FRIDAYEXTRA !
The Daily Astorian
Friday, July 1, 2016
Weekend Edition
The author’s makeshift memorial to his late husky.
Sonny, the
sentinel
of the
Fort.
AUTHOR GRIEVES
THE LOSS OF HIS
BELOVED HUSKY
I spent 90 minutes building the
fort, although it could have been three
hours, too. It was a unique construc-
tion, but then again, no two driftwood
forts are ever alike. If they were, I
wouldn’t participate. I’m a fort builder
in threadbare corduroys, not a devel-
oper in pressed pants.
By MATT LOVE
Special to The Daily Astorian
I
was utterly lost how to handle my
grief after Sonny the husky passed
away. Almost 17 years rambling
Oregon’s publicly-owned beaches
together is not something lightly transi-
tioned. I hate the word “transition,” by
the way; I much prefer “change.”
There I was, early morning on a
low tide, walking for miles down the
beach at the wrack line. My mind con-
tained not a single clarifying thought.
Was I expecting an epiphany? Was I a
fool for expecting anything from the
ocean. The ocean is not a commodity
to me, as it is to others. But I like to
think the ocean has provided for me
during sad or unknown times in my
two decades of living on the Oregon
Coast.
To my right, in the distance, the
ocean seemed listless. Clammers
clammed in too much haste. A dog
hurled itself into the water. Two girls
did little jigs on the sand. A man was
inexplicably rowing a row boat out into
the surf. Four $60,000 trucks lined up
end to end, gleaming in the sunlight.
I looked to my left and saw two
massive logs and an ample supply of
driftwood scattered north and south
of my position. I veered toward the
logs.
They were ancient bleached beau-
ties and interlocked and enclosing in
such a way to form an asymmetrical
triangle with small entrances at two
corners. The whole natural architec-
ture screamed in a language older than
‘Druidic fashion’
Matt Love/Submitted Photos
The author would build the driftwood forts for Sonny.
words for an immediate driftwood
fort! If only someone would build it.
Sentinel of the Fort
Sonny used to help me build drift-
woods forts. Then when I completed
one, which is never, she would invari-
ably fi nd her way inside and take up
the role as Sentinel of the Fort. I’ve got
about a thousand photographs of this
pose.
The great Swiss psychiatrist and
psychotherapist Carl Jung once wrote:
“Enchantment is the oldest form of
medicine.”
I would build the fort for Sonny. I
would enchant myself in the process
because building a driftwood fort to
me is a supremely satisfying act of
enchantment. And I needed old medi-
cine because I had never felt sadder in
my life than that morning.
My tattered V-neck sweater came
off. I rolled up my sleeves and went to
work with no preconceived plan. The
unconscious mind would guide me.
My mind felt empty. It seemed time
to leave the beach, but not before a fi nal
scavenge here and there for the special
fl ourishes meant to enchant anyone
who would encounter the fort. Most
likely, they would be curious people
and they’d probably be walking.
I decorated the fort with shells,
crab legs, sand dollars, rocks, feath-
ers, spires and what I like to think
is my signature touch, beaver sticks
arranged in Druidic fashion, whatever
that is. I stepped away and admired my
handiwork.
Something was missing, though. I
hunted around for a stick the appro-
priate size and came across a crooked
marvel, alone, with no other fl otsam
and jetsam around. I found an undis-
turbed drift near the front entrance,
went to my knees, and then with the
stick, wrote “Fort Sonny” in the sand.
I got up and kept walking, which
way, I had no idea.
Matt Love is the author and edi-
tor of 14 books, including two where
Sonny is a featured character, “Of
Walking in Rain” and “The Great
Birthright.” His books are available
at coastal bookstores or his website,
nestuccaspitpress.com