Roche

(This post was written 4 days ago in an antiquated land with no internet service...let me explain).

Roche.
It’s not a French pastry, or a beetle. It’s not a brand of candle, or a little-known poet.

(This poster of Roche Harbor hangs in my family's house)

(Sunset last night on our dock, 2010)

Roche.

Roche Harbor is where real magic happens; the kind of magic where rosy children are transported into another world, become blood brothers, forage for food, get stranded at sea while fishing, fall madly in love, and protect their families.

(Roche from the back deck, 2010)

Roche Harbor is heaven on an island and a place you beg God to let you get stranded.
Just a nook on the north end of the largest of the San Juan Islands (aptly named San Juan Island), it is just 9 miles from where the green and white Washington State Ferry drops you off, conveniently at the doorstep of the best ice cream shop in Friday Harbor. From Seattle, this is a beautiful 1 ½ hour drive through farmlands backed by Hellenic god- inhabited mountains.

(And more of the back deck view at sunset, 2010)

You board the Anacortes ferry and wind through a few of the thousands of islands that comprise the San Juans. You find that every moment on the water takes you further from life’s daily grind and further into this magical land where sunsets are seen from the comfort of a back porch and you remember what it was like to want to get covered in mud.

(Nothing like pilings, heavy rope, and a bit of time, 2010)

I am not sure if I become more of a child here, or old to the point of ageless. All I know is that this is my favorite place in the whole world.

(A photo taken the weekend I got to the The Non-Scotsman, Roche Harbor, 2007)

I am here for 4 days with the Non-Scotsman and many, many friends. We plan to do little besides become better wives & husbands & friends by way of immensely enjoying each other and life.