Wandering Myrtle Point:
Photos, Laughs, and Classic Small-Town Weirdness
Myrtle Point: A Snapshot of 2021’s Tensions and Nostalgia
Myrtle Point wasn’t just a trip—it was a snapshot of 2021’s bizarre mix of freedom and tension. In May, right after the COVID-19 mask mandate was lifted, we took a trip there with our two Shelties, Bastion and Nacho. It was that classic Oregon coastal vibe—misty, salty air that seeps into your bones. Before heading inland, we stopped by the Coquille River Lighthouse, where the gloomy weather screamed Goonies.
The Coquille River Lighthouse rises like a ghost from the mist, guarding the rugged Oregon coast. Two figures wander along the driftwood-strewn path, adding just enough mystery to make you wonder if they’re real or just echoes of the past. The whole scene feels like it’s been plucked from a gothic novel where the fog doesn’t just roll in—it takes over.
A side view of the Coquille River Lighthouse shows its standoff with the elements, embodying the unyielding spirit of the Oregon coast. This photo highlights the lighthouse’s role as a steadfast guardian of the rugged shoreline.
The weathered lantern room of the Coquille River Lighthouse is a testament to the structure’s enduring strength. With rusted railings and peeling paint, this close-up shot highlights the gritty, authentic character of one of Oregon’s coastal icons.
If rust could tell stories, this stairway at Coquille River Lighthouse would have a saga to share. Every corroded step speaks of battles with salty winds and relentless rain, holding onto its dignity while time tries to tear it down. It’s a portrait of decay, but in that decay, there’s a rugged beauty that only the coast can offer.
Coquille River Lighthouse, paired with its historical sign, offers a glimpse into Oregon’s maritime past. This photo captures more than just a pretty picture; it’s a piece of history standing tall on the windswept coast.
Pretending my dogs were starring in The Lighthouse, I couldn't resist a few quotes as I snapped their photos. "Yer fond of me lobster, ain't ye?" I muttered, my hands shaking the camera as I giggled under my breath. Imagining my Shelties as the movie’s characters was the laugh I needed that day.
Bastion and Nacho, my trusty Shetland Sheepdogs, take on the roles of lighthouse keepers in this misty coastal shot. The Coquille River Lighthouse looms in the background, adding that perfect touch of Oregon coastal gloom. - "I seen it - yer fond of me lobster! Say it!"
The shoreline near the Coquille River Lighthouse is a rugged mix of driftwood and jagged rocks, all shaped by the relentless push and pull of the Pacific Ocean. This photo captures the untamed spirit of the Oregon coast, where the raw, natural elements dominate the landscape.
This Black Oystercatcher looks like it’s contemplating life’s mysteries, perched confidently on the rocky terrain. With its vibrant orange beak and those intense yellow eyes, it's as if it knows it's the most photogenic bird on the coast.
A Small Town with Big Personalities
Arriving in Myrtle Point, we killed time at the local thrift/antique store. It’s the kind of place you expect to find quirky treasures, but we found something else entirely. Masked up (thanks, pandemic), we were greeted by a man in a Trump-swaddled sedan yelling from across the street, “Hey, why you wearin’ a mask? You don’t gotta wear masks no more!” With a polite wave, I replied, “Thanks, but we’re good.”
This Paul Bunyan statue, with its hilariously intense expression, stands as a roadside sentinel in small-town Oregon. It’s the kind of kitschy Americana that just begs for a double-take—and maybe a chuckle.
Bathed in the bright Oregon sun, this old white church in Myrtle Point stands tall, with dramatic light flares adding a celestial vibe. The play of light makes it feel like a scene from a quiet, peaceful dream—or a Stephen King novel.
Main Street, Myrtle Point, where time seems to stand still. The church steeple rises above a quiet road that’s practically begging for an old-fashioned parade. It’s small-town America, preserved in a bubble of nostalgia.
This guy, in a full-on Trump shirt, followed us into the antique store, where he promptly asked the lady behind the counter for anything Trump-related. His car, by the way, was so decked out in Trump gear that it looked like a parody—like he stepped out of a satirical skit. He marched right up to the register and, without missing a beat, demanded to buy every piece of Trump memorabilia they had. The old lady behind the counter hadn’t even finished listing what they had before he interrupted, “I’ll buy it all.”
This abandoned house in Myrtle Point is a relic of times gone by. The weathered exterior and overgrown yard tell stories that have long been forgotten, except by the walls that still stand. It’s hauntingly beautiful, in a way only small-town decay can be.
The man in the orange truck gives a look that says, "Who let the Portland weirdo loose in Myrtle Point?" Just another day of driving by and judging anything that isn’t camo-clad or waving a flag.
Feeling Out of Place
As we browsed, my camera hanging around my neck like some satanic artifact, the side-eye was real. It felt like they were trying to set us on fire with their stares. Every “Can I help you?” got louder, closer, and more aggressive, like the unspoken question was really, “When are you leaving?” By the fourth time, I laughed out loud. It was as if they were daring us to make it out without buying something.
Nothing says 'Welcome to Myrtle Point' like a doll that looks ready to haunt your dreams. She's probably seen some things, and she’s more than happy to make sure you do too.
Walking down into the belly of this antique beast, where 'Skate Park' signs might as well read 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.' The smell of mothballs and misplaced patriotism hit harder with each step.
A pile of rusted bikes that have seen better days—like the town itself. They’ve been hanging out in the attic so long, even the cobwebs are starting to feel nostalgic.
A Town Stuck in Time
The town was decked out for the 4th of July, patriotism being served up with the subtlety of a firehose. Walking around, taking photos, I noticed the mundane details—those things that might become the most important parts of the story later. That’s the beauty of holding a camera; it forces you to see the world differently.
Despite the odd encounters, it was a beautiful day, and it’s always special to see my mom, even if Myrtle Point isn’t exactly thriving—meth and high prices make it a tough spot.
Main Street, where the stars and stripes are as mandatory as the suspicious side-eyes. Every flag a reminder: around here, red, white, and blue are the only colors that matter.
A “Trump Won” sticker plastered across a car as if declaring it enough times makes it true. Myrtle Point, where facts are optional, and the election never ended.
This little hen struts through the hay like she owns the place, eyeing the world with a level of confidence that would make most people jealous. It's a reminder that even in the simple life of a farm, there's always room for a little swagger.
The artichoke, nature's weird blend of a vegetable and something straight out of a sci-fi movie. It sits there, all prickly and tough, daring you to figure out how the hell to cook it without losing a finger.
Gracie knows how to soak up the rays like a pro. With that content look, she’s either solving the world’s problems or just really enjoying that patch of sunlight.
This old rusty spring could’ve been part of anything—an ancient mattress, a truck from the '80s, or maybe just a fence someone forgot about. Now, it’s a piece of art, showing how time doesn’t give a damn about what you were; it’s all about where you end up.
The Spark of a Lifelong Passion
Growing up in Oregon with my mom was an adventure, and she’s the reason I fell in love with photography. I was about five, in Talent, Oregon. My mom was setting up a tripod at dusk, and I rolled over on my Big Wheel tricycle—the kind Danny Torrence rode in The Shining. I asked what she was doing, and she explained she was taking a photo of cars driving by. Watching her anticipate the moment to press the shutter had me hooked.
Here I am, trying to convince my mom that I have no idea how the kitten got covered in soot—completely oblivious to the fact that my face is also smudged. She snapped this shot with the same camera she used for that slow shutter photo, making this a perfect little slice of my childhood mischief.
My Mom, radiating joy and warmth, is the kind of person who can make you forget about everything just by being herself. Her smile says it all—life’s too short to be serious all the time.
A pink rose unfolds in the garden, delicate yet commanding, fully aware of its own beauty. It’s the quiet star, radiating grace with a subtle reminder that even the most beautiful things possess a certain strength, hidden among the thorns
When I saw the developed photo—a streak of red and orange light against a backdrop of plant life near a pond—I was blown away. “Mom took a picture so quick of a car going so fast that it did this!” I excitedly showed everyone, convinced she had captured something fleeting, like magic.
Of course, I misunderstood the technique, but when I finally learned about slow shutter speeds, it all clicked—pun intended. That’s when I knew photography would be a part of my life forever.
Jackson, my mom’s loyal Dachshund, is at it again—nose to the ground, digging away like it’s his life’s mission. My mom, his ride or die, watches on, probably thinking about all the dirt he’s about to bring inside. They’ve been through it all together, and this little guy’s determination just seals the bond.
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