Taking Life with Chances

I have forever been drawn to small towns. I can’t explain why, I just am. There has always been something romantic about the idea of running away to one and starting over, and that was one of the many things that drove me to leave California.

Cathey’s Valley, California, was the first small town I remember visiting. I was in my late teens or early twenties, there with my boyfriend at the time for a family reunion. I don’t remember what the population was back then, but I looked it up years later and smiled when I saw it was still under a thousand people. Ever since then, I’ve paid attention to those little population signs you pass as you drive into towns. I don’t know why I find those numbers so interesting, but I always look.

I fell in love with Cathey’s Valley as soon as we pulled in, and boy did we stick out. It was obvious we were “city” folks.

That trip sparked my love of smaller towns. I can appreciate a big city, but living in one has never appealed to me. At the same time, living in a town that is too small scares the shit out of me.

Prior to deciding to stay where I currently am, I was strongly considering staying in Port Orford, Oregon, a place that I was completely unfamiliar with before my road trip.

While staying in Mendocino, I met a woman named Lee who was from Port Orford. She had asked me to join her one morning for breakfast at the hotel we were staying at.

She approached my table and asked if I was dining alone and if I would mind joining her because she didn’t like eating by herself.

I’ll admit, I was initially annoyed by the ask. I had been enjoying my quiet breakfasts with my book and wasn’t looking for company.

Thankfully, I said yes.

If I remember correctly, Lee was in her early eighties. We had a lovely breakfast. She loved to travel and had been to so many amazing places, both with her late husband and later on her own. She was visiting family in Northern California and had driven down from Port Orford.

When she realized I was simply taking my time on the road and didn’t really have anywhere I needed to be, she encouraged me to visit. She was genuinely excited to show me her town.

Her excitement sparked my curiosity.

We exchanged numbers, and before I left Mendocino, I booked a week in Port Orford.

I did almost no research beforehand.

I arrived on a Sunday evening.

As I drove into town, I noticed the population sign:

1,091.

My hotel overlooked the ocean, and within minutes I was wondering if one week was going to be enough. It was a tiny little apartment with a kitchen, but my favorite part was the sundeck. It became my spot to read, write, and stare out at the ocean.

I figured I’d check in, grab something to eat, and hit up a grocery store like I had in every other place I’d stopped.

Instead, I quickly learned that in a town of just over a thousand people, there was only one pizza place open after eight o’clock. The grocery store had just enough to get by, and the co-op I really wanted to visit wouldn’t open until Monday morning.

I reached out to Lee that evening, and we made plans for Tuesday.

Which left me all day Monday to explore on my own.

A short walk down the hill from the hotel put Chance and me on the beach. He quickly discovered his love of crab legs and rolling around in dead fish, while I was lucky enough to watch whales migrating offshore. Battle Rock was an easy walk away, and before long I realized how easy the entire town was to explore on foot.

Tuesday, Chance and I headed over to Lee’s house.

She lived on a little over three acres in what had once been a chicken house that her husband had converted into a home many years earlier. It was a small home with a loft bedroom that now sat empty. Lee had moved her life downstairs because climbing the stairs had become too much of a fall risk.

She lived alone and had a gentleman friend who lived about an hour away in assisted living after suffering a brain injury. She joked about how needy he was, laughing because she simply couldn’t provide the level of care he needed.

After showing me around her home and beautiful property, we sat in her living room drinking lemonade while she told stories about her late husband and their travels, pointing out little trinkets from those adventures.

I could hear how much she enjoyed sharing those memories with someone new.

I’ve realized I enjoy listening and asking questions far more than telling my own stories.

We talked for hours.

Before I left, she invited me back the next day to join her and some friends for dinner at their campsite.

The following afternoon, after I picked Lee up, she wanted to show me her son’s house first. It sat tucked beside a small lake where our dogs spent their time chasing sticks. His dove right in after them. Mine wasn’t quite sure what to make of the whole thing.

During my second visit, Lee mentioned that if I decided to stay in the area, I would be welcome to stay in the loft at her house.

The idea of staying had already crossed my mind.

I’d looked at houses.

I’d looked at apartments.

But I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the town might be just a little too small.

Costco was over two hours away. One way. That’s a four-hour Costco run.

I had no idea what I would do for work.

And while I adored Lee, the thought of living in a tiny space with my dog, an eighty-year-old woman, and her cat didn’t really feel like my vibe.

Along the way, I had also met a man in town who happily played tour guide for Chance and me. When I didn’t reciprocate his romantic interest, things became…

…tense.

Not unsafe.

Just tense.

One of the small-town challenges is that you really can’t hide.

Driving to the campsite for dinner was also the first time I realized we didn’t quite align in our values.

While we never talked directly about politics, a few comments Lee made while asking about my family—particularly after I mentioned having a sister in a same-sex relationship—made it clear we saw the world differently.

Later, during dinner, the conversation drifted further in that direction. I’ve also noticed that when people learn I’m from California, they often assume they already know what I believe before sharing what they believe. In a way, I had done the same thing to her.

It made me realize that I had assumed someone who had traveled the world, welcomed a stranger into her home, and lived such an interesting life would naturally share my values.

That wasn’t fair to either of us.

She was exactly who she was.

And I was exactly who I was.

What I did learn that evening was how big of a deal the Fourth of July is in Port Orford. The friends we had dinner with had lived in the area for years before moving closer to their kids, yet every year they returned just to be part of the parade, proudly driving the custom buggy they had built for the occasion.

I hadn’t planned on staying through the Fourth of July. Once I realized what a big deal it was, I tried to rearrange my plans, only to find out the hotels and campsites had been booked nearly a year in advance.

So instead, I booked another trip for the following Fourth of July.

This time I didn’t reach out to Lee.

I simply wanted to experience the town on my own.

Boy, was it a party.

The cliff outside my hotel became the gathering place for barbecues, music, and neighbors waiting for the fireworks that were launched from a barge just offshore. The hotel barbecue was open to everyone, and once again I found myself meeting people from all over, along with locals who were happy to welcome strangers into the celebration.

I wandered through the farmers market, where I met a wonderful couple who baked incredible cookies and other treats using berries and ingredients they foraged locally. I still follow them today, watching the meals they create, their little farmstand, and the classes they teach about living off the land.

I still romanticize the idea of living there.

I still look at houses from time to time.

There’s even a little apartment above one of the downtown shops that has caught my eye more than once.

Maybe it’s a place I’ll end up someday when I’m truly retired.

I already know I’ll go back.

Probably not for the Fourth of July this time.

Just another random weekend.

There is still so much I want to explore, and it’ll probably be easier without Chance trying to collect every crab leg he can find.

While my friendship with Lee didn’t continue, I will always be grateful that she introduced me to what became one of my favorite little towns.

Some places aren’t meant to become home.

They’re simply meant to remind us what we’re looking for.

For me, Port Orford did exactly that.