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.

Ride the Rails for the Return

 Come by car. 

Return by train.

Inga choses her passage via rail on her return to Portland

Inga and Sean had come north on the Interstate in their Subaru. Sean stayed for a couple of days and then returned solo while Inga lingered with he folks out in the country. Since Sean had driven himself the 200 miles back to Portland, Inga chose to ride the rails for her return to Sean after a couple of days.

Inga had booked passage on Amtrak, boarding in Stanwood, WA, only a few miles from my house at The Pilchuck.

The north-bound train rolls through Stanwood Station first. A few people board, perhaps heading to Vancouver, BC?

We wait a few minutes for the arrival of the south-bound train. Inga, along with about eight other passengers have their tickets punched, or their phone apps scanned and are escorted onboard by the conductor.

The seating is almost all taken already by the time she boards in tiny Stanwood, a few disembark further down the line. Some passengers get off in Everett and Seattle, while more come aboard trying to find a seat on the south traveling train.

In a matter of a few minutes, it's "All aboard!" and the train has left the station. Inga enjoyed the journey home to Portland where Sean was waiting for her.

Riding the rails is easy from The Pilchuck.

Oyster Bar Outing

 Along Chuckanut Drive, a narrow, winding ribbon of pavement carved out of the sandstone cliffs that hang above the salt water of Samish Bay, is the fine dining experience of the Oyster Bar. Sue and I discovered this place on a blustery, icy  late afternoon January day in 2022. We stopped in on a lark, ready to splurge on an adventure. We were underdressed for the upscale establishment, but there were few patrons and nobody audibly complained. It seemed to me that they were happy to take my money after the seafood meal.

Inga had heard of our discovery, and when she was up to the Pilchuck in the summer of 2023, she suggested it would be fun to dine there, since her mother had extolled the pleasures within. I was excited to oblige the young lady's request. It was Inga's last day in the wilds of Washington and it seemed like a fitting finale for her visit. Unlike our first drop-in experience, this time both of the ladies were prepared for a classy date, having packed a skirt and a dress for just such an occasion. Sorry to report, Sean had already returned to Portland.

Inga & Sue at the Pilchuck 'drawbridge', dressed to thrill

We had reservations at the Oyster Bar for three at 5 o'clock. It was yet another afternoon adventure. 

At a wide spot on a bend along Chuckanut Drive sits the Oyster Bar, perched precariously on the edge of the bluff. It is a narrow establishment with an upper and lower tier connected by a spiral staircase. Conifer trees just a few yard beyond the west-facing windows have to grow tall to reach the level of our table hanging over the steep mountain.

I order a Port for Sue and I. We are handed a list of about two dozen varieties of oyster for our choosing as an appetizer. Each oyster variety comes with a short description of its unique flavor; briny, hint of citrus, notes of melon, under currents of seaweed etc. And yes, the oysters we tried, did match their flavorful description. A great start to the meal.

Salmon and shellfish were served after an intermezzo of quince sherbet in champaign. We three enjoyed fine food tucked in the corner where our table felt like we were sitting in the tree tops.

Cheers! 

To a great date with my girls.  

Good Dirt

 Some girls just want to get dirty. 

A couple of those kind of girls happened to be staying with me out in the country where we have 50 acres of good dirt. My wife, Sue, grew up on this very parcel of good dirt and she knows it well. You might say the Pilchuck soil is in her veins. Our daughter Inga, from inside her second floor Portland apartment wishes for a little bit of earth to plant a few of her favorites. The two of them had a few packets of flower seeds and the will to do a little country girl down and dirty therapy.

Sue and Inga get ready to dig dirt

I wanted marigolds to line the recently poured curvy front walk and ramp. Inga had acquired some wild flower seeds and wanted to give them a place to put down roots on the Pilchuck. Baker Seeds supplied my marigolds seeds in a jiffy quick delivery and with the sun out and planting season already far along, it was time for the girls to get into the dirt.

They planted. 

I watered and waited in their absence.

Of the 100 marigold seeds Sue planted for my enjoyment, only 3 germinated. And being late in the season, these marigolds did not reach their blooming potential until October.

I got one bloom for one day before the first frost finished off my memories of summer.

+++

Short-lived memory of summer. My single marigold bloomed in October for 1 day before it was killed by the 1st frost. Next season...

Skagit Saltwater Flats

I belong in the Pacific Northwest. 

I have found my place under the blue sky of July, cerulean salt waters edged with verdant shore grasses mimicking the waves beyond the dun sand bars rising from the shallows at the mouth of the Skagit River.

The narrow farm road, bordered by deep drainage ditches ends at the levee. A few signs atop the berm instruct visitors of proper conduct in this salt marsh preserve. At our feet are a couple of muddy paths leading between and through wild rose bushes and out into the tall grasses rippling in the light breeze. A bare earth trail beckons adventure and the stone hill remnants, like a fortress in the middle distance, mark the objective at the end of our march. Sue, Inga and I are off, down the seaward side of the levee walking beyond the farmland behind us and into the wild landscape that is subject to flood tides at the verge of land and sea, permanently claimed by neither.

Some paths lead into muck; more mud than water in some reaches, more water than mud in others. There are starts in one direction, only to find the chosen way not kind to our passing. We backtrack and wade through another route.

Our reward is a spectacular vista as we climb a conglomerate outcrop brimmed with roses shrubs and saltmarsh brush. The shallow saltwater channel before us sparkles under the summer sun and I am surprised by the blue of the water as I expected murky, sediment laden waters. Sea birds call and circle above. A few other adventurers and their canine companions are on the broad sand beach at the sound's edge. I feel the beauty of this place soak into my hide. I feel radiant and blessed to be here.

We descent from our solid, rocky high ground, kick off our shoes and walk in the fine sand following the tide's retreat.

The Cascade Range foothills are out in the clear air, circled by intriguing clouds. Mount Baker is behind us and the world of sky, mountain, beach and saltwater rings and sings with harmony.

Mother and daughter enjoy their visit and I enjoy all that is mine and before me.

I belong here.

Come join me.

Tea Time on the Deck

 The late light lingers on a Pacific Northwestern summer's day. 

Ladies in my life love to take their tea. No better place than in the shadows of the surrounding cedars out on the south deck of the Pilchuck Place.

Inga takes her summer's late afternoon tea

Sue brings her mug of tea to join her daughter on the south deck

I am busy in the kitchen marinating one of my dinner specialties, 'Startled Pig', a Thai recipe that I am preparing to grill and serve with artichokes on the deck. This is the life, ladies in my company while we enjoy food and conversation in the lasting twilight.

Inga takes a pensive pose before her Startled Pig is served

Unbearable Camano Island Picnic

 

Having just had Maurice the Black Bear amble through my field during breakfast, helping himself to the apples in my orchard; we turned our focus to our planned picnic lunch. We all know that Yogi Bear loves to steal picnic baskets, and thinking that Maurice Bear is also one of those 'smarter than the average bear' types, and Maurice would love nothing better than to not only take my orchard apples, but also our picnic lunch. Therefore, we made unbearable picnic plans.

We were not willing to bear the risk of a stolen picnic lunch, so we hightailed it away from The Pilchuck estate and its bear-infested apple orchard, west to the always enjoyable Camano Island State Park for an afternoon picnic on the graveled beach shore of Camano Island.

We set our box of comestibles on a weathered picnic table behind the driftwood and logs while enjoying the company and the July sunshine. 

We finished feeding, and then naturally took a familiar stroll along the edge of the surf at the  base of glacially deposited sediments forming a cliff. The great thing about strolling along a familiar beach is that many of the details change every time you set foot where the tide had brought new shells and stones in exchange for other seaborn trinkets carried away. 

The family strolls along Saratoga Passage of Puget Sound

Inga repeats a geology lesson to Sean, one she has heard often from her parents at this local

 No bears joined us on Camano Island for lunch, we had our picnic basket all to ourselves.

Look! Over there. It's a bear!

 

Look over there! It's a bear!

We were all preparing to have a leisurely late morning breakfast on July 21st when Inga exclaimed, "There's a bear out there!" 

A young black bear was loping through the fresh mown field in front of the house and was heading for the apple orchard on the south side of the house. We all ran to the viewing deck to watch a black bear coming to breakfast with us. I have been seeing deer eat the fallen apples, but this guy was unexpected and more prodigious than the deer, he could climb the apple tree and knock down fresh apples. Unlike the deer he didn't have to wait for the wind to blow and for the fruit to fall. A bear gets what a bear wants.

Maurice the Black Bear loping across my cut field

Maurice foraging for apples and climbing the trunk to bob and bop some low-hanging fruit

Everybody had their camera out for the photo safari. 

Now, I have apples and plums in my orchard, no peaches. But watching this young bear climb and shake the apples from my tree, the lyrics from the Steve Miller Band song, The Joker, came to mind: 

Some people call me the space cowboy yeah
Some call me the gangster of love
Some people call me Maurice
'Cause I speak of the pompitous of love...

Your the cutest thing that I ever did see
I really love your peaches, wanna shake your tree
Lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey, lovey-dovey all the time
Oee, baby, I'll sure show you a good time

I christened our breakfastmate right then and there, Maurice. He really loves my peaches [apples], wanna shake my tree...

Maurice had his fill of fruit after about 40 minutes and wandered off into the woods, as bears are want to do. We headed back inside to our breakfast table where we spoke of the pompitous of love -wooweee, (I'll sure show you a good time).

Family Gathers for Summertime on The Pilchuck

 The Western Washington weather is mild, the creek is gurgling through the evergreens and I am delighted to anticipate the gathering of family after months of solitude on The Pilchuck estate. My wife will fly into Seattle and Inga and Sean will drive up from Portland. The house is not quite finished, but it is furnished in a basic manner and livable for the four of us.

I'm delighted to take a break from house construction chores and flip into Summer Host mode. I pick Sue up at the airport and we have a day or two to ourselves before the kids arrive, the kids being daughter Inga and boyfriend Sean. 

Never being constrained by calendar dates, we Sunesons have our own sense of time and our own feeling for what fits the circumstances. It is several weeks past Inga's birthday, and mom knows her daughter is a fool for angel food cake. Let's make sure the girl has an angel food cake for her birthday celebration, even if her birthday was in June and it's now July. We will make this work.

Mom bakes an Angel Food Cake for Inga's birthday - celebrated a few weeks after the fact.  

Sue gets used to the new kitchen that I build for her, asking where I have stored the bowls, ingredients and kitchen implements? I point to cupboards, drawers and pantry shelves. There is so much space that I secretly hope she loves it here on The Pilchuck so much that she decides to never leave and go back to Texas. Yes, I am a dreamer.

Inga and Sean fight the traffic north on I-5, rolling up the freshly mown driveway into the estate. We welcome the kids and offer refreshment after their 200 mile journey. Great to have a family around (still trying to get Grant and Kaileen to visit as well).

The plan over the next few days is to not have much of a plan. The consensus is that it is always commendable to have a trip or picnic at Camano Beach. A bit of hanging around and hanging out seems fitting in the long summer days of these northern latitudes. 

Mother and daughter do think about a little back to nature fun and doing some gardening around the place. They will need some seeds and some tools. They will need to go to Arlington Hardware, which is a destination in itself, with century old creaky hardwood floors and Big Foot swag and all kinds of needful things for ambitious or slightly ambitious folks around these parts.

Sean checks his apps to see the reviews on tool brands; he tells me what is rated highly and I then pick out another machete and some lopping shears. We are in business on the Pilchuck.

Sean ready for action after a trip to Arlington Hardware and acquiring tools

One fine evening, I send a pair of Blackberry Ninjas out into the forest primeval to whack a trail through the thicket and hopefully reach the creek from our property on the back 40. A daunting task. They are gloved, armored and powerful with sharpened steel. Onward and farewell with victory in your black berry battle!

The two warriors return for dinner, but report a tough battle, some egress through the dense lines of thick and thorny canes. But, alas, they had not broken through to the shores of Pilchuck Creek. Live to fight another day I say. Have a seat and lets enjoy this day and our supper together.

Taming The Wild

It is the growing season.

I am whelmed and soon to be overwhelmed. I need reinforcements. Who better to call than Bob. Bob has been a tractor guy all of his life. My single blade machete is no match for the 6-foot tall weeds, verdant and robust grasses and most dastardly of all - the black berry infested ground with brambles of vicious thorns.

Bob arrives from 32 miles away in La Conner with his tractor and brush hog implement to do battle over my 50 acres. His arrival in the second week of July in as welcome of a sight as that of the US Calvary coming over the hill to rescue the settler's wagon train in an old Hollywood Western movie.

The 'calvary' rides to rescue. Bob & tractor to battle my overgrown estate

Bob, his trusty Ford tractor and its weed chewing implements are unloaded. I discuss my priorities with Bob and he fires up the beast and gets to mowing. We start with the easy stuff, the tall, but easily dispatched weeds on the 10 acre parcel in front of the house. This will beat back the encroaching and obscuring growth that threatens to overrun my house.

Trimming begins along the driveway supply line

As all military strategist know, it is of supreme importance to maintain open supply lines. In my case, keeping the driveway clear and free from the tendrils of the black berry vines is my vital supply line that must be maintained.

Efforts are made in subsequent days to cut a route to Pilchuck Creek from my back 40 acres. However, not even 50 HP Ford is able to make a complete break through the thicket of blackberry brambles. Creek access from my own property remains unattainable for me, yet I rejoice in any and all progress against the undergrowth.

The thick foliage surrounding the house is cut down to size. A clean, fresh view is welcomed.

Noticeable improvement; Before and After of the 10 ac field

A swath is cut to the water well in what was once the barnyard

Clearing a path into the Back 40 through dense forest.

Bob perseveres for 3 days of man and machine against nature. Much is accomplished, but not without casualties; sheared bolts had to be improvised and replaced, broken welds, a leaking hydraulic line and the time-consuming effort to disentangle the rusty springs and wires from an old mattress left in the grass by previous trashy renters that gummed up the bush hog's blades. It seems, nothing is ever easy out on The Pilchuck.

The place looks far better after Bob's generous time and onerous efforts. There was some doubt as whether the hitch on his truck would hold long enough to get tractor and trailer back from whence they came. The good news is that the hitch, though warped and damaged, did hold and there was no runaway trailer running off the county road careening across Highway 20 on his return to La Conner.

My heartfelt thanks to my sister-in-law Ann, for letting her husband take care of my place at the neglect of her and the numerous chores back on the home front.

A well-mowed field is a welcome sight. My weeds and cortisol level are reduce proportionate to the reduced size of the once overgrown estate.

Summertime, and the living is easy - after a lot of hard work.