Ariel Coleman

Artist | Illustrator | Print Maker

The Whirlwind

MemoriesAriel ColemanComment
Flying Kites

I have only a vague idea of what happened the last month.

I remember this past weekend, the sunshine bliss of the Oregon coast, posted up at Agate Beach with my family for Father's Day. The sun, the kite, the bark of Pavlov the dog. Our walk down Beverly beach Sunday morning the things my dad would find and hand to me- as if lost artifacts from another life. The conversations around the campfire Saturday night, the game with Hailey, and my dad, and my brother. My mom and how happy she was to have everyone together even though that meant she had to sleep on the ground in a moldy old tent. The way my dad laughed about the lack of sleep, the way it felt to throw my arms up when I scored, the way Hailey and Jess and I put our noses together in a sun soaked cuddle-hug. How helpful Nick is. How I cried laying in his lap, in the sun, on Sunday morning, half happiness, half nostalgia for the weekend come and gone. 

I remember sitting at Michael and Aylas last weekend, the perfect grilled chicken and roasted red potatoes. The soccer game we played after, the icey shower I took after, the way it felt to sleep, sweet sleep, after that long day. I remember walking to Max's tavern Saturday morning with Nick and Pavlov. Sleeping in the cold dark room that is Pierce's and Jess's. The next day, tricking Pavlov back into his dog run. Getting my mom a coffee, going over to the parents house. Berry picking in the hot sun, blueberries, so many blueberries. I washed my car, I debated over curtains, I bought too many plants at Home Depot. I brought the plants back to our apartment, Nick and I planted them in our backyard. 

The weekend before gets blurrier, but I know there was a summit view of Mount hood, and an amazing trail ride at Post Canyon. There was jumping in the reservoir and sandwiches in White Salmon. Sun and happiness and all of the important things. Sunday we laid by the River with Niki and Brandon, we drank radlers for the first time, and I really felt like I was a "Portlander" for the first time too. 

The weekend before was memorial day, it's the fuzziest yet. We drove out to the coast in a caravan of new found friends and camped off the side of the 101 up a steep private drive near a huge puddle. We went surfing, and stayed up late playing "Mafia" and "Cheers Governor".  We got coffees on our way out of town and I doodled from the front seat.

But that's all I can remember, the rest is just summer sunsets and sleeping in on Sundays.