Something there is about a covered bridge that carries you back in time, half-expecting to see a wagon and hear the distinctive clip-clopping of horses' hooves. Covered bridges are a rare out here. This one, built in 1905 and tucked away in the far southwest corner of the state ~ off the beaten path even by those headed out to the ocean ~ is the last in use in Washington.
When you first have a child, and later when you have more and are in the midst of the chaos, people who are older and wiser and farther along in the journey assure you that the years will race by. You get tired of hearing it and wonder if they realize a helping hand would be more useful than such gems of wisdom. All too soon, you find yourself in their shoes, stroking babies' downy heads and encouraging new mothers to live in the moment. Of all true cliches, "time flies" is indeed the truest, and most poignant, of all. I have a lovely, vivid memory of one the long afternoon walks Jan and I used to take in Switzerland when he was a baby. We were going up a hill overlooking the lake, the crisp October air suffused with autumnal color. Walking under an avenue of trees, golden leaves fluttered down on to the path and into the kinderwagen (stroller) where Jan lay. A smile spread across his face and he giggled with delight, responding to that glorious air and light and color. I wanted to preserve that moment. To keep life that simple, that wondrous, that beautiful. And I couldn't, of course, but I've kept it with me, the memory. I take it out and examine it at the end of the more challenging days. I recall it when standing next to the "baby" who is growing ever-closer to my height. That these two people are one and the same, and that he is a part of me, is simply astounding. And he's 14. Time flies.
He had to make the most of these two candles, since his mother forgot to purchase more. Ahem.
Some children live on quiet suburban streets where neighbors strolling past might partake of the goods at a lemonade stand. Then there are little people whose appeals to passing silage truck drivers fall on deaf ears. My boys fall into the latter category, but a sparse customer base and minimal profits don't dampen their enthusiasm ~ especially when a friend joins the sales team.
Fort Clatsop
The 4.5 mile bridge that spans the mouth of the Columbia. It's hard to think of this river as it was before dams were in place: gone are the falls and rapids and it appears now as a placid lake.
Looking toward the Lewis & Clark Discovery Center and Cape Disappointment Lighthouse.
As I've mentioned before, I love going to the ocean and walking the footsteps of Lewis & Clark and the Corps of Discovery. While the winter they spent at the mouth of the Columbia River was fairly miserable, those of us who now visit in good weather and take comfortable shelter in bad, can thoroughly appreciate the scenic beauty and history of this little corner of the world. But upon arriving at the edge of the continent, the first order of business is to leap for joy, chase waves, and attempt to build castles faster than waves wash them away.
I adore these pictures of Kai running into and away from the waves. Sheer delight.
Contrasting images: kiteboarding around the remains of the Peter Iredale, a ship that ran ashore in 1906. This stretch of coast is known as the Graveyard of the Pacific.
The Lightship Columbia used to serve as a floating lighthouse off the coast. 
No visit to Astoria (Oregon) is complete with a visit to the Columbia River Maritime Museum. Just the right size to offer up plenty of great exhibits without being overwhelming.
Something there is about a covered bridge that carries you back in time, half-expecting to see a wagon and hear the distinctive clip-clopping of horses' hooves. Covered bridges are a rare out here. This one, built in 1905 and tucked away in the far southwest corner of the state ~ off the beaten path even by those headed out to the ocean ~ is the last in use in Washington.
When you first have a child, and later when you have more and are in the midst of the chaos, people who are older and wiser and farther along in the journey assure you that the years will race by. You get tired of hearing it and wonder if they realize a helping hand would be more useful than such gems of wisdom. All too soon, you find yourself in their shoes, stroking babies' downy heads and encouraging new mothers to live in the moment. Of all true cliches, "time flies" is indeed the truest, and most poignant, of all.
He had to make the most of these two candles, since his mother forgot to purchase more. Ahem.
Hans and I headed over to Lummi Island the other day for a brief but much-needed respite. Our friends were kind enough to add our brood of five boys to their three for the night.
Salve for the soul.
Some children live on quiet suburban streets where neighbors strolling past might partake of the goods at a lemonade stand. Then there are little people whose appeals to passing silage truck drivers fall on deaf ears. My boys fall into the latter category, but a sparse customer base and minimal profits don't dampen their enthusiasm ~ especially when a friend joins the sales team.
