Sometimes even the beach is Ugly
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Gems
We continued to discover and frequent gems of common interest. A favorite was a park, nearby. We became regulars to Salt Water State Park, a nice mile plus round trip walk from home. Here the small public beach is choked by privately owned beaches, sea walls, rock cliffs, logs and rules. The semi-sandy beach is about forty yards by twenty at high tide. Currently more than half covered by the naturally occurring, growing… log pile gifted by storms and kept in place by law. In the summer months the tide recedes further, if lucky enough or planned you can carefully walk out another fifty yards or so, on the Barnacle covered rocks amongst the tide pools. Here at an edge of the Puget Sound, where the ocean’s water works its way around the San Juan Islands, the small waves are more like swells. These tired waves sort of heave themselves, splashing, thudding and pounding against the rocks. Despite its shortcomings, Sarrah loved this place instantly. She would often Insist on going there by taking a hard right, instead of the left turn on our usual daily trek down Marine View Drive. I am certain that my occasional ‘giving in’ further fueled this action, but making time to enjoy small victories is good for all. We probably hoofed that all terrain trek at least five hundred times over the years, and around one hundred shorter versioned, driven in stops.
Sarrah loved the Puget Sound, especially all of the creatures and smells that come with it. She happily stole bits of clam, crab and mussels from harassed crows and seagulls, who had dropped them onto the paved pathways to break them open. We walked the beach in search of sea glass (to collect) and sand dollars (to throw back), along the gurgling creek looking for fish, around the grounds and trails for less crowded nature.
Salted Air
Sarrah seemed to have an affinity for salted air, in all of its forms: warm and strong, crisp and bright, cold and damp or even the bone soaking kind driven by wind. She led me to find and appreciate the less popular versions of marine air, which are highly addictive and ultimately better.
Winter Walking
The Pacific Northwest offers dampness in the longer evenings, the kind that makes bones ache a little, in the aged and the damaged. These cold night walks were my least favorite, but also became part of our routine. I found that ending each day with a stroll does let mental junk settle and unwind springs. Living near the Puget Sound often brings moist cool marine air induced fog. This heavy, thick, ‘cotton like’ mysterious air requires a little more caution when walking amongst distracted moving vehicles, due to poor visibility as it shrouds depth and changes perception. Sarrah and I typically walked three times each day; we experienced all flavors of the weather that come to the Pacific Northwest. Some varieties were appreciated more than others, but we grew to enjoy all of these experiences, together.
Looking …Back
Snow!
Despite her lack of cold weather fur, Sarrah excitedly danced in our rare snow. Many years, we do not get any snow near sea level. Some winter’s we get a trace, others an inch or so as we did for Sarrah’s first, possibly instilling a lifelong zest for snow play.
On extreme occasion we get Buried with several inches, those heavy snowfalls were delightful, for Sarrah. Her eyes got bigger; she made whimpers of excitement, when we finally got outside she would buck and bounce, jumping into the thick of it. I used the longer leash, usually reserved for parks and beach walks, extending a fifteen-foot roving radius of restrained freedom for galloping through yards. Like a kid off on a snow day I would bundle up and head out for the best, to turn her loose in the backyard to run, roll, dive and play. She would gallop through the thick bright white fluff and occasionally stuff her nose into it, snorting with excitement. It seemed that the huge fluffy flakes were her favorite kind, when the opportunity to get out into it came falling, we did.
Sarrah discovered regardless of the amount of this mysterious cold illuminating white stuff, it only stays here for a few days and then as quickly, it goes… away.
Ocean Gold
Frost
Regardless of what the calendar tells us, our winter weather shows up (or doesn’t) when it feels like it, displaying another perk of living with our northern marine air. During this time of year most things have a steel grey tone as the night takes a larger portion of the day and the sun often fails to shine through. Even our evergreen plants seem darker, lacking in their color. The once bright signs of Fall lose their color and clump into soggy piles of last years’ leftovers in the corners, becoming dreary coverings of decay and dormancy.
In the lower elevated, more populated areas of the Pacific Northwest we tend to be cold and often damp. But on occasion, ready or not we have freezing temperatures and wake up to a bright fresh glazing of frost. Sarrah discovered this crunch of frozen grass under paw to be a treat, loving to run with her nose right on the sparkling tips of the frosted blades. Consumed with excitement by the mischievous spirit of Jack Frost tickling and tingling her snorting nose she would gasp for air while zigzagging the leash, dragging me around the block. This annual random occurrence under the glowing streetlights was always good fun and warmed me with a smile.
Walking vs. Working
I believed that by taking a break midday I would just have to add that time onto the end of my workday. I was wrong. This break away actually recharged my brain with fresh air and made the rest of the day more productive, noticeably better. Time out in the sun removed the distraction of it through glass, much like being out in wet weather restores appreciation for indoor work. Regardless of the weather, getting outside to walk a mile loosened my back and made an improvement to my workday. Our typical midday walk evolved into including a long stretch of the road aptly named, Marine View Drive. This million-dollar view makes for a great walk with a glimpse of the Olympic Mountains, behind the Vashon and Bainbridge Islands across the Puget Sound.
Along the route we discovered a few older wind damaged trees from where eagles like to watch the world and nest, one even cried for us one day. In eagle speak, it was probably yelling at us. Sarrah just looked up at it for a moment, and then went back to sniffing. I had never noticed these majestic birds, living within a quarter mile of me, before we started walking this road. For many of my workdays, our walk simply became the best part. When my dad retired he would join us, typically on Tuesdays. We would walk and then go to lunch. I knew it and thought about it often, that these days would become fond memories.
Adventure!
Sarrah delighted in all aspects of going to the Peninsula. She usually sat up and looked out the windows the entire way there, to watch the world as it went on by. The journey from where we live starts with on average an hour of ‘freeway hell’, racing with the self absorbed rats on the paved necessary ugliness, known as Interstate 5. Then off onto Highway 101 where it gradually devolves from too much civilization and overpopulation into a sort of peaceful time travel back through the woods and near a few old small towns, too tough to die. This leg of the journey is packed with many little things that busy people miss or find “boring”. These things like mountains, forested land, rivers, cattle, wildlife; deer, coyotes, porcupines, elk, eagles, hawks and even bears were all noticed and points of interest mentally noted by my road wise companion.
Familiarity joined us as we learned and remembered the details of the road. Sarrah began to recognize the Montesano exit, about a third of the way there and would start with howls and growls, eventually twirling in place with delight. This spot marked the end of four-lane travel and the start of rural highways complete with the lost in time feel; proof and promise of adventure!
Can Bryan Write? 