Tourists

Aren’t we all? Tourists? One who travels for pleasure or culture. We are, after all, merely travelers in this life. I happen to be one of the fortunate few whose day to day life takes place in a place people save their whole lives to visit. Most days this summer, as I pass through the only stop light in town, there is a crowd of tourists (who don’t live here) with cameras large and small, taking pictures of an occupied eagles’ nest.

This is, without a doubt, the busiest intersection in our small, seaside hamlet. Having a lifespan of 20-30 years, eagles not only mate for life, but they also tend to return to nest in the area where they were born. They are not big “migraters” and most of our eagles here in Homer live out their lives right here since they have access to food year round. That eagles’ nest has been there ever since I’ve been in Homer, four years. It’s likely been there much longer. It’s interesting to think that that family of eagles’ has likely been near that intersection for generations, even before it was an intersection. Their nest is less than ½ mile away from the open ocean where they have a daily buffet waiting. Between the nest and the ocean is a lowland area, inhabited by any number of small animals – thus they never have to go far for food.

This morning, as we were waiting at the stoplight, I handed the camera to Sarah and had her take some pictures of the tourists taking pictures. I have never stopped to take a picture of the eagles’ nest. It’s not because I don’t think it’s a beautiful thing. It’s not because I don’t appreciate having this sort of natural display on my doorstep. It’s not because I don’t sigh in awe every time an eagle flies overhead. I’ve never taken a picture because I don’t have to. I don’t have to flip back through a memory book of pictures to remember the awesomeness of this place. I get to live it every day. I drive past that nest dozens of times each week. I’ll drive past it this winter when the tourists are gone with their only memory of it being a still photo and I’ll drive past it again next summer when town is again buzzing with camera carrying, straw hat wearing, folks from the outside.

This picture was taken by my sister, Holly, when she was visiting.

Sarah and I decided to have breakfast in town this morning, a special treat before she went to work. Amazingly, there are only a few restaurants in town that serve breakfast. We are generally a relaxed community, getting up early only to fish and even that doesn’t happen too often (the fish will be there when we get up). There were waiting lines for seating at each place we went. At 9am on a Saturday, there wasn’t an available seat for breakfast. Tourists. They were up early to eek out every moment of their stay here, I’m sure. Can’t say that I blame them. We eventually were seated and had an amazing breakfast of local and organic foods at the Fresh Sourdough Express Bakery and Café. Sarah enjoyed biscuits with gravy, homestyle potatoes, and a raspberry Danish the size of her head. I had a smoked salmon omelet loaded with carmelized onions and swiss cheese and topped with a dill sauce; on the side were some of those homestyle potatoes and a couple of slices of whole wheat, sourdough toast. It was delicious and we were served by local teens, working hard and smiling often. This special restaurant, locally owned for almost 30 years and started as a bakery in the back of a van on the spit, is closed in the winter. We have quite a few eating establishments that close down in the winter, so it was good to be a tourist this morning.

I live in a magical place. I hope all of you who read this feel the same way about where you live. I will only be here a short time, in this life, on this earth. I strive to keep my tourist eyes so that I may live each day as someone who is here for pleasure and culture.

This morning, I drove past a moose cow and calf in a parking lot right in town. I didn’t stop to take a picture because I know I’ll see them again.