Oyster shells in a time of panic

Because we still have phones that are connected to cell towers, we have been hearing from relatives and friends while we are here. Some are very anxious. Some provide misinformation. My son, who is quarantining his family and ordering food online, sent me a link: “If it looks like you’re overreacting, you’re probably doing the right thing.”

But here we are, far away from other human beings, and the sun came out, so we went back to have another look at Oysterville, a center of oyster harvesting and oyster farming since 1852. I had a wonderful time photographing oyster shells. We saw, at a distance, another person or two. A fisherman on his boat. A man tending his garden. A woman walking her dog.

Tomorrow we return to a different Portland than the one we left. Schools are closed, appointments cancelled, events cancelled or postponed. We need to load up on canned goods. Seems wise to do that here, where there are fewer people. Going into a grocery store feels a little like entering a leper colony. We don gloves. Three Extras: Oysterville, all of them. The town that Oysters built.