Elmer and I cruised by the remains of the encampment. I estimated it would require four 12-yard dumpsters to hold all the garbage, including a mattress and couch.

And a lot of people to haul the garbage out of what amounted to a pulverized wetlands to the dumpsters stationed at the boat ramp, 200-300 yards away.

That is, if the city or county or some other governmental or non profit entity paid for the dumpsters. And someone or some group or agency organized and promoted a cleanup of the area.

And if someone invited and/or recruited the homeless people in the area to assist in the effort.

It was 1:30 in the afternoon, sunny, cold. A low tide allowed us to traverse the entire stretch of my local Coos Bay beach.

I heard a harmonica in the encampment! A flute, guitar and fiddle over the years of observing and interacting with the homeless, but this way my first harmonica. I didn’t recognize the tune; maybe the player was improvising. Had to be a blues riff considering the context. I told myself that after our romp, if the harmonica was still playing when we walked past, I was going to call out to the performer and offer five bucks for a performance. If Elmer heard a harmonica up close he would go berserk—in a good way.

The player came partially into view. He was a white-haired man wearing a red hoodie. I also saw a young homeless woman who formerly lived out of a sedan with her two dogs, but now was on foot, still with the dogs, and roaming around the neighborhood. In recent weeks I’d seen her sleeping on this very beach in the mornings, with one blanket, and temperatures in the high 30s.

Elmer and I horseassed in the sand for 500 yards, then turned around and headed for home. I was giddy at the prospect of a harmonica performance. If somehow “Turkey in the Straw” or “On Top of Old Smoky” emerged, my walled would be emptied.

I looked north down the beach toward the encampment. Something odd was happening that baffled me. Then I made it out.

Two people were carrying the mattress over their heads! What the hell? Well, at least a homeless person would have a decent bed for a spell and the mattress wouldn’t go totally to waste.

More movement appeared near the encampment, strange movement.

It hit me. A cleanup of the encampment was underway! I hadn’t heard a damn thing about it. No poster. No flier. No press release in the corporate rag. If I’d known, I would have left Elmer at home, pitched in, and met the folks who had organized it. These are the kind of connections I must start establishing in my new community.

Elmer and I picked up the pace so I could meet some of the volunteers and discover the nature of this event—and when the next one was being held.

In due course, I met two couples who live on the edge of Coos Bay, in the Empire District. One couple had lived there for 35 years! Both couples remarked about Elmer’s handsome appearance and said they often saw us from their living room windows romping down the beach. One woman even had a name for Elmer—Snowball!

They were members of an Empire improvement association and had organized the cleanup. I asked why there were no posters or fliers to advertise the event. They said it was promoted on social media.

About a dozen people were participating in the two-hour cleanup, including some kids with their parents. The effort had been underway for almost an hour. The volunteers would barely put a dent in the garbage, but it was a start and at least I wouldn’t have to see the mattress, couch and one computer monitor anymore.

I asked about next event and offered to assist with the promotion, design a poster, and tack it up around the area. They seemed delighted. I was also was invited to attend the next meeting of the improvement association. That was something I might consider, although at this point in my life I abhor the thought of sitting through meetings with agendas and jargon.

But sometimes that’s how you get important work done. My nation does not often change for the better with only freelancers working in stealth at the margins.

It was time for the couples to return to work and for me to walk Elmer home. I wouldn’t be able to return before the cleanup ended to help out. I had a final question for the two couples: when did the severe nature of the homeless crisis first appear around the boat ramp and Empire in general? Approximately 2014-15. Over a decade later and it’s getting worse.

Before I left, I looked around for the harmonica man and the young woman. I assumed they would be hanging around, helping out. Why the assumption? I had no idea.

They were gone. And something about that irritated me.

Seven months in residence, Empire had started souring on me: miscreant neighbors, chained, howling dogs, multiple near-attack level encounters with loose vicious dogs and their dumbshit owners, human grotesqueries, and shattering scenes of homelessness, including men and women in their 70s, possibly 80s.

Elmer rousted me from reading a French mystery on the back patio. He wanted to move. I leashed him, stashed a folding knife in my pocket, and we ventured out for a walk.

I chose the sloping, unpaved and potholed “street” that ran behind my house. A quick roll call of what I would observe: abandoned and dilapidated houses, rusted boats, broken trailers, RVs, busses, trucks, forklifts that were never moving again, more boats, and other shit strewn and splayed in yards.

I had to stay alert on this route. It was not like a beach walk where you can release your mind to the ocean and dive into the creative mind.

Something white and shiny to my right caught my eye. We headed toward it.

It was a new street library! Days or weeks old. Someone in Empire had erected one of the finest and most spacious street libraries I’d ever encountered in Oregon and I am an expert on such structures.

How in the name of John Steinbeck had a homeowner built such a marvel in this place, undoubtedly the most unlikeliest locale in Oregon for a street library or the entire United States for that matter?

It couldn’t possibly exist here, but here it was, because one of my neighbors gives a shit about Empire.

I checked the stock—a few crap thrillers, bodice rippers and kids’ books. The cupboard was definitely bare.

It wouldn’t be 24 hours from now! I’d cull my library as soon as we got home. A few of my titles would also be among my donations.

I smiled as I closed the doors and fastened the latch. I made a mental note of the home;s address. The residents would be receiving and funky and anonymous postcard of thanks.

My sourness dissipated and it was onward with Elmer into my new life in Empire.