A pig. America and Great Britain nearly went to war over a pig. They didn’t of course, otherwise we’d surely have read about it in some history class or we’d be drinking a lot more tea right now.
On Friday, as we dropped the hook in Garrison Bay off English Camp on San Juan Island, we could see the white buildings of the park standing in stark contrast to the bright green parade ground and lawn. A blockhouse stood at the edge of the beach. And behind the former camp rose Mount Young, a tall, forest-covered hill that was surely a good lookout point for redcoats watching for Yankee ships. Continue reading A peaceful weekend at English Camp→
Here’s the short story first: two dads and their sons went sailing for a weekend and nobody got seriously injured, missed their mom too much, cried for very long or fell in the water. Also, despite the fact that the boys constantly claimed they were hungry, everyone was well fed.
Here’s the longer version: I watched the barometer peak and then start to drop and knew what was coming — wind and rain. I didn’t exactly know when, but it was. This is cruising in the Pacific Northwest in the winter, so those two things are inescapable. But what is inevitable, too, is sunshine. Continue reading On a dad’s cruise, everyone wins→
Long shadows cast throughout the cove as Porter and I walked hand in hand back towards our kayak. With bursts of energy he’d climbed rocks, balanced on logs and thrown stones, stretching the last bits of his day as far as those shadows. When I looked down at his sandy hands and rosy cheeks, I knew it was time. “You ready to head back to Yahztee, buddy?” “Yeah,” he responded with a gentle sigh. Continue reading Hurry up and live→