Seen in Seaside in September.

During those glorious days in February when the sun showed its face, I took advantage of any time I could spare away to get from my desk. I leashed up the dog and we walked all over Seaside.

You really can walk from one end of Seaside to the other; if you’re brave enough to cross Highway 101 on foot, you can walk up into the hills. Invariably I was drawn to walking the Prom or heading south to the Cove.

Near the Sailor’s Grave monument the dog drew attention from a man we didn’t know. I know him a little better now; I’ll call him Dave. For the sake of protecting his privacy, that’s not his real name. A little while into our conversation I told him I’m a journalist. He said he was happy to talk to me but I couldn’t use his name.

Dave was well dressed and very clean which surprised me as he shared he’s homeless. He said he’s 60 and lives in the Tillamook Head camp.

He made his living for decades as a carpenter but now his body hurts too much. He hasn’t minded living in a tent and he enjoys his independence. He has a son who lives not too far away, but his son is busy and in a new relationship, and Dave doesn’t want to be a burden.

I asked him how he came to be living in Seaside and he said he grew up here. He’s lived in a lot of places, following one carpentry job to another. He returned to Seaside last September before the rains began, and said he’s been living pretty comfortably and quietly in his camp until a rough element moved in.

“I don’t drink and I don’t do drugs,” he said. “I don’t mind if others are camping near me as long as they’re law-abiding.” Apparently his new neighbors aren’t.

He asked if I knew of any house sitting jobs.

“I have to ask everyone,” he said.

I asked how he came to look so clean and tidy. He said he’d just done laundry and uses the rec center to shower.

I asked what he would like to see happen for the Seaside homeless. He answered instantly.

“More places to shower, and police patrolling the areas where there are camps,” he said. “They need to get rid of the criminal element. Also some kind of housing would be great. A little cabin on the river would suit me. ”

A couple of days later while the sun was still out, I took the dog on the Prom. Lucy, who isn’t always social with other dogs, was drawn to a cute little terrier.

On the other end of the terrier’s leash was a not young man I’ll call Fred. That’s not his real name either, in deference to his privacy. Fred said he’s lived in Seaside for seven years. He has a medical condition that makes life challenging. He told me he adopted the little terrier from the Clatsop shelter and the dog is his best friend.

“He landed in the shelter when his owner went to jail. I think I’m his third owner,” Fred said.

Fred was pleasant and well spoken. He has an obvious handicap, but not one that keeps him from walking. On a nice day he stays out for hours. After we talked for awhile, he shared his anxiety about his housing situation which is precarious. He’s genuinely fearful he might become homeless.

“I really hope I can find something in Seaside,” he said, fully aware of the low-income housing crisis. “My support system is here.”

We were just making conversation and Fred asked me as many questions about my life as I asked about his. He would have talked much longer but I had to get back to work.

On my way home, I thought about the homeless young man with the enormous dog who offered me wild berries last September. We met on the Prom after I observed him earlier in front of the Osprey Café doing sun salutations.

He was also camping on Tillamook Head where he said there were quite a few people — he came right out and called them “tweakers” — he knew to steer clear of. I remembered he said the hardest part of his transient life was how no one talked to him. The isolation and lack of normal interaction made him feel he had no value and wasn’t quite human.

No person should feel that way.

I wrote down the things the man I met near the Sailor’s Grave said when I asked what would make his life better. They were very ordinary things. More access to showers, and a real roof overhead. Not having to live side by side with drug dealers and drug addicts. I thought about the man with the little rescue dog who just wants a safe clean place for them to share.

Doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.