The ‘Prehistoric Gardens’ can be found in the middle of the highway in a forest alongside the Oregon coast. It is a relatively small dinosaur-themed roadside attraction that we had just happened to find while driving through the Oregon coast. Before we even parked the car, we were greeted with a 20 foot tall concrete sculpture of a Tyrannosaurus. I had no idea what we were doing there. The whole car ride I had been listening to the same 3 or 4 songs while zoning out, when suddenly we’d stopped. Many of the long car rides in Oregon were like this, so it felt good to get out for a minute and stretch.

 Everything was wet, from the air, to the ground, to our clothes, head to toe. The gift shop was the only shelter. If it weren’t for the dinosaur looming out front, you wouldn’t even notice the building. It sat right on the edge of the all-enveloping Oregon forest, and it wasn’t especially large. Stepping inside wasn’t so different from stepping directly into a forest. In every direction there was a mixture of green and brown, the air was moist, the carpet was damp, and even inside I could hear the sound of the rain clear as day. We ordered our tickets for the attraction and headed to the back of the building.

Stepping outside the back door, I was transported to an entirely different time period. It was as if I had been literally sent to the prehistoric era. The scale of everything beyond the door was simply impressive. Practically everywhere I looked there was some form of life. Ferns as large as me were littered across the forest floor, and spilled over the wooden handrails. Huge redwood trees were scattered about, with moss, vines, and other various kinds of plant life crawling up its base all the way to the thick canopy above. A creek ran through the center of the park, and the trail was so muddy that my feet would sink into it with every step. There were 20 different dinosaur sculptures, numbered and laid out on a self-guided tour. However, the most important element to the prehistoric atmosphere was the sound. There were no videos or music in the park, so all you could hear was the rain.

For 30 minutes, everything was just white noise. I walked around admiring, but not speaking. I didn’t have anything to say. It was very calm, and there was an air of wonder and nostalgia. There was just something special about the way everything meshed together. I wondered if this feeling is how the creators of the park intended tourists to feel. It was the perfect space for me to just shut up, put my phone in my pocket, and think for a while.

I thought about the trip we were finishing. We were in Oregon to spread the ashes of my grandfather in a river he liked. He was from my dad’s side of the family, and we saw each other pretty regularly, even though he lived an hour away. He was an architect, and lived in a house with his second wife and his two big, white dogs. I am told I get a lot of my habits from him. The trip took place long after he passed, but it still hadn’t hit that he was gone. 

When I first found out he was sick, I didn’t really know what to do with the information. He wasn’t the first grandpa to die, and I was already well into my teenage years. He was also quite old. I was definitely sad, but not as emotional about it as I had expected myself to be. I wasn’t shocked. Part of me felt bad for not being super externally emotional, almost angry with myself feeling as though I didn’t care enough. It felt wrong that my life hadn’t been drastically changed by his death.

After about 20 minutes of sightseeing, we were half way done with the tour. You couldn’t see the road or the gift shop at this point, so there was nothing but the rain, the forest, and the dinosaurs. Everything around me felt impossibly large. The trees towered over us, and the ferns and other plants had us almost walled in. For the rest of the tour I tried to stop thinking about everything. I put one foot in front of the other and just looked around, taking in my surroundings. All of my thoughts had been washed away with the rain, and it felt good to be in nature. I felt connected to myself and to my grandpa, understanding why he loved being in Oregon so much. The rain, the fog, the forest: for some reason it all felt so nostalgic.

We had finally walked the full trial and seen all twenty sculptures. Now back at the gift shop, we stood there soaked to the core, and my family was pretty ready to leave. After about 10 minutes of deliberation, I bought a beanie and we walked out the door, most likely never to return again. If  I took anything away from my experience at the ‘Prehistoric Gardens,’ it is that there aren’t enough moments in life where you can stop and take everything in. If you are given a chance to connect with yourself and your surroundings you should take it.