Penthouse Real Estate in Heronville

I went walking near home today... and even though I'm not ready for spring to start, it's clear that other folks are more than ready. Here's the local heron rookery, sizing up the nesting situation and occasionally bronking at the neighbors. Amazing to see so many herons at once. That's part of the beauty of winter, you know -- no leaves on the trees, obstructing the views.

Sights Seen in Seattle

Half the fun of photography is finding new ways to look at stuff. Here are some different views of Seattle. Enjoy!

This tower seems a little off-kilter... but the next one is supposed to be that way? Go figure. Not sure my dad the carpenter would have appreciated the effect.

I guess wooden dragons aren't too scary.

Days of Well-Spent Youth

I never considered us "weekenders". Sure, we mostly visited our cabin on summer weekends, but we owned that piece of paradise. Owned it. Every tree, every rock, every high and low tide.

My grandparents bought a derelict farm, acres of woods, and several beach lots on lower Puget Sound back in the 1950s. They fixed up the house, tried their hands at raising a steer, and cursed the deer that kept eating Gramma's roses. All my aunts and uncles had a beach lot, and a couple of my dad's cousins came along and built nice cabins there, too. If anything, it was the non-family full-time residents down the road who were "outsiders".

I spent many, many happy hours combing the beach, digging clay and making tiny pots, walking in the woods, hanging out with my cousins, eating hotcakes cooked on an outdoor griddle, and digging clams. Oh, and watching Dad and my brothers fix the tractor. There was always a project to be done, and the machinery was never ready to run immediately. For me, this place and time were idyllic. (For my brothers, perhaps not so much. The benefit of being the much younger sister.)

Many years later, after most of the property had passed out of the family, my Aunt Margret said that she hoped all of us could hold some woods and beach in our hearts where it wouldn't go away. I think this is why I crave quiet, natural places and wild flora. I'm always going back there, to where life was gentle and the silences were companionable.

Following are a few photos from the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge. I had a wonderful, quiet, spectacular day there yesterday, and I'll be going back again and again in my mind. Hope you enjoy these little glimpses of our temporary home.

Looking to Sea

Olympic Mountains

THE Mountain

Little Singer

Narrows Bridge from Nisqually

December on Puget Sound

Wonderful foggy photo ops today! No Polo, just me and my camera and a hundred birds... and bliss.

Spotted at the Aquarium

Not only did I have a great time with my family, but I got to play with my camera. Woot!

Some subjects are not prone to smiling for the camera...

There was much to see OUT of the water...

A tall ship from the Russian Navy visiting the port...

Architectural splashes always catch my eye...

Photos from the Beach

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a marvelous weekend with 129 of my friends at a women's retreat on the Sound. Here are a few mementos of that experience.





 

 

Sunny Day at the Locks

One of the advantages of having my car serviced on the other side of town is that I get to go to the other side of town once in a while. When I was up there a couple of weeks ago, I decided to spend time at the Chittenden Locks in Ballard.

I saw sculpture...


...and water (from the fish ladder viewing room)...


...and an interesting bird...


...and other interesting subjects.

I don't like being a tourist, a visual consumer if you will. But there I was, next to a class of Asian preschoolers on a field trip, gawking at the sailboat as it came up to the level of the lake:

From this angle, you can't even see the boat -- only the mast and some lines. But as the water lifted the boat, there was a young-ish couple on board who were rather amused at being the center of attention. The lady and I exchanged shy smiles, and she waved politely at the children. I didn't want to include her photo on the blog, as I have no idea who she was and I don't like to post images without permission. You'll just have to imagine her little inflatable life vest (more like an elongated collar), the bandanna holding her dreadlocks, and her gentle manner. The boat was registered in Alaska. Imagine that! It's only May -- do you suppose they made the trip down already this spring, or was this a practice sail on Puget Sound to train for the return trip up the inside passage?

While watching the boats come up, I overheard a little chatter about a log boom on its way from Lake Washington out to the Sound. This was a few days after opening day of the boating season. As part of the festivities, a temporary moorage* is anchored out on the lake. Pleasure boats can tie up to it to watch everything from their own front-row seats. When the party's over, the boom has to go. Very interesting. I didn't stay to watch the log boom go through the locks, though. I had another place to visit, and I'll post those photos in a few days.

Cheerio!


*P.S. Blogger wants to correct this word to be "moo rage". Yep, if cattle were forced aboard yachts, there would be moo rage indeed!

I Love "The Sound"

After my NaNoWriMo plotting workshop today, I detoured to the beach to eat my lunch and soak up the view. It was a glorious day. Blue sky, golden and russet trees, and Puget Sound was dark bluish-green with whitecaps. While I was there, a cargo ship crossed way, way out in the channel, moving from Tacoma to Seattle and eventually to the Pacific. The wind and the distance gave the ship a cloak of utter silence; this, too, was beautiful. At the tide line, I found a tiny clam shell, perfect and clean.

The tide was way in, leaving a narrow strip of sand. When the tide's in, it doesn't only make the beach smaller. The water level is noticeably higher, so that it was almost at eye level from where I sat. The difference in perspective from high tide to low is subtle but powerful. It really does make a difference if you're looking down on the water or straight across it. Somehow, high tide invites me to share the water experience. At low tide, looking down at a broad expanse of beach and water, the Sound is emotionally distant. High tide comes to play, to lap at the bulkhead, and taunts you to take out a canoe and paddle over to the overhanging trees against the shore.