Little House in the Big Woods - Re-Envisioning Space and Time

It is the first week of January.

Year 2021 is gone.

The snow is gone.

The wife is gone. 

I am alone with plenty of time to think about where I see myself in the future.

+++

At the time of the Christmas snow, I was anticipating the roofer to be out to put on a layer of high tech fabric over the plywood decking to "dry-in" the interior of the house before the end of 2021. No dice. With 11-13 inches of snow on the roof, no drying-in for a while. No roofers on the icy pitched roof for a while. Gives me time to think.

I sit in my trailer home watching the rain fall on the cedars next to my house under construction. Gives me time to think. 

 

On Monday the kitchen skylight and the doors will arrive. This signals the next phase of work. We have been idled by weather and long waits for construction material for over three weeks. 

 

Backside of the house as seen from 'Little Crick'

I have given it some thought. I have some modifications to make to the framed walls in the coming days as I rethink the design of the house. 

 

Rocky, the plumber, has been contacted and he promises he will be out shortly to layout pipes for a real house. Phil, our General Contractor, will follow the plumber and do the electrical. Once plumbing and electrical are signed off by county inspector, our insurance should then pay out the 2nd half of our claim. Luck be a lady tonight - baby needs a new pair of shoes and daddy needs to buy mama a pretty new house. Allstate Insurance has given me an ultimatum to have the house ready for sheet rock by March 22, 2022 - or else they will not pay off my remaining claim amount. Tough bastards.

With time to think things over, I am planning flooring, wall colors, tiles and bath fixtures and laying out cabinet configurations - in my mind. Soon to be a reality. 

A new thought. One thought that has grown on us since our recent Airbnb experience, is the idea of using the basement bedroom and luxury bath as an Airbnb rental to help finance our transition to the Pilchuck. Therefore, I've added a newly designed kitchenette and living space in the basement outside the bedroom with a fridge, sink/counter, microwave with a dinette + chairs for possible future (paying) guests.

Plenty of details to do; waiting on windows to be delivered mid-March (ordered in October 2021 - supply chain problems). I am considering laying down the wood flooring myself, also doing the interior painting and applying a thin stone veneer on the tower/turret NE corner of the house. I've got time. I am hoping to get the remained of my insurance money.

 

Trailer's small kitchen corner, Gives me shelter from the storm.

My trailer is dry and warm, for which I am thankful. The atmospheric river phenomena may be letting up after 83 days of near-continuous precipitation, mostly rain, but a healthy 12" of snow.

 

The new year and new experiences has brought a new perspective. I envision myself belonging to this place. I see a real opportunity before me to open up my new space to paying, short-term renters, al a Airbnb. It will be a lovely place for our paying guests, and even better for our non-paying guest, i.e kith and kin who are welcome to drop in. 

 

 

Who will be the first to let me host them? Operators are standing by to take your reservations.

 

2022 - A Re-envisioned use of this space and my time.

A Last Hurrah + A First Start

I had another New Year fall upon me. Why does this keep happening to me?

 

With Sue visiting Washington for 10 days over the Christmas-New Year Holidays; we had seen family living here in Washington, we had talked privately about many things and we are in agreement that we are unsure of what this New Year of 2022 AD will do for us or to us. 

Sue has a boarding pass with her name and assigned seat. She will be leaving on a jet plane, don't know when she'll be back again. We have today together and then she will be gone to Texas.

 

High tide at Larrabee SP

On her last full day here, it is decided on the spur-of-the-moment to go north up the coast. Peeling off the interstate, we sweep across low farmland and skirt estuaries until Chuckanut Drive climbs the defiant, stony headland cliffs; I steer around hairpin turns on a narrow roadway chiseled into the rocks. Conifers on the right, Samish Bay on the left, we cut through the mist that drifts through the trees and patches of recent snow. Our destination, as much by happenstance as by plan, is Larrabee State Park on Samish Bay. 

 

 

 

At my instruction, Sue pulls the Discover Pass out of the glove box and puts it on the dash. With the pass displayed, we are paid-up legal visitors to the coastal preserve - we are the only ones in the park this cold morning. I like it.

Hiking down to the water, the tide is in and the tide is high. Not much beach to access. Opting for a hike along the brim of the sea cliffs, we trudge through mostly mud, some remaining snow and ice. The fog descends, only to be swept hither, revealing tankers navigating through the waters of Puget Sound around the islands. In a moment they are hidden once again in the silent fog.

 

A cold wind and ice pellets drive us from our sea cliff hike

 

 

 

 

Standing under pines among rocks wrenched sideways by tectonic forces, we inhale a fog-muted water view. The winds kick up and we are driven from the cliff face trail by cold blustery gusts and a wintry mix of ice stabbing our exposed chees and cold cutting through our clothing. 

 

Back in the 4Runner, I set the dash controls to blast out some heat on our feet and fingers. Cruising back south, hugging the cliff, I pull off and park on a wide shoulder. We have chosen the Oyster House for a late, warm lunch. It is  a small restaurant hanging over the water. 

 

Excellent choice. It was an exquisite dinning experience. We enjoyed viewing the weather changes over the water as we dined. We shared the view with an eagle perched on a tree top outside our window seat, we both watched oystermen doing their work in Samish Bay below. We sampled a variety of oysters with melon and briny finishes and sipped an Oregon Pinot Gris.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A fine dining experience at The Oyster House on Chuckanut Drive

 

Sitting at an intimate table, oysters as appetizers and chased by a fine vintage from the stemware, I look across to my dining companion and I think I am in love. I confess to her that this is my ideal day; spontaneous, adventurous, intimate, quiet and rich with the finest and best things in life. I ask, "Won't you consider coming up to our new house and joining me here. I think I am ready for that. What do you say?"

 

Last Hurrah on an Ideal Day

The sentiment is shared, but so are the doubts of finances, timing and logistical details of leaving one life and its deep grooves and making a new one. It doesn't happen instantly or all that easy.

We ponder the future.

Today is our last hurrah for our time together. 

 

I say that I believe that beyond this last hurrah, we are at the cusp of a first start. 

We vow to talk of many things; to remember our last hurrah and to envision a new start.

***

Up early, we quietly exit our Airbnb, loading her minimal luggage into the 4Runer. We grabbed a hearty breakfast at the Farmer's Cafe in Stanwood, wiped our faces and joined the commuter traffic heading into Seattle. It was a quick unload and a peck on the lips in the outer lane of the Sea-Tac drop-off zone. She grabbed her gear and slipped into the masses at the Alaska Airlines terminal. She was gone.

 

Exiting the airport, I continued on south to Tumwater to tour my sister's brand new home, filled with unpacked boxes. I was there to see Sheri's washer, dryer and fridge coming to be installed. So pleased that they have a grand, new home to begin 2022. 

 

May it be the same for me.

 

Winterland tours

From our Airbnb's window we could see that the low, gray snow clouds had lifted, giving me my first real glimpse of the winter sun since my arrival in these parts two months hence. We looked east across the valley through pristine conditions to see the blazing white volcanic Cascade range featuring Mount Pilchuck, Three Fingers, Glacier Peak and their white cloaked foothills. Their gleaming sharp peaks biting into the the underbelly of the blue heavens was an exhilarating site for me. I gave my girl a squeeze, "Look at that - we ain't in Texas anymore Todo."

"Yah, I grew up here; I used to see this all the time."

She says to me, "Get dressed and let's go for a drive around. I want to see if I can find Grammy Cane's old house, she used to watch us little kids." 

 

I agreed, "It's your time and your old haunts. I'll drive, you ogle and give me an audio tour of the olden days." 

 

She added, "I'd also like to go by Lake Goodwin, I used to teach swimming and water safety out there - only it was summer and it was a little warmer than it is now, but maybe not that much warmer. At least there wasn't any ice in the lake that summer."

Sue enjoyed touring back-country roads, traveling the old country environs of her girlhood in the heated interior and electric-butt seats in the safety of 4WD. She thrilled at finding many old sites and memories in the surrounding areas and marveling at some of the changes since she departed for Texas almost 40 years ago. 

 

The next day we went to visit her sister Cathy, husband Eric and their 3 in Mukilteo. The land was still firmly in the grip of winter and subfreezing temperature, so we decided it would be a fine day to go to Mukilteo Beach before we dropped in on Cathy and her family.

Mukilteo Beach in snow

She had packed her swimsuit (in case our first night at the hotel spa had a pool or hot tub - it didn't). She flat out refused my suggestion of doing a swimsuit shoot on the beach in the breezy, 25 F conditions. I was not all that surprised. Next time. Maybe.

Only the water birds at Mukilteo Beach were attired and willing to enter the water, otherwise the regular beach activity was going on; the gulls were squawking as they circled, dogs were dragging their owners around and over icy patches, the sea waves kept up their eternal rolling of the beach stones and someone was sailing into the cold, stiff wind - I assume for some perverse pleasure cruise.

Dressed for a sunny day at the beach - sunny but 25 F degrees with windchill

Wincing in the cold as Sue strolls along the sea strand

The chilly December breeze fills the sails and lifts the gulls off Mukilteo

The following day, my sister Wendy and Barth had us over for New Year's Eve in Anacortes.

 

Keeping our social and family events calendar full, we spent a long time savoring a rib dinner with Bob and Ann in La Conner on New Year's Day. 

 

As the 2021 calendar was drained of days, we savored every last one. Every day was different and varied, but each was fun. Again, timing is everything, fortunate that I'd made arrangements for being away from the snowed-under job site and my travel trailer home during this cold, white weather.

Snow-capped Mount Baker from the shore of Mukilteo Beach

Snow Daze

 

Sue looks out at last night's snowfall from our bed

Our second night together we enjoyed a spacious apartment Airbnb down the road from where our home is under construction. As we slept in warmth and silence, soft snow continued to fall outside our window. In the late-December morning light, we crawl from under the bed covers to peer out the window at the smooth, white landscape. It was fun to see another seven-inches had covered everything.

***

 

 

Heavy snow overnight as we slept at our Airbnb

 

 

We again rise latish (we're on vacation) in the frigid morning to dress, venturing outside with heavy gloves to uncover the powder-shrouded 4Runner. Our Airbnb hostess has already graciously shoveled the snow from the driveway. 

 

"What do you want to do today in all of this snow?" Is my question.

 

"First, I think we should go back and take another look at our house. It is so beautiful out on our land with all of this fresh snow covering the fields and trees," is her answer.

 

Sue walking up the 1/4 mile drive

I agree. We make fresh tracks with my off-road tires as we back out of the Airbnb, sloshing and sliding back to the interstate highway for a short trip on cleared pavement before we exit onto the county road.

 

 I again park at the gate, choosing out of caution, to walk up the long driveway to the house rather than drive a quarter mile in deep, virgin snow and risk having to dig myself out.

 

 

House with slick and icy floors

 

 

 

 

 

 

We returned the second day to check on things. Mistake. 

 

Stepping inside the ice-glazed interior of the new home's mud room, my boots skated out from under me and I fell with a sharp thwack on my back and a hollow thud on my head. My head bounced twice and my hips slammed hard.

 

 

 

Snow maiden in the front yard

 

 

Critter tracks at the Pilchuck House

 

 

 

Standing outside at the base of the entry steps, Sue hears my heavy fall onto the icy floor decking. "Are you alright?" she calls.

 

"No," I groan. I dislike having to answer the obvious.  

 

At the moment of my swift plunge to supine pain, Sue was holding her eyeglasses in her hand. The unpleasant sound of my head thump brought an involuntary contraction of her hands, resulting in the unpleasant crushing sound of the frames she was holding. I was a spectacle to behold while I assessed whether my bones were in pieces, while the spectacles that she was holding were now in pieces. I writhed in conscious pain while my wife watched and was happy to hear that I responded audibly and coherently to her previous asinine question.

 

As I cautiously climbed back to my feet, she was experiencing great relief; later saying that once she heard me hit the deck hard, she had immediate visions of a life-changing disaster. She envisioned a brain-trauma disabled husband, a split head, bleeding on the frozen floor a quarter of a mile from the car left behind a locked gate, having to drag my unconscious body through deep snow and without working eyeglasses.   

 

After a moment, I realized there was no damage to my head. I can speculate that it is because my head is so very hard, or else my head is kind of soft. Either way, we were thankful that the slip did not result in tragedy for her visit.

 

I limped back out of the house with a tender posterior, feeling that my chakras and my pride were dinged up a bit and perhaps misaligned. Could have been worse. The lower spine bruise did take about 18 days to heal. 

 

If the previous day was an allusion to the 1994 novel and 1999 film, Snow Falling on Cedars; I declared this day: 'Snow Country for Old Men,' an allusion to the 2008 Academy Award-winning film for Best Picture. No more interior tours in these low temperatures for me. 

 

I was in one piece and my brains were still in their original packaging. Quit while you are a head. I called it a day and retired to our Airbnb, ran a hot bath, only to find merely tepid waters. You can't always get what you want; so Sue cooked us a fine microwave frozen dinner and I opened a bottle of good French wine; but sometimes you get what you need.

 

A toast to disaster avoided and the promise of a better tomorrow!

Snow Falling on Cedars

Snow Falling on Cedars next to our new home under construction

It was with intention that I carried David Guterson's novel, Snow Falling on Cedars with me as I journey from my home in Texas. Events beyond my control called me to live in isolation under the fog-shrouded and rain-washed cedars standing above my tinny travel trailer home as I worked to rebuild the house that was lost to the arson's malice five years ago.  

 

Snow Falling on Cedars explores the passions of a lonely man grappling with loss and events he can not control, set in a fictional landscape nestled among the real towns north of Seattle and the islands of Puget Sound. It is a cold, silent and snowy landscape in the book, the very same and real landscape that I now find myself inhabiting north of Seattle in Snohomish County, Washington.

Like the protagonist in the book, I too long for connection, the touch of my beloved, an opportunity to resolve the past, and chart a tranquil future above the chaos of events and emotions. Unlike Ishmael Chambers in the novel, I have all the reason to believe my hopes and needs will be fulfilled.

Life imitates fiction, one might say. In an ironic confluence of fictional literary and real meteorological events; I have just read the last page of Snow Falling on Cedars where the plot is set against an unusual snow storm buffeting Puget Sound. My finished reading coincides with good tidings; after months of separation, my wife makes plans to visit me, returning to her native landscape in the evergreen wooded and moist grayness of the Pacific Northwest. She, and a rare forecast of heavy snowfall are both to arrive in Seattle on Christmas Day; both will be with me for for days. Come thou bitter cold and deep snow, challenge and buffet us for the coming days, sure to fail in dampening the ardor of our reunion.

 

Her mid-day arrival in Seattle is without wintry precipitation, but later we find the snow, as forecast, falling fast upon us as we drive north in the late afternoon to find refuge in a reserved hotel room a few miles from our home site, which we call The Pilchuck, after the Pilchuck Creek that cuts through our land. 

 

Snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even.

Enjoying a night's warm, reunited rest, we discover that while we slept, six inches of silent snow has fallen outside. It is December 26, The Feast Day of Saint Stephen, we step outside thinking of: Good King Wenceslas who went out on the Feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even . We shared good company with the saintly Bohemian King of the old Christmas carol I figured.

Texas plates under PNW's winter furry

  

 

 

 

 

 

We awake and go about clearing the snow off the SUV for a travel adventure in 4WD across icy roads, a chance to give Sue her first real look at the partially built house rising up on our acreage.

 

Navigating along unplowed country lanes, we pull onto the apron in front of our steel gate, not sure if I want to unlock the gate and drive through deep snow and risk getting stranded in front of the house. 

 

 

 

I decide to park at the gate and walk to the house

Walking through mid-shin deep powder after parking at the gate will be a trudge two-tenths of a mile up the driveway to the construction site; we are game for a snow-shoeing trek - without snow shoes! The snow fall is fresh, powdery, deep and crisp and even. I call to Sue, "Mark my footsteps, my good wife, tread thou in them boldly, thou shalt find the winter's rage, freeze thy toes less coldly."

 

Sue bundles for the single-digit temps

Home construction idled for weeks by heavy snow 

 

Reaching the snow-covered house, we were in the single digits and the bare floor was covered in a glaze of ice. Rain seeping through the framed timbers had now made the basement an indoor skating rink. A feature neither planned nor welcomed. 

 

Sue walked through the framed house and I shared the vision of how it was going to look after the snow melted, and we got a roof and spent a bunch more money. It was quite exciting to see the dream house take shape.

Sue at basement door, now a ice skating rink

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm Dreaming of a Wife Christmas

At the top of my short Christmas wish list is my wish to have my wife make it out to Washington for a visit. I tell her that I'm dreaming of a wife Christmas, just like the ones I used to know...

Wish granted. On short notice she books a flight from Dallas to Seattle, planning to arrive Christmas Day. I tell her to pack warm, the forecast for Christmas through New Years is for a low of 5 F degrees and lots of snow in the Great Pacific Northwest. I excitedly tell her, "Book the flight and I'll take it from there. Merry Christmas!"

I leave my thin-skinned travel trailer in my rear view mirror as I lock the steel gate behind me, heading for Sea-Tac Airport. The space heater inside the trailer, where I've lived for 2 months, remains on to prevent freezing damage inside during my 10-day absence. I think that it is perfect timing to have Sue's visit coincide with this winter weather, and it is nice to have an excuse to live elsewhere during these cold and snowy coming conditions. The skies are pewter and my 4Runner's thermometer reads 30 F. I drive south on I-5 to await my wife's arrival.

6" of snow falls on Sue's first day in WA. Night 1, we check into local casino/resort.

Sue arrived in WA with enthusiasm, sniffles and a extended 10-day play date on her schedule. It was perfect timing for me to exit trailer-world and book some real beds for the two of us. Her Christmas Day arrival in Seattle was snow-free until we got 50 miles north to her hometown in Snohomish County. Our first night's destination; Angel of the Winds, casino and resort, about 7 miles from The Pilchuck. We had 4" of snow on the ground when we checked in, with more coming through the night and following days. 

 

 

We wondered if she may have brought along a surprise gift for me, the gift that everyone is getting this season - the ever popular COVID 19, Omicron version, or does she just have an ordinary cold? We will never know (test kits were unavailable). She enjoyed recuperating in a luxurious king bed with several cups of chai, which I enjoyed bringing up to her from the coffee bar in the casino lobby. It was so good to have her here and to be able to nurse her back toward 100% health. I remained symptom free for her whole visit, thanks to my ability to mentally ward off germs. 

 
 

Angel of the Winds Resort with my SUV covered in last night's unusual snow.

Texas plates under a pile of powder

Fortunately, I had transferred a snow/ice scraper into my new Texas machine and we cleaned off 6" of powdery snow the following morning before we climbed into heated seats and shifted into 4WD and navigated the icy roads to check into a spacious and comfy airbnb. We stayed there for 4 days until New Years Eve when we left to book into another airbnb in Stanwood, remaining there until

Sue's January 4 return flight.

 

Sue clears the windshield of the 4Runner

 

 

 

 

 

Scuffling through all of the powdery white in sub-freezing temperatures, Sue reminisced that, "As a girl growing up here in Washington, I always hoped for a white Christmas. I'd get up on Christmas and look outside, hoping to play in the snow - but it never happened. Until now."

 

I asked if she was pleased to get her long-delayed Christmas wish for a white Christmas? She wasn't sure; "I'm just visiting in Washington now and with roads covered in snow, I don't know if this is more of a nuisance or a delight."

 

"It sure is pretty." I offered. She agreed with a smile. 

 

"C'mon, lets go for a slow ride in 4WD through our winter wonderland. I'll turn the seat warmer on for you and that way I can get a girl with a hot ass to accompany me."

 

She agreed, and I was delighted.

Snow falling on cedars on our land, known as The Pilchuck.