Ah, Oregon, from roast to coast.

Byline: Bob Welch / The Register-Guard

Maybe it was the evocative tug of a beach fire near Yachats as an outgoing tide slipped away in the darkness.

Or the sound of nothing but aspen leaves fluttering in a Black Butte Ranch breeze - and me listening from a hammock below in one of those moments of total relaxation, moments that come with the frequency of Red Sox World Series crowns.

Or the diamond-in-the-rough feel of Fossil, the north-central Oregon home to a six-hole golf course and, of course, the Fossil Liquor/Hardware Store, whose mention in a town brochure, appropriately, is adjacent to "Emergency Services."

But the summer of 2005 reminded me of how wonderfully diverse this state is.

In a one-week stretch, I found myself in five eco-regions - from coast to Blue Mountains.

In a one-hour stretch, I went from 91-degree valley heat to 57-degree coast "crud."

In a one-minute stretch, I saw - at Black Butte - deer, squirrels and geese, the latter offering what I always imagine to be honks of "Autumn's coming, autumn's coming" when - who knows? - they might actually be "Are we there yet? Are there yet?"

I lost golf balls in forests of Ponderosa pine, thickets of valley blackberries and dunes of coastal grandeur so beautiful that, between grumbling, I was thankful for having an uncontrollable hook that drew me to such scenes.

Sometime between June and now, I squeezed in trips to Washington, D.C., and Texas. But much as I love to see new places - and much as I realize other good places abound - I can't get over this place called home. This Oregon.

Can't get over how much variety it offers, particularly in the summer, when it's accessible without tire chains or four-wheel drive.

Can't get over how the same places can be so alluring year after year, perhaps because each time we visit them we make memories that enrich the present.

Can't get over how, no matter how many times you return to familiar places, you always find something new, at least new to you: an osprey high above the breakers, the cabins next to Clear Lake, the moon hanging above Wildhorse Canyon.

Familiarity sometimes breeds boredom. But the longer I live here, the more I find myself marveling at the range of places and experiences Oregon offers.

I think of two little girls I saw in the surf last week, jumping waves: I glanced at them amid the reading of five chapters of a novel and, during that time, I don't think they ever stopped giggling and laughing.

That's how I feel about this place: Still thrilled with each wave. So thrilled, in fact, that, with insufficient water in Fern Ridge Lake, I hardly missed a season without sailing.

The memories:

Near Yachats, walking down the 804 Trail one evening and seeing an old roasting-fork stuck in a bush with a sack of marshmallows on it. It was a trail blaze whose message was simple: "the campfire is here."

On Main Street in Fossil, watching the Wheeler County Fair parade. (Wheeler County, by the way, has roughly half the population, 1,550, of Harrisburg, 3,000.) It's the shortest parade I've watched, but offered the highest horse/tractor/smiles ratio I've seen.

At Black Butte, watching an iron-jawed ground squirrel making trip after trip with pine cones larger than its head, stuffing them into its winter digs.

Suddenly, you realize that's "the sign": summer is ending.

Then come others: The Cascades look parched, ready for a new coat of white. At home, the blackberries have lost their early-August zest. And the clincher: Monday's rain.

We must, of course, move on. But not without taking along memories of the summer of 2005, which, for me, though amazingly diverse, had one thing in common:

All were Made in Oregon.

Bob Welch can be reached at 338-2354 or at [e-mail].