched in the sunlight

Every year, our tradition of camping at the coast right before school starts is my favorite tradition. We are always surrounded with our friends and good memories, new and old. This year I am especially excited because I checked the weather and it is supposed to be pretty nice in Waldport. “Are you packed Jessie?” My mom yells from downstairs. Shoot! I think to myself and I fumble back over to my suitcase in a hurry.

“Almost!” I yell back to her, even though I’m pretty sure she didn’t hear because she storms up stairs, around the corner and into my room; her face hints she is mad. After reminding me again that we are leaving in twenty minutes, she leaves and I am once again left at peace.

I am known in my family for being an overpacker. Everytime we go somewhere, I have multiple bags, even for a camping trip of only three nights.This time, as I pack, I carefully pick out the clothes I absolutely need to bring. I feel like I am doing alright, when suddenly I find myself struggling to close it. The clock catches my eye and tells me it’s almost time to leave, so I grab a backpack, stuff my extra clothes inside, and prepare to start the trip.

The long familiar drive to the coast is pretty boring, but I listen to my music and wait for the ocean to appear outside my window. Left and right our car goes around the many winds of the Oregon coast cliffs. I try to not look down, because sometimes I am terrified by heights. I eat my delicious sandwich and focus on the road ahead. We pass the small town that marks five more miles to go; and soon after, we pull into our campsite.

Around the loop, to the far left corner is where our favorite campsite lays. This has been a tradition with my best friends families since we were in preschool and for as long as I can remember, we have always been the first ones to arrive each year.

The night begins to come to an end, slowly, as the sweet smell of tacos cook on the stove. I watch the flames, making the taco shells crisp. It is intriguing to watch those flames, but my absolute favorite flames are the flames of the fire.They provide so much warmth for everyone here. Later, the stars reflect down on our skin from the clear sky and we all crawl into our tents for a cozy night of sleep.

The most peaceful way of waking up is at the coast. Today is a new, fresh day at the coast and I am ready for an adventure. The morning goes by pretty quick, we camp out on the beach for a little bit; but the weather doesn’t catch my eye until around lunch time. My stomach is telling me it is time for food, so I look up from my book to see the darkest cloud over the once calm water over the ocean. It is a bad sign, so I stand up and quickly walk back. I arrive at the campsite minutes later, seeing my mom.

“What is with that cloud?” I exclaim.

“There’s gonna be a storm tonight” my mom replies.

“I usually like storms, but not when I am trapped in a tent in nature!” I yell back. My mom comforts me and says it won’t be too strong, so I carry on and make a salad for lunch.

Here in summer,the sun usually sets around nine at night, but today it is five and already darkening. The clouds above the water carve out a dark, thickening line, drawing attention to it. I hear the campers at the campsite next to us packing up and the slam and the screech of their car doors closing; but as I look around at all of our friends and family, no one makes an effort to pack. We are staying the night! It is about ten when the heavy rain starts, accompanied by the unwelcome wind. Karl, my best friend’s dad goes to gather wood and get fire starter . With a lot of unsuccessful attempts, he eventually gives up. I decide I want to go to bed early so I don’t hear the storm, so I travel into the tent, wrap myself in blankets and try to go to sleep.

The tent walls have never made me claustrophobic before, but tonight they close in on me, shrinking me down and I can’t breathe. The wind whispers to me at first, then screams. Every ten minutes I check the clock. The pinching sound of trees cracking , the heavy waves tossing around, and my friends brothers screams as he left his hammock he was stupidly sleeping in. The gusts of wind repeat until the loudest sound startles me and blinds me. Snap goes our tent! I look around and crawl my way out of our collapsed tent, sprinting until I reach the car, and I know I won’t be getting much sleep tonight. It is already three AM and I haven’t slept consistently at all. I recline my chair back and talk to my sister who is also having trouble sleeping, it sucks. I am anticipating for the rain to die down or for the storm to stop, but it doesn’t until the first rays of light rise from behind the broken trees, still letting loads of branches on the ground.

My family and I climb out of the car, facing our friends who just got out of theirs as well. Without even speaking, only speaking with our eyes, we know we won’t be staying another day. Minutes later, we all work on packing up. I carry our broken tent across the roots of the trees on the ground and the gravel until I reach our car; the air still filled with moisture, like an over soaked sponge.

As we drive away, farther and farther, we hear on the radio that the winds were up to sixty miles per hour! Even though it wasn’t what we expected to happen at the coast this year, I still found a way to enjoy it and to be grateful for the wonderful coast only miles from Eugene. We pass Florence and turn left; I say goodbye to the ocean fading out of my sight, and I wonder what next year at the coast will bring.