The Times of London

One's days so often seems to get bound up in the mundane obligations of body, soul and treading water of home chores and financial practicality. Or so it seems to me.

Enter Grant and Kaileen as they exchange greetings of "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year" with Sue at Kaileen's parent's home in The Woodlands at the tail end of 2023 - and speaking of a Happy New Year, "Would y'all like to join us in Scotland next summer? Think about it."

Sue, being heavy on spontaneity, replied, "Yes! We will!" 

"We're going to Scotland with Grant and Kaileen this summer." Or, so I was told a bit later while I was in Washington putting the finishing touches on our new house under the final phases of construction in January. Thus ended what was looking like another year of mundane obligations to chores and practical upkeep of body, soul and the dual home improvement bind of the last three years. This is something different. 

Let's go to Scotland. Inga got wind of the holiday and committed to join us for a complete Suneson Family UK shoot-from-the-hip, go wild adventure.

Not untypical of our grand adventure planning, we had the overall idea of a trip - but honestly, not much was done in practical planning for an international trip up until about a month before the scheduled late June, 2024 rendezvous in Edinburgh, Scotland. 

***

Cut to the chase: Most everything got figured out and paid for. I opted to fly directly from Dallas to London: easier, cheaper than Edinburgh and we could recover from any jetlag with our 3 days in London before we took a train north to meet Grant, Kaileen and Inga in Edinburgh as originally planned. Sue and I were off on a flight from DFW Airport for a direct flight to London Heathrow at 9:30 PM arriving a little after noon on June 18th London time.

The sleep we planned to get on the way over never caught up with us. I had booked a hotel north of Hyde Park, a neighborhood of London where I had stayed on business many years ago. We found a representative of The Underground at Heathrow, bought an 'Oyster Card' to swipe at the turnstile to grant us passage on their trains, picked up a map of The Tube, hauled our luggage to the platform (always mindful of the gap) and boarded the Piccadilly line, transferred to the Circle Line and got off at Bayswater Station and walked three blocks to our hotel. Easy (except for the 1 time we got on a train going the wrong direction). 

Look right! Before crossing a London Street

Kaileen, the consummate planner, suggested that since we overlapped in London for that day, that we meet for dinner. I had suggested the Churchill Arms for dinner and drinks (shout out on this recommendation by Dave 'The Red' Ewing). Kaileen had independently of me also planned to stop in at the Churchill Arms. What a coincidence! Things looked like they were going swimmingly, everyone wants to get a pint and Thai food at the Churchill Arms. May it be so!

Sue and I stroll across Hyde Park in the long afternoon light, coming out on the south side of the park and connect with Grant and Kaileen staying nearby.

We found The Churchill Arms. 

Bowers of Flowers announce The Churchill Arms facade

Thirsty patrons cue up outside The Churchill Arms. Our Party is on the left.

The prodigious display of botany carries through onto the inside of the pub. 

Cheers! To a jolly good beginning in London Town. Great to start off the time with Kaileen and Grant - who kind of got the whole thing started.

Three Cheers!

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.

Silverbeard and the Three Bears

Mid-September it is, up here in Washington on The Pilchuck. 

The apples in my orchard have set, grown plump with juice in their flesh and have begun to drop not far from these old legacy trees planted by Frank Cook, my father-in-law.

The days are long, but grow shorter. The land seems ripe with pleasant bounty. There is a sense of fullness around the place.

It is a ripe time for jolly fables and fairy tales. 

One is not to believe the literal truth of such tales, but perhaps there is a lesson to be had in the telling and in the hearing. I have a tale:

Silverbeard and the Three Bears

I tell it and most listeners know enough to hear me out and then reply; Nice story bro - but it's a natural fact that there are no bears in Arlington nor Stanwood. Everybody knows that.

If only The Brothers Grimm or Aesop himself had a phone in their tunic with video capabilities*, they would not be celebrated for fairy tales and fables, but as troubadours of true and natural facts.

Once upon a time in the great Pacific Northwest woods stood a house of stone and wood. A man with a long silver beard lived in the house alone. 

Silverbeard meets Mama Bear & the Two cubs

One day (specifically, September 14, 2023) a mama bear and two cubs galloped across Silverbeard's field and knocked on the door of his humble cottage deep in the woods.

When he opened the door, Mama Bear growled at Silverbeard, "We are three ferocious and hungry bears and we demand to come in and eat your porridge and cinnamon oatmeal!"  

Silverbeard replied, "Oatmeal? Oatmeal with cinnamon? Why, Mrs. Suneson ate the last bowl on Sunday. There is no porridge for growly, ferocious and hungry bears here. Go away."

Mama Bear snarled, "We are omnivores, we will eat anything, including you." 

Silverbeard said, "Ah yes, omnivores, you should have mentioned that at the beginning. Y'all come inside and I will fix y'all up some Brussel sprout and sourcrout and prune tacos."

The two cubs standing behind Mama Bear heard my offer and went into conniption fits. "Eeew! Yuck and Bleck! they shouted. We won't eat tacos with sourcrout and prunes even if you put us in time out and make us count to a gazillion and eleven. Nope." 

Placing my hands on my hips and catching the exasperation in Mama Bear's eyes, I whispered, "Hey Mama, it looks like this is already a long day scavenging the woods with the finicky youngin's in tow. Must be tough. How about you take your cubbies over yonder and send one of 'em up that apple tree and him knock down the fruit up in those branches and get some nice apples for you and the whole family?"

"Apples right off the tree? Orchard fresh? You don't say."

"I do say. Help yourself." Then Silverbeard added, "I think you'll find them apples 'just right'."

So, if the question ever comes up, who's been eating my apples?

Silverbeard and The Three Bears will reply, "I have! And they are not too tart and they are not too hard, they are just right!"

Silverbeard shared his apple orchard bounty with the deer and the antelope and The Three Bears and the skies were not cloudy all day. And they all live happily ever after.

*Video evidence is provided as proof of this fabulous tale from the little cottage deep in the woods.