Jean MacDonald

A tale of serendipity

I’ve been away unexpectedly from the coast the last week and a half. I have no new photos, and I don’t have the energy to go exploring in Portland, where I’m staying. So I decided to have a look at my July 7 photos from last year. It turns out that it was a significant day for me as a photographer. I captured a photo of two elk in the morning mist that is one of the most popular photos I’ve ever taken.

But I also got a lot of elk butts, like the one above. I took 61 photos in five minutes when I saw the elk in the dune grass. One is pretty spectacular. The other photos are ok at best. I almost never delete photos, and I’m glad I didn’t delete these. It’s good to see what happened that morning. The spectacular photo wasn’t the first one I shot or the last. The conditions weren’t ideal, until they were.

PS. The elk pair photo (shown at the lower right) is available as a greeting card on my Etsy store.

Metaphor Monday #31

I'm back home. Not planning any extended absences any time soon. Still recuperating from all the travel and socializing and learning. Figuring out how to re-establish my daily practices. I haven't written much while on the road. It will take me a little while to get back in the habit. I don't have anything profound to write about today.

PS. The starfish say “hi!”

Metaphor Monday #30

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Another week away from the Oregon Coast. I was on Cape Cod this weekend to meet some dear sober friends for the first time, four women who were part of the community I joined on my Day 1. That connection was magical.

Because I would be on the Atlantic coast, I assumed I would feature that ocean this week on Metaphor Monday. An impromptu visit to Walden Pond changed my plan. My niece’s boyfriend, a local, suggested it. I hadn’t given much thought to Walden since high school lit class. But as soon as he made the suggestion, I knew I had to go.

I recently got new insights into Thoreau’s calling when I read The Great Work of Your Life by Stephen Cope. As a young writer, Thoreau tried to break into the literary scene of New York City. It didn’t work out. He did not fit at the literary salons nor did his writing gain attention from publishers. He found his true calling at Walden. That journey to becoming a solitary observer of nature and devotee of simplicity feels familiar to me.

At the visitor’s center, there is a map of the world with markers where people have added the places in nature that are special to them. “Where’s your Walden?” the sign asks. I can answer that question so easily now. I entered my details for Neahkahnie Beach.

Photo above: A sign at the site of Thoreau’s 10’ x 15’ house, which is marked by small stone pillars in the background.

Metaphor Monday #29

I went to the Columbia River Gorge to attend a training at the Menucha Retreat and Conference Center. I had always heard this property was beautiful, but never had the opportunity to see it before. The setting is spectacular, with vistas over the Gorge that face both east and west. I was a participant in The Hearth Community’s Transformational Community Storytelling training. It was intense. I am still processing everything that I learned and experienced.

The group, about 40 people from 17 states and 3 countries, took a break after dinner one night and went to nearby Multnomah Falls. I’ve been to Oregon’s most popular tourist attraction many times, but never in the evening. It was a treat to be there without the usual crowds. When I took some time away from the group, I was able to experience the power of this natural water wonder that reminded me of my walks by the Pacific Ocean: endless, always moving, radiating energy.

Metaphor Monday #28

When you find yourself researching statistics to explain what a negative tide level is, it’s time to step away from the internet.

I may not understand the difference between mean and average. I may scratch my head at the terms mean low water (MLW) vs. mean lower low water (MLLW). (Here are NOAA’s definitions, for your reference.)

What I know: it’s exciting when the tide level goes down into negative numbers. Last week on Tuesday and Wednesday, the level was – 2.9 ft, i.e. almost three feet below the average. Or the mean… The lowest tide we will have this year, I was told.

What it means: all the sand and rocks in these photos, usually underwater, are revealed. I can walk nearly an extra quarter mile north toward the rocky promontory of Neahkahnie Mountain. That is why negative tides are a positive on my calendar.

Metaphor Monday #27

I noticed these bright green patches in the sand on Sunday morning at low tide. Because I walk this stretch of beach regularly—because I pay close attention these days—I know these patches are algae attached to the ridges of an enchanting elongated basin-shaped rock that I have photographed before. (below)

Rocks like these have made me aware how much the sand shifts. (Metaphor Monday #11) I had never seen this basin during my first year on the coast. Maybe I had never noticed it, or maybe the sand level was too high. Now I look for it at low tide along with the other rocks. Even if I can’t see it, I like knowing it’s there.

Metaphor Monday #26

Sometimes a combination of water, wind, sand, and light comes together just right in the frame of the camera app's view. Clouds in the sky and clouds on the shore, reflected on the textures created by the waves. Dark blue, browns, and grays.

I love these views more than the sunny ones. This photo will never be a postcard in the local gift shop, emblazoned with the words “Greetings from the Oregon Coast!” But I am going to print it anyway, and send it to someone who appreciates these elements like I do.

Metaphor Monday #25

I started collecting triangle-shaped stones on the beach when I moved here two years ago. The shape has many symbolic uses. I’m particularly drawn to it as a mathematical symbol in the form of the Greek letter Delta (Δ), which stands for “change of any changeable quantity.” (mathconverse.com)

These last few years, I have discovered that I am a changeable quantity. I quit drinking. I started writing. I moved to a small town, and enjoy the quiet, slow environment after a lifetime of city dwelling. Lots of triangle-shaped rocks turned up on my morning walks.

Lately, though, I’m having trouble finding new triangles to add to my collection. The photo with seven triangles on the sand is almost a year old. Maybe the universe is telling me I’ve collected enough change for now.

Metaphor Monday #24

Velella velella is the Latin name for a “free-floating hydrozoan that lives on the surface of the open ocean." (Wikipedia) They are also known as “by-the-wind sailors.”

When I first saw them on the Oregon coast, I thought they were tiny Portuguese Man O’Wars, the large blue jellyfish-like creature that terrorized my toes with their stinging tentacles during childhood visits to the beaches of South Florida. The velellas do belong the same Phylum (Cnidaria) and Class (Hydrozoa), so they are related.

These little sailors are considered “cosmopolitan,” meaning that they are found all around the globe. More from Wikipedia: “V. velella is at the mercy of prevailing winds for moving around the seas.” They have a sail but no rudder or locomotion, making them subject to mass strandings.

No wonder they are blue. I’ve seen thousands of them, piled up on the beach in the spring. When they’ve been stranded long enough, dried out in the sun and air, they turn white, never to sail the seven seas again.

(This post originally appeared in my Metaphor Monday series on Substack, May 5, 2025)

Velella velella is the Latin name for a “free-floating hydrozoan that lives on the surface of the open ocean." (Wikipedia) They are also known as “by-the-wind sailors.”

When I first saw them on the Oregon coast, I thought they were tiny Portuguese Man O’Wars, the large blue jellyfish-like creature that terrorized my toes with their stinging tentacles during childhood visits to the beaches of South Florida. The velellas do belong the same Phylum (Cnidaria) and Class (Hydrozoa), so they are related.

These little sailors are considered “cosmopolitan,” meaning that they are found all around the globe. More from Wikipedia: “V. velella is at the mercy of prevailing winds for moving around the seas.” They have a sail but no rudder or locomotion, making them subject to mass strandings.

No wonder they are blue. I’ve seen thousands of them, piled up on the beach in the spring. When they’ve been stranded long enough, dried out in the sun and air, they turn white, never to sail the seven seas again.

Metaphor Monday #23

tl;dr I am posting short essays and photos on Substack and selling my photos as greeting cards on Etsy

Metaphor Mondays

I’ve been experimenting for a few months with a weekly newsletter that combines a short post + photos. It’s been a good writing project to focus while I am between drafts of my book. It’s nice to have something bite-sized.

After years at Micro.blog advocating for the independent open web, after quitting my active social media accounts (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter), it did feel weird to join a mega platform like Substack, which is why I’ve been treading slowly and quietly. A few of my favorite writers publish on Substack. I like the low key interactions in the comments. I also appreciate why these writers would prefer publishing on Substack versus launching an independent blog. They are looking for a certain kind of connection with readers. They want to share with smaller communities. And they don’t want to deal with the technical details of setting up a blog.

I have myself been shifting away from screen time. I don’t keep up with the latest devices and technological advances. I spend more time outdoors than I did when I was working in tech. During morning walks on the beach, I’ve noticed Nature always offers a lesson. The ocean is a metaphor-making machine. So I started collecting the metaphors, both in photos and in writing, and publishing them weekly in a series I call Metaphor Monday. 🌊🌧️

I haven’t forgotten the IndieWeb lesson about the importance of publishing under my own domain name where I have control of what happens with my work. I’m importing all the Substack posts to my microblog, and will repost future Metaphor Mondays as blog posts.

If you’d like to follow along on Substack, please subscribe. The content is the same for free and paid subscribers. The only perk is that I periodically send cards featuring my photos to paid subscribers. In the mail with a stamp, of course. If you know me, you know I like to send things via snail mail. 📬

And speaking of cards…

Well-Tempered Cards

Photography has long been one of my interests. I take lots of photos during my daily walks on the beach. I have been keeping it simple, doing all my photography and videography with my iPhone (currently the 16 Pro).

Last summer, I was inspired to make my own greeting cards. I had been buying a certain card with a photo of a cairn stacked by the ocean. It was a nice metaphor for progress and balance, and I sent it to my sober friends when they hit a milestone. One day, it struck me, “I can stack stones myself and photograph them.” I had several photos that would make nice metaphor-inspired cards.

Then I started an Etsy store as an experiment, and I’m still experimenting. It’s been a fun learning process. I have more ideas for card sets to work on this summer. The cards are priced at $5 + shipping. I’m printing them in very small batches at Moo.com for now. I learned at Micro.blog the joy of starting small and seeing what happens. 😇

I wrote this post in an effort to integrate my blog and my other online adventures. Ever since Micro.blog launched in 2017, I had a central place where I posted writing and photos, syndicating to other platforms. I wasn’t sure if I would really take to Substack (and I still have some misgivings), so I kept it separate. And that led me to post less often on my own blog (which crossposts to Mastodon and Bluesky). I didn’t feel good. Going forward, I want to see if I can feel less scattered.

We are enjoying a few days of extra low tides coinciding with early morning. I love looking at the sand ridges that are exposed. They remind me of fingerprints, unique to this beach on this day.

The low tide also reveals a network of ridges and pools, some small and some truly deep. I call it the low tide labyrinth. It’s a game for me to traverse the labyrinth without getting stuck or having to backtrack. The labyrinths inspired me to get tall rubber boots for my walks. (If there were an organized Competitive Low Tide Labyrinth Association, wearing boots would be cheating. No touching the water!)

A wise friend once asked me “high tide or low tide?” as a way of inquiring after my spirits. At the time she asked, it was definitely a personal low tide, but the way she framed it brought me ease. It was a reminder that though the tide goes out, it also comes back in, no matter what I do. I have no control over the ocean (obviously) but neither do I have the kind of control over my moods to be permanently upbeat and happy. On a walk like yesterday’s, I am reminded that low tide has its gifts too.

Metaphor Monday #22

Back to the beach

I’ve really been off my routine lately, with a lot of family socializing in honor of my father’s 90th birthday. (Happy birthday, Dad! Thanks for being a subscriber.)

Monday is always a good day to reset and refocus. I returned to my usual morning routine of photography on the beach, and was rewarded with a rainbow, that classic symbol of hope.

I haven’t done much writing lately, but I can at least share a photo this week.

Metaphor Monday #21

(Photo: Bayocean peninsula on Tillamook Bay, with the city of Tillamook in the distance)

Metaphors don't get much more metaphor-y than a lost city. Humans vs. nature. Environmental ignorance. The unstoppable ocean. The shifting sands.

After watching a short documentary on Oregon Public Broadcasting, I became fascinated with Bayocean, a resort development that was supposed to be the Atlantic City of the West. Founded in 1906, there were 2000 residents by 1914. And apparently no one had a clue about what the tides and storms of the north Oregon Coast can do to real estate. The town was there, and now it's gone. You can drive there, along a narrow connecting road, to this strip of sand between Tillamook Bay and the Pacific Ocean. I wanted to see the absence for myself.

(Photo: Bayocean, the site of the “Atlantic City of the West,” view from the dunes, misty day on the Pacific ocean)

If it weren’t eerie enough to visit an uninhabited strip of land that once featured a bustling resort town, have a look at the tsunami evacuation map for Bayocean. On inundation maps, higher ground is indicated by green, with yellow and orange showing the areas to be evacuated. On Bayocean, there is no higher ground. Maybe those early 20th-century developers would have reconsidered their ambitious plans if they’d known about the Cascadia Subduction Zone (Metaphor Monday #12) … but probably not.

Metaphor Monday #20