(Our neighbor's perfectly manicured wood pile; you stay off this lawn, 2010)
Our time at Roche Harbor was complete because it was the perfect satisfying mix of details. It was the sounds of breakfast in the morning, tromping around outside all day, runs around the island at sunset, wonderful meals with too much cheese, and cozying up to talk around the fireplace (or was it the wet bar?) after the kids were in bed.
I found that I was almost giddy having an opportunity to share my childhood imaginations with other children.
(Jadyn & Betty, two princesses ready for the ball, 2010)
It was like they understood the magnitude of catching a 2ft sandshark, or falling off the dock into a pool of jellyfish. Catching a scary crab and then killing it for dinner was as horrific as I remembered, and finding bugs in the woodpile downstairs just as disgusting.
(I imagined that this dock lamp was lighting up the whole sky, 2010)
I remember my dad reading “A Light in the Attic” by S. Silverstein and
laughing until I cried, and mom making homemade blackberry cobbler out of the buckets of sun-warmed berries we had just picked on the west hills. I remember watching my uncle Kevin making homemade clam chowder (from clams we messily dug up) for the first time and wondering who in heavens name thought up that mess!
When you’re a child in the San Juan Islands, you expect adventures at every turn and in every tidepool. And it is still true that exploration is at it’s best with good company. More nourishing than the scenic view itself is discovering it with someone; more satisfying than a glass of wine is pouring two to share.
I heard once that landscape has its own melody. If you look at the line of the horizon, or the tree line, it plays a music of its own. I put sheet music over a picture I took of Roche Harbor's view of Henry Island yesterday: Here's the melody: