Bound In History, Bounded By History, Bounded And Bound By Mortality
Spent a loft of time in Westport and Grayland as a kid, and then as a young adult. Lots of memories. We can't escape the treacly memories of childhood, nor escape the limitations they often place around imagination where the emotional and experiential landscape of memory is only so malleable.
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| Beachcombing 2021 |
The furthest I was away from home, then, before I turned 19, was Westport on the coast, the Makah reservation on the peninsula, or maybe Stuart Island in the San Juans. I hadn't seen much outside of the incredible beauty of this region and its peoples. For some reason, Westport became a fond memory. It was a ramshackle dirty place that had seen its better days even when I first visited at around 8 years old. Its aquarium was a horror show of algae covered walls and tortured sea lions frantically ringing a bell to gett the pieces of fish that tourists would throw into the tiny enclosure. As I think about it, maybe I loved those sea lions so much, and was so fond pf Westport because they really reflected back at me the narrow horizons I saw as my future.

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