Jean MacDonald

Velella velella is the Latin name for a “free-floating hydrozoan that lives on the surface of the open ocean." (Wikipedia) They are also known as “by-the-wind sailors.”

When I first saw them on the Oregon coast, I thought they were tiny Portuguese Man O’Wars, the large blue jellyfish-like creature that terrorized my toes with their stinging tentacles during childhood visits to the beaches of South Florida. The velellas do belong the same Phylum (Cnidaria) and Class (Hydrozoa), so they are related.

These little sailors are considered “cosmopolitan,” meaning that they are found all around the globe. More from Wikipedia: “V. velella is at the mercy of prevailing winds for moving around the seas.” They have a sail but no rudder or locomotion, making them subject to mass strandings.

No wonder they are blue. I’ve seen thousands of them, piled up on the beach in the spring. When they’ve been stranded long enough, dried out in the sun and air, they turn white, never to sail the seven seas again.

(This post originally appeared in my Metaphor Monday series on Substack, May 5, 2025)

tl;dr I am posting short essays and photos on Substack and selling my photos as greeting cards on Etsy

Metaphor Mondays

I’ve been experimenting for a few months with a weekly newsletter that combines a short post + photos. It’s been a good writing project to focus while I am between drafts of my book. It’s nice to have something bite-sized.

After years at Micro.blog advocating for the independent open web, after quitting my active social media accounts (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter), it did feel weird to join a mega platform like Substack, which is why I’ve been treading slowly and quietly. A few of my favorite writers publish on Substack. I like the low key interactions in the comments. I also appreciate why these writers would prefer publishing on Substack versus launching an independent blog. They are looking for a certain kind of connection with readers. They want to share with smaller communities. And they don’t want to deal with the technical details of setting up a blog.

I have myself been shifting away from screen time. I don’t keep up with the latest devices and technological advances. I spend more time outdoors than I did when I was working in tech. During morning walks on the beach, I’ve noticed Nature always offers a lesson. The ocean is a metaphor-making machine. So I started collecting the metaphors, both in photos and in writing, and publishing them weekly in a series I call Metaphor Monday. 🌊🌧️

I haven’t forgotten the IndieWeb lesson about the importance of publishing under my own domain name where I have control of what happens with my work. I’m importing all the Substack posts to my microblog, and will repost future Metaphor Mondays as blog posts.

If you’d like to follow along on Substack, please subscribe. The content is the same for free and paid subscribers. The only perk is that I periodically send cards featuring my photos to paid subscribers. In the mail with a stamp, of course. If you know me, you know I like to send things via snail mail. 📬

And speaking of cards…

Well-Tempered Cards

Photography has long been one of my interests. I take lots of photos during my daily walks on the beach. I have been keeping it simple, doing all my photography and videography with my iPhone (currently the 16 Pro).

Last summer, I was inspired to make my own greeting cards. I had been buying a certain card with a photo of a cairn stacked by the ocean. It was a nice metaphor for progress and balance, and I sent it to my sober friends when they hit a milestone. One day, it struck me, “I can stack stones myself and photograph them.” I had several photos that would make nice metaphor-inspired cards.

Then I started an Etsy store as an experiment, and I’m still experimenting. It’s been a fun learning process. I have more ideas for card sets to work on this summer. The cards are priced at $5 + shipping. I’m printing them in very small batches at Moo.com for now. I learned at Micro.blog the joy of starting small and seeing what happens. 😇

I wrote this post in an effort to integrate my blog and my other online adventures. Ever since Micro.blog launched in 2017, I had a central place where I posted writing and photos, syndicating to other platforms. I wasn’t sure if I would really take to Substack (and I still have some misgivings), so I kept it separate. And that led me to post less often on my own blog (which crossposts to Mastodon and Bluesky). I didn’t feel good. Going forward, I want to see if I can feel less scattered.

Back to the beach

I’ve really been off my routine lately, with a lot of family socializing in honor of my father’s 90th birthday. (Happy birthday, Dad! Thanks for being a subscriber.)

Monday is always a good day to reset and refocus. I returned to my usual morning routine of photography on the beach, and was rewarded with a rainbow, that classic symbol of hope.

I haven’t done much writing lately, but I can at least share a photo this week.

Metaphor Monday #21

(Photo: Bayocean peninsula on Tillamook Bay, with the city of Tillamook in the distance)

Metaphors don't get much more metaphor-y than a lost city. Humans vs. nature. Environmental ignorance. The unstoppable ocean. The shifting sands.

After watching a short documentary on Oregon Public Broadcasting, I became fascinated with Bayocean, a resort development that was supposed to be the Atlantic City of the West. Founded in 1906, there were 2000 residents by 1914. And apparently no one had a clue about what the tides and storms of the north Oregon Coast can do to real estate. The town was there, and now it's gone. You can drive there, along a narrow connecting road, to this strip of sand between Tillamook Bay and the Pacific Ocean. I wanted to see the absence for myself.

(Photo: Bayocean, the site of the “Atlantic City of the West,” view from the dunes, misty day on the Pacific ocean)

If it weren’t eerie enough to visit an uninhabited strip of land that once featured a bustling resort town, have a look at the tsunami evacuation map for Bayocean. On inundation maps, higher ground is indicated by green, with yellow and orange showing the areas to be evacuated. On Bayocean, there is no higher ground. Maybe those early 20th-century developers would have reconsidered their ambitious plans if they’d known about the Cascadia Subduction Zone (Metaphor Monday #12) … but probably not.

Metaphor Monday #20

I’ve been trying to photograph a particular wave phenomenon. It occurs when an incoming wave meets the receding wave’s undertow The incoming wave gets stuck. It is a momentary occurrence, and it has taken me a while to learn when to look for the results of this clash: the opposing forces form a dark low wall of slurry. Sand is stirred up and suspended in this water wall that doesn’t advance or retreat. Either the incoming wave is big enough to “win” or the receding water holds it off. In either case, the little wall disappears after a few seconds.

If both waves are big enough, the little wall of water looks more like a dike, and I feel a jolt of anxiety about the speed and volume of the incoming wave if it breaks through. I start moving away from the water. In cold weather, I’m less inclined to risk getting caught by a wave that could slosh over the tops of my boots.

I like the reminder that forces work in two directions. I usually focus on the waves coming toward the beach, but the sandy little wall of water is proof that it is a two-way street.

Metaphor Monday #19

I was away for a week. The weather was stormy when I got back. The wind gusts whistled outside my windows. I waited a couple days before checking out the beach. The waves and high tides had been busy, dumping driftwood big and small everywhere. Whenever I see the beach like this, the word “chaotic” comes to mind. I’m tempted not to take any photos because everything looks disorganized.

In my head, I’m comparing it to a day like this one last November. The sand is like glass, reflecting the sky. It’s easy to take a stunning photo.

It reminds me of those times when I’ve got my life all figured out, and then an unexpected storm washes in a pile of new challenges. I know the ocean will eventually reclaim all this debris, and there will be another day when a clear beach will greet me.

I can be ready for the cycle to repeat. And maybe I’ll get better at capturing the beauty in disorder.

Metaphor Monday #18

It was a perfect day to stay inside by the fire with a cup of tea and watch the cold rain and big gusts of wind. A beach hazard alert had been issued for the whole weekend, warning of the possibility of sneaker waves. Which is exactly why I suited up in rain pants and a jacket and went out for a look. I am mesmerized by the wild waves and didn’t want to miss the action.

The beach was practically empty, unsurprising with the rain and the gusts between 17 and 30 mph. My rainwear was quickly soaked, but it was worth it. The waves and the winds imparted some of their energy to me, and I took a quick walk before my fear of being blown away got the better of me. (Check out my video, where you can hear and see the wind’s effects.)

This post is brought to you by my new REI rain pants. I don’t know why I waited so long to buy this essential piece of clothing for the Oregon coast.

Metaphor Monday #17