. American cookery . pper at the Bandon Beach Inn,whither we were bound. Indeed, it wasInstitute Week; teachers must were we. By some blissful streakof good luck Institute this time had beenlocated at Bandon-by-the-Sea, a littlesalt-seasoned town at the very edge ofthe Oregon ocean. And we were cominga week early merely because of that: achance to offer incense at the edge of anocean. Such chances do not often cometo the average landlubber. One long moment we stood on thewater-stained planks of what mightwell be the most impromptu pier in allthe world, stood still and watched ourst
. American cookery . pper at the Bandon Beach Inn,whither we were bound. Indeed, it wasInstitute Week; teachers must were we. By some blissful streakof good luck Institute this time had beenlocated at Bandon-by-the-Sea, a littlesalt-seasoned town at the very edge ofthe Oregon ocean. And we were cominga week early merely because of that: achance to offer incense at the edge of anocean. Such chances do not often cometo the average landlubber. One long moment we stood on thewater-stained planks of what mightwell be the most impromptu pier in allthe world, stood still and watched oursteamer tug away. It would wait thenight at the end of the river, tomorrowturn up-stream again. Look, murmured my companion,ripples of youth in her voice. She wasstaring across the smooth, sunlit surfaceof the Coquille River, in its deeperdepths blue as turquoise. Wouldntyou think this was some inland sea, somefairy-fostered lake? Would you everguess an ocean boomed just around abend? Would you —? if you were deaf?. AT THE EDGE OF OUR OCEAN 656 AMERICAN COOKERY I laughed. I am older, and moresedate. Besides, I was born at the edgeof an ocean. But that ocean was threethousand miles away! Oh, no; you never would guess,insisted my companion with the un-quenchable ardor of youth, if you didnot hear the sound of the surf on thesands. You could not guess — if youdid not know. Why, it is like puttingfaith in fairies to believe an ocean is justover there. She made a little gesture in the direc-tion of the rippling track, silver-edged,trailing behind our vanishing river boat. Smell the salt in the air, I the sea breeze coming up. Itwill be blowing a saucy gale by the timewe reach that sobbing surf, I com-mented dryly. You will have to hangon to your hair. Pooh! scouted my friend. Whatis the use of pinning disquieting tick-tacks on the end of this beautiful day? —Dont be a bird of ill omen. Come, ifit blows —? it blows. Come, echoed I. True enough,come. Or we may hav
Size: 1780px × 1404px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookidamericancookery19unse4
