Daughter Jamie and her son Liam perched in an ancient madrona tree atop Mt. Young on San Juan Island.
Home is where the heart is, or so the old saw goes. I recently read in Ralph Friedman’s “A Touch of Oregon” where he interviewed the last remaining non-resident of what is now a ghost town in far eastern Oregon. ‘Non-resident’ because Westfall had not a single occupant, not even Mrs. Looney the post-mistress, who lived out of town. Her post office served a few remaining ranchers in the vicinity, but all townspeople, and indeed all the buildings besides the post office, had gone the way of the tumbleweeds leaving a barren, sun-baked plain. “I like it here,” she said. “It’s just home to me…because I’ve lived here so long. Sometimes,” she added pensively, “I wonder why I like it. It’s so hot and dry and dusty. But it’s home.”
I’m tempted to infer a connection between the desolate terrain and the post-mistress’s name. But that aside, “HOME,” it seems to me, becomes a recipe…with our hearts and time as the ingredients, and the memories of the past and dreams of the future the fruition we recall or long for. Memories are the tangible ingredient, made up of the people we’ve known and loved, the experiences we’ve reveled in or simply survived, and these memories become the gluten that binds us to a place, while dreams are the validation of our faith in more to come
Such is my relationship with the San Juan Islands. The photo above records just the latest in my home places. In my nearly 44 years here I’ve lived in mobile homes, rental houses, borrowed houses, in the out-islands, Assisted Living quarters as a caregiver, aboard boats (my favorite), and now as a newlywed in a beautiful house on the hill with the view portrayed above. I have a partner who shares my dreams…I’ve come home.
Here are two of my girls. Jamie was visiting here for a week from her home in Telluride, Colorado with her son Liam, and Ariel is my newly-wed bride! I’ve been away from blogging for over a year, but couldn’t resist starting to post again, what with my stimulating new life as a husband and best friend to Ariel. Two beautiful ladies, if you ask me!
Ariel and I met in the Barbershop singing group on the island, the Chordsmen Plus. The Plus stands for the women participants, for most barbershop groups don’t have women present with the men; the groups are either all women, or all men. Our mixed group is catching on, and we hear that there are a number of others starting up, it’s a matter of voice sound rather than on of exclusive gender.
Ariel and I are well matched, having a huge cache of common interests, and our adventures together have been varied and fulfilling. For instance, we’re going out this evening to celebrate the anniversary of a dear couple we’ve been paling around with, the McDonalds. Steve McDonald also sings with us in the Chordsmen and coincidentally has the same birthday as my best friend when growing up in my hometown of Portland, Oregon.
I also have to add how much I enjoyed my grandson Liam while he was here. We spent time together while his mother was visiting other friends on the island, and had a blast! He is intelligent, funny, and maturing into a great young man.
Since we’re just going into late Spring, I expect to have a bunch of new photos of the island to share with you, so come back and see what’s new. Happy Spring!
With everything so expensive these days, I doubt my dream will be fulfilled, but I’m looking for some skinny cedar logs, like these on Shaw Island, for building a log cabin on my flatbed trailer. Something in the neighborhood of ten inch diameter would be perfect. I considered 4×4 milled cedar, a compromise in size, but I thought I’d start small just so I wouldn’t croak from sticker shock. I asked at Browne Lumber about 4×4’s which the clerk snorted out the price of $6.19 a foot! I say ‘snorted’ because he was as aghast at the high price as I was!
The light weight, rot resistance, and easy working characteristics I desire are the same traits the Native Americans and First Nations cultures in Canada looked for from the cedar tree in the Northwest. My wish is to carry on that tradition in, no doubt at my age, my last new home I’m building. It has to go on a trailer because my new parcel of land is too narrow to build on, what with offsets and easements. Fortunately, I already have a heavy-duty trailer that I restored two summers ago.
I’m putting the word out in search of these rare trees. It’s not something found in everyone’s back yard, so wish me luck.
The Port of Friday Harbor usually turns off the pump on this pond-waterfall-pond set up they have in the Fairweather Park on the waterfront, but this year didn’t, and a cold blast out of Canada (that country has been very generous with its cold air this winter for 80% of the U.S.) created this ice sculpture.
Geoff, a friend of mine, has a large boat on a new trailer. He’s named the boat #44, and recently I asked him why, to which he replied, “It’s the 44th boat I’ve owned.” Makes sense, but it frustrated me because, while I’ve owned a number of boats, that number is unknown!
My brother used to keep a list of all the cars and trucks he’s owned. I asked him recently if he has kept the list current, and he said no, there were just too many to keep track.
I envied Geoff in a way, because he could recount the genealogy of his boat family (and to boaters they ARE family) and by doing that, had a chronology of his nautical interests and affairs. After all, they call boats ‘she’ for a reason.
So this dory caught my eye one day at the Port of Friday Harbor. It had a fresh coat of paint and a clever engine well and smooth transom that appealed to me. The most intriguing part was the for sale sign inside.
I’d never met Bill, the owner, but found him a fascinating character, gentle spoken, wildly experienced in life, with a nautical grey beard and wild but tidy wind-swept hair, the caricature of a seaman. I met him at the coffee shop to discuss the sale/purchase of his creation, and immediately felt cozy, tucked into his gentle manner.
I offered him $225, and his first reaction was a crooked smile and the simple question, “Why that specific figure?” but he was a pleasure to dicker with, compared to some horse-traders who feel that dickering is an act of war. If you watch “American Pickers” on the History channel, you have seen a few of which I speak. Both types.
I bought the dory (for $225!) and put an electric outboard on it. Oh, such a pleasure is an electric outboard. This one, a salt water MinnKota I bought online from a doctor on Cape Cod, was so quiet and easy to operate, compared to most cantankerous gas motors.
My favorite voyage with this boat went like this: My wife and I had taken our 40 ft. motorsailer to Blind Bay on Shaw Island. My favorite island anchorage, good holding ground (for the anchor), and a lovely setting sun to garnish the experience.
BUT, we wanted to go to Friday Harbor to attend a talk at the Grange of some residents of Easter Island, who were touring the west coast. Well, we purred (there’s not “Putting” with an electric motor) up Blind Bay at dusk to the ferry landing, getting easily heard compliments from fellow boaters we passed (and that’s always gratifying for a small boat owner with a pretty, classic style boat), then caught the inter-island ferry boat to town, had a blast at the lecture, hopped the ferry back to Shaw Island, then, by starlight, found our way down the bay to our floating home on a glass-smooth sea, the stars over head and mirrored in the water.