My Perch upon Delta Rock, Skagit Estuary

 A marvelous break in the gray, February skies unfolded for a second straight day. Opportunity knocks. 

Don't knock this rare opportunity I told myself, and come noon, I was lacing up my boots and ready for a Friday afternoon adventure, one well suited for playing hooky from house chores. I was headed for one of my favorite local perches, a solid conglomerate stone outcrop rising at the delta mouth on the North Fork of the Skagit River.

Delta Rock. A solid outcrop surrounded by sand, saltwater tides and brackish estuarine marsh.
 

The weather was a calm 50 degrees, the sky was mild and blue, my view spanned from the snow-capped peaks of Cascade volcanoes in east to Whidbey Island on the western horizon, beyond the channel that bordered the base of my elevated perch on Delta Rock.

Glacier Peak is in fine form above the tidelands along the Skagit River delta

I parked my SUV on the shoulder of a narrow farm road, careful not to get too close to the edge which abruptly drops off into deep ditches bordering this lane. There are a half-dozen other vehicles parked today along the road's shoulder, all of us have adventure in mind. The farm lane ends bluntly at the levee that separates the Skagit Estuary Preserve from the tilled farmland. 

On the seaward side of the levee, the estuary is flooded with shallow, standing water oozing up from the saturated tidal flat mud and covered by dead grass. The trail to Delta Rock, which runs for maybe 3/4 of a mile, is at best a long, shallow puddle of standing water on a substrate of dark, noxious bog mud. Traversing this mucky environment guarantees wet socks from the get go. The soggy boggy conditions are a deterrent to those who might have considered crossing this flooded flat. Because of these daunting conditions, I found to my great solo joy, that I had this amazing hike to myself. I was the only one this afternoon willing to travel in soaked boots and stinky sock.

I picked my way through the shallowest puddles, walking across logs which were floated into the tidal flat by earlier storms when they were available along my path until I reached my solid rock outcrop objective. The place was sunlit, peaceful, almost warm and the breeze was filled with the call of shore birds. I was alone with a serene view and a pleased mind.

Behind me were the volcanic peaks of Three Fingers and Glacier Peak, shrouded in last week's snow.

In front of me was a towering rock island standing in the channel where the Skagit empties into Puget Sound. Fidalgo Island just to the north and Whidbey Island across the waters that lap at my feet.

I feel gloriously isolated and fortunate to have this little berg for the afternoon. My senses are celebrating the textures and the colors that surround me.

 

My eyes delight in an upright driftwood snag waiting for the tide to tickle its nude, barkless base. It stands as a sun dial's crooked needle in contrast to the hulking, solid stone outcrop. The needle will soon be washed away, the stone will stand much longer.

The ever-changing ripple patterns of sand sediments after their interaction with wind and water form my very own Zen Garden to contemplate.

A web-footed wanderer has left her pattern of passing over the ripple marks of the last receding tide.

The rounded cobbles of Delta Rock are firmly bound by minerals in a finer matrix from a beach that was here in eons past.

My goal for the afternoon was to be enveloped within this sensuous experience I had wandered into. I basked in the sun sitting high on the rock. I lied on a drift of gray, micaceous sand that sparked in the cloudless sky as the fine grains slipped between my fingers. I inhaled the scent of saltwater brine before me. I listened to the subtle breeze in the junipers clinging to the stone face behind me. The air was punctuated by the call of enthusiastic shore birds. It was good to be alive.

I lifted myself up from my bed of sand, choosing to climb to the top most point on my perch where sea and land meet. I stroll to the crest of my perch, only to find that I am not alone in my enjoyment of this spot.

My ascent is eyed by a bald eagle. We watch one another. I unobtrusively attempt to take a few photos of my perch companion. I am allowed a few frames before my eagle mate expresses its wishes to find another solitary station.

This snag is a fine eagle perch to watch for things of interest out across the Skagit estuary.

 
My eagle takes flight. I wish it well as it departs with a majestic span of extended wing and I feel a bit boorish for causing it to leave our shared high perch.

With the bald eagle gone, I settle in to notice a few other powerful avian hunters in the bare limbs and in flight overhead.

Feathers free and unfurled,  a new raptor circles my perch on Delta Rock.

                                                          

 Another large bird flies in low over my head. I know the destination of this big bird, it's headed for Oak Harbor Naval Base directly west of me on Whidbey Island.

The tide rises and covers the sand bars and the spit that extended from Delta Rock when I first arrived. All is now submerged, or soon will be. I survey my return route back across the flooded estuary and wonder if the high tide will make my passage back more difficult. I think not, but time to go back after a most pleasant solitary afternoon among sea, sand, stone and a few fine feathered friends.

The edge of the incoming tide erases the ripples from the last tide.

The tide comes in quickly across the flat, ripple marked beach, covering my exploratory boot prints from moments earlier. 

Time and Tide wait for no man I am told. With the incoming tide, I decide it is time to trace my boot prints back across the stagnant shallow pools between dormant marsh grasses and cat tails.

                                                                                                                                      

It was a good day at Delta Rock.

As always, Enjoy the Journey.  

Ninety-Third! Is the Word.

 Big doin's for Dad and his 93rd Birthday Celebration.

Dad enjoys his bowl of 'award winning' Anthony's clam chowder. So bring on the chowder and let the celebration begin.

Sheri made all of the arrangements for the party, including the delivery of a birthday cake hidden away in the kitchen, awaiting sparkling candles and a post-chowder delivery.

Wendy and Barth made it over Snoqualmie Pass for the party and rode with son Brian, his wife Amy and daughter Elle.

Two-year old Elle has learned to love birthday parties and wants to know, "When is your birthday?" Hoping it is soon and that she can expect an invitation.

Of course Elle and everybody else got an invitation. Dad found his reserved Seat of Honor with a sunset view across Olympia's marina at the southern end of Puget Sound.

 The guests poured in and made their selections. 

We all ate well and then sang 'Happy Birthday' to Dear Grandpa... Happy 93rd Birthday to You!

Sheri gave Dad a bouquet of daffodils - King Alfred Daffodils are rumored to always bloom on Alfred's (Dad/Grandpa's) birthday. Sheri makes is so with a festive bunch of happy birthday flowers.

Dad hosts the event. We take a couple of parting shots in the parking lot after Wendy distributes Christmas goodies that had hitherto remained undelivered at Christmas because of the snow which blocked their travels over the pass at the time.

Number 93 doesn't come around all that often. Happy Birthday Grandpa! 

Golden Hour

The Golden Hour, when the hues of the setting sun make for rich colors across the landscape for the mesmerized observer or photographer. Actually it is nowhere near an hour. It is a fleeting, golden moment.

Such was the occasion outside my window on a stormy January 23rd, 2024. The gray sky dominated all day with sullen and dramatic clouds letting loose their precipitation. The clouds hung low. The sun hurried west in these winter days of abbreviated sunlight. The sun sunk below the clouds, shooting warm hued rays under and between the occluding cumulous clouds and illuminated the naked limbs of the cottonwood grove across the field from my window view. It was a study in contrasts; fiery, glowing trees set against dull, grey skies. It was golden.

To everything there is a season, and in this season of darkness it is a welcomed sight to catch a golden moment as the sun settles over the horizon.

Sharing some of the fleeting golden joys of life on The Pilchuck.

Blessing of Beauty

January 19th, 2024; I lift my eyes toward the east in the fading light and receive a blessing

The previous week of unrelenting sub-freezing temperatures accentuated by a flurry of snowflakes and sleet gave way to warming temperatures and the rain, typical of the Pacific Northwest mid-winter.

There was a break in the day's rain as the sun slipped low in the western wood. The sun's rays slipped a peek under Mother Nature's gray skirted rain showers. Looking east in the fading light, I was given a sign of a blessing. I thought this was too fine of a moment not to share.

The palette out my window; gold-tipped bare branches of cottonwood, the deep green shadows of hemlock, fir and cedar against the heavens of smudged, moist gray swept over breaking blue. Then comes a brilliant streak beaming with all the colors in the spectrum. 

On the afternoon of 19 January, 2024 - Welcome to my world. 

 

A Walk in My Winter Woods

Sweeping in from the arctic north, clear, cold air, settled upon my woodland home.

My water well froze as the frigid air mass sat upon Western Washington for several days. I was without water for two-and-a-half days. Along with the unexpected inconvenience, I found beauty in the flooded bottomlands in my back 40 acres. This flood chute feature of Pilchuck Creek, colloquially known as the Duck Pond, extended across my woodland trail after days of rain and then froze. 

Fantastic ice patterns formed among the ferns and mosses, wrapping their frozen contour lines around tree trunks, snags and sticks. Once I thawed my water pump and took my first hot shower, I was delighted to capture the concentric lines of graceful beauty etched by Jack Frost on the forest floor.

Flooded Duck Pond ice patterns are drawn by Jack Frost deep in the forest

Layered channels woven into the ice

Mesmerized by swirling patterns that form around the pole    

Concentric rings reach out from bank

An Ice Eye looks northward

Frozen traces amaze me

A snag acts a the nucleus for a crystalline circle dance

 

  

Bedroom Disappointment

 Bedroom disappointment. No, not that. It's not what you're thinking, this is not that kind of a blog.

The house construction is coming along, walls are up, sheetrock installed and painted in a variety of colors to keep things interesting, even in the bedroom. But what is a bedroom without a bed? Just a room, I guess is the answer.

And that is just about all I got when it comes to my master bedroom, a room without a bed. Sue was scheduled to come up to see me and the place at the end of July, 2023. Having not seen my wife for several months, was eager to have a brand new bed in our master suite to entertain her. Nothing is easy on the Pilchuck when it comes to putting this house together.

I had searched online for many weeks looking for a bed the fits my fancy. I wanted a natural wood headboard, preferably a foot board, I was looking for an arched headboard to complement the lofted ceiling in the master BR and the wife wanted a headboard that one could sit up in bed and lean one's back against it. More difficult to find all of those criteria than I first thought.

I found what I thought would be a nice fit and ordered it. It was scheduled to arrive a few days after Sue arrived. That's fine, we can build our bed together and break it in together, how sweet. An email arrives letting me know that the delivery will be delayed. How disappointing. But we do have other beds in the two guest rooms, up and down stairs, ready to go. 

Of course, I need a queen mattress to go onto my delayed bedframe. Very difficult to know what you are going to get when ordering a mattress online; some reviews are superb, others complain of shoddy workmanship and spinal destruction. What to believe? I pay my money and take my chances on a hybrid mattress.

The mattress is delivered in a manageable box and I haul it single-handedly into the master suite sans bedframe. It's a start. I unbox and unbind the compressed-for-delivery mattress and watch it grow into a queen before my very eyes. Rather amazing.

I let the mattress sit on the floor, while I continue to use the bed in the adjoining guest room.

My wife and my daughter and her boyfriend, Sean, come for a visit and leave before my long delayed bedframe shows up.

I get an email from the furniture company with some bureaucratic-speak, saying that my shipment has been lost. Nothing comes easy for this house. My guests are gone and I'm notified that my bed and headboard are on their way. My heart sinks when the boxes arrives; I was told to expect three boxes, I get two.

I immediately realize how this bed got lost - it was buried under a shipment of anvils. The boxes were gouged and beat to heck. I tell the delivery driver, "Whoa, don't leave until I inspect what you just dropped off, because I have a bad feeling about this."

                       

Bad feeling confirmed. I refused to accept delivery.
        

The furniture company saw the photos of the damaged merchandise which I had texted to them and said they would send me another bed. What about the missing third box? I asked. 

"Oh, I'm sure you have everything there in two boxes." I check. No, I don't have any cross rails to assemble the bed, even if it wasn't damaged. 

I call back, "I'm missing pieces."

"No problem. Those kind of items are quickly replaced. We'll have them out to you in 48 hours."

A new bed comes in the next couple of weeks, but still no cross rails for assembly. Those 'quick to ship' pieces take about three weeks to get here.

Two months after I ordered the bed so I could entertain soon to arrive guests, I finally have a bed and mattress for the master bedroom. But nobody to share it with. And so it has been my solo lonely bed ever since for over half a year and counting.

Sweet dreams!

At last. A bed in the bedroom.

Cama Beach Goodbye

The sun hangs in the western sky for a long while in these late July evenings as if he is not ready to yield to the moon of greater darkness. I know the feeling Mr. Sun, I too am not eager to yield to the solitary darkness as I prepare to see my wife slip back to Texas and her world of duties and work.

It is July 28, 2023, our last supper together for a long while. For this, her second summer visit, we circle back to what we did the year before o our last supper. This is must now be our bitter-sweet tradition.

 

We take a few sausages from the oven, throw in some condiments, stop for some snacky junk food on the way to the beach and call it our summer's last supper; a meal my mom would be ashamed of for its fatty entree only made worst by the unredeemed inclusion of nothing but salty and sugary sides.

Delicious. 

We return after our start of a couple of miles, we'll be on the water at sunset. The breeze will likely kick up and we will regret not having warm clothes. Agreed.

Now we are on our way west to Cama Beach for our Summer of '23 last Supper.

 

We settle with our backs to a turf-tossed weathered log and scoop out a seat among the rounded pebbles and hashed mollusk shells. 

It feels good to be here with Sue. 

It feels sad to be here with Sue.

We are glad that we remembered to bring our warm shirts and glad for our time together. Tomorrow brings rain storms and a drive to Seattle to drop Sue off at the curb, give her a hug and quickly leave her to find her gate and board her plane. I dislike the parting and I do not stay long.

The sun will rise tomorrow and if I were to be at Cama Beach, the sun would circle across the sky as the day before when we both watched it set. I will remember out junk food last supper and I will long for a reunion.

Dinner is Served Deckside

 The close of another fine summer day on The Pilchuck.

Nobody around to tell us what to do or to cook our supper. We have the day to ourselves and we chose to share the kitchen and make a suitable supper to take deckside.

The bottle of mango Moscato has just been opened, but the lady is already enjoying herself 

Citrus, tomata-splatta, Borther Bill's pickles and a seasoned pork shoulder just off the grill all make their way to out table for two.

Cheers! 

What enjoyment I find in simple things; cooking supper for the two of us, sharing conversations over a glasses of sweet Moscato wine and breathing the air from our long cherished place on The Pilchuck.

Y'all come out some time and join us for all of the above - except I might serve you a real bottle of wine.

Fuchsia Farmgirl

Who doesn't  like a flamboyant fuchsia?

Sue loves fuchsias.

I like fuchsias a lot.

Sue's fuchsia hangs from the tower balcony    

The building of the house out on The Pilchuck was not of keen interest for Sue. But where she really got enthusiastic was when the garden and landscape concepts were being discussed.

Knowing her interests, I made sure that in her final days of her summer visit that we indulged in some fancy, flamboyant fuchsia farming. We motored into Stanwood to the farms supply store, found some bedraggled potted fuchsias. I picked up some eye-bolts to screw into the underside of the beams supporting the tower balcony. The lady was excited to get a trowel in hand and do some dirt work, filling the two hanging baskets and replanting the flowers.

With a smile on her face and sandy loam grit in her teeth, she was all atwitter to do some dirty work for the festive fuchsia baskets that had just found a happy home.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

My fuchsia farmgirl in her natural element. 

Oh, you know who else adores fuchsias? Hummingbirds! 

With the flowering and thriving baskets hanging outside my office window, I can often look up and out the window and see a hummingbird drinking the nectar.

I have come to love fuchsias.