Sharing the cabin with family

Owning a cabin is wonderful. Sharing it is even better. Sometimes it's with friends, sometimes with family.  My sister comes out in the fall with her daughter and granddaughters, to pick huckleberries, and later on, to hunt the elusive chanterelle mushrooms.

This weekend we had our Australian nephew, Matthew, plus my sister's family (most of them, anyway). We sat on the deck and talked, took the canoe out, took endless photographs of the newest member of the family, Vivian. We cooked and ate, and almost slept out under the stars (before Ella got nervous about sleeping outdoors). We snuggled down on the deck until late, watching the stars and satellites. It was a great weekend. We missed Caroline, who is back home in Hawaii, and Jeromy. Next time!

This is my sister, Laurie, with her new granddaughter, Vivian Claire.
Fifty-nine years ago my parents chose the name 'Elisabeth Claire' for their youngest daughter. There are now six girls over three generations who share one of these names. My parents would be very pleased.

We all took a turn in the canoe this weekend, and my sister even consented to sitting on the floor in between the two seats, so the girls could "oar" her around the lake. Somehow the distinction between an oar (for a rowboat) and a paddle (for a canoe) escaped Callie... we all tried, and I even got out an example of each and gave a demonstration, to no avail. She persisted in calling a paddle an oar, to the amusement of us all.

The weekend was warm enough that the girls convinced the adults to let them take our floatation chairs for a test drive, which led to a tow around the lake by grandma and grandpa in the canoe. So glad we have kid-sized life jackets at the cabin. It would have been a real bummer to deprive everyone of so much fun!

Waking up at the lake

It’s 8:00 am, and the lake is a mirror. Someone’s just backed a small fishing boat down the gravel access road and pulled away, leaving the boat at the shoreline. Not a sign of fish rising. The ripples reach my side of the lake, and mist drifts across the surface.

It’s overcast today and cool. There’s no sound but a single bird chirping in the trees outside my aerie window, where I lie on the bed, watching the lake wake up for another day.

The fisherman is back. He’s set the electric motor in place and hops on board. Standing, he drifts quietly along the shore, casting his line in the shallows, and drifts out of view.

I hear the sound of wheels on gravel. But it’s not another fisherman, come to share the lake. Maybe another weekend cabin owner?

The mist is building. Soon the lake will disappear, as inevitable as the arrival of fishermen in the early hours. I’ve marked the arrival of both countless times from my small cabin at the water’s edge. I never get tired of the small quiet events here. This time—waking up at the cabin—is my favorite time here. I pull its peace over me like a blanket and smile.

Another crunch of tires on gravel. Another small boat appears at the end of the ramp. And the lake disappears behind a silver curtain of mist.

Time to build a fire, and start the coffee brewing, and pick up my book. And as I settle down to read, I reflect on the small, quiet events that are part of each day spent here. Strung together, they make cabin life a very satisfying life indeed.

Sweaters and socks

I pull on a sweater & socks each morning,
for days that start cool and foggy,
barely blue by ten,
golden by noon.

The horse trail fills up with leaves
that crackle under my feet.
I kick through them as I walk, and it makes me smile.

Soon my breath will bring little clouds of mist,
and skies will fill with the sound of Canada geese
arriving for winter.

The days will stay cool but bright,
the nights dark and full of stars.

Winter is coming soon,
but for a few short weeks, it's autumn,
and my favorite time of year.

Sailboat for a lake

Sailing. Miss it. There's just something about being out on the water in a boat that goes nowhere unless you provide the propulsion. Rowboat, sailboat, canoe, kayak, even an air mattress! Nothing to disturb the peace and quiet.

In the 15 years we've owned our lakeside cabin, we've seen exactly two sailboats, tiny 8-ft. boats like an El Toro... until the weekend before Labor Day. We were sitting on our deck, talking with the friend we'd invited out for the weekend, and through the trees I spotted a large moving spot of white. "Sailboat!" I called out, as I grabbed my camera and waited for the boat to come out into the open. I focused, snapped a few pictures, then zoomed in on the sail insignia. It was a Lightning, a one-design boat that Dave learned to sail during a long-ago summer in the Tri Cities. Our friend Dick owned the boat, raced it, and he was an excellent sailor. When he was in college, he lived on Lummi Island and sailed to Bellingham every day to attend classes Western Washington State College. I got my turn on this boat, too. We spent a few weekends at the Ecker family home on Lummi, and Dick always brought the sailboat with him.

The Lightning is a great open cockpit boat for a lake. It's trailerable, is 19 ft. and stable, has a heavy centerboard for stability, and carries a lot of sail for its length, so it's fast. It carries a main and jib, and can be rigged to fly a spinnaker, too. Older boats are wooden, newer ones are fiberglass.

It was awesome to see a Lightning on our lake, and I hope it's a permanent resident.

Smoky sun

There have been a lot of days this fall when the sun was a big ball of redness, just another visible sign of the forest and range fires burning. In Bend, in Sisters, and closer to home in Wenatchee and Ellensburg, whenever the wind blew the smoke over the sun, it turned a spectacular red. We even had days of easterly winds that drove smoke over Snoqualmie Pass and into Western Washington.

But driving over the Umptanum/Manastash ridges today, I was finally able to capture the color of the sun behind a shoud of smoke. I was lucky to get this one: it was shot out the window of an SUV traveling at freeway speeds, just as the sun set behind the ridge. No filters, no cropping, no manipulation at all. Just as I shot it.

Elk Lake

Today we have a mission (besides trying to escape the choking smoke of the Sisters forest fire). We're going to drive the Cascade Lakes highway, take photographs, and enjoy all the lakes on Century Drive. We're also going to look for the old log house where we spent one long-ago week with friends.

After 30 years, this vacation exists as a series of random memories, although there are photographs packed away from the days of slides. One day I'll scan them, and add some to this post.

The memories are widespread: the long drive south from the Tri-Cities, climbing up over Mackenzie Pass, and exploring the lava rock lookout tower with its windows aimed at each mountain mountain peak in the area. Cathy admiring my button-front sweatshirt in grey with teal and burgundy trim. The long drive on gravel forest service roads to finally arrive at the log house on the shores of Elk Lake. The pair of cables that ran from the cabin to a huge concrete block, holding it upright. The division of rooms:  couples with babies in the log house, those without had the bunkhouse right on the lake, complete with wood stove. Dave & I cooked dinner the first night for everyone: my homemade Merlot pasta sauce over noodles, a huge tossed green salad, garlic sourdough bread, and brownies for dessert. Each night after dinner we'd sit on the shore, playing guitar and singing with the group. Cathy had a really nice voice, and so did John, and he knew all the songs I did. John Denver, Gordon Lightfoot, James Taylor, Dan Fogelberg. It was here that I realized the magic of singing by a lake, and the amazing acoustics the water provides.

During the day, we'd hike the nearby trails or go fishing, or just catch up on our reading. One long hike I was torn, wanting to stay with the girls and get better acquainted with them, but finally chose to hike with the guys because the girls walked too slow. On our last day before heading home, we went to a nearby lake to fish with Dave, Gary, and Cathy. At least, the guys fished. Cathy and I spread our beach towels and read and talked. The guys kept coming to check on us; we were pretty sure it was because they wanted to see their wives in bathing suits!

It was the first time we'd been here in the summer, and the scenery was unforgettable. The blue skies and sun each day, and the inky velvety black skies at night, full of stars.

Hiking Crater Lake

Well, this was a first. I've been to Crater Lake several times in my life, the most memorable up to now was the year my family camped here, and on the way from the bathroom to our campsite I ran into a mother bear and cub. A long detour later, I finally made it back to camp.

Today there were no bears in sight (except for the carved ones in the gift shop). But we did have an adventure of a different kind: hiking the trail from the rim down to the lakeshore. Our friends had never been to Crater Lake, and this was the perfect chance to get out of the smoke of the Sisters fires, and do some sightseeing and hiking.

What can I say but "Wow!" You know all those professional photos you see of Crater Lake, the ones with the impossible blue color? These were taken from this trail. You don't get the deep blue from the rim, unless conditions are perfect. But as you walk down the trail, the closer you get to the lake, the deeper the color becomes.

You also see... very clearly... how very pure the water is. There's one place on the rocky shore where people stand to jump into the water, and from that spot it looks like you're making a long leap down. But you're not: the water is so clear, you can't tell the surface from the bottom of the lake. A few times, this clarity fooled my digital camera, keeping it from finding the correct focus.

It's a tough walk back out, but the views are worth every single step.

On the Bend Ale Trail

Birthday. Exploring. Sampling brews from some of the best of Bend's micro-breweries. In one of my favorite towns with Davey and good friends, Jim & Julie. What can I say? It was a great day!

Wine umbrellas

One of the best things about retirement? Not having to wait for the weekend to do our favorite things! Especially this September, when the weather has been perfect, mild, sunny, and amazingly beautiful.

Today we fired up True Red and headed for the Woodinville wine country, where we spent a happy couple of hours enjoying the sun, sampling wine, with no crowds of people anywhere.

The wine club deck at DeLille Cellars is one of our favorite spots in wine country. Today the sun was bright enough to have all the umbrellas out... but I noticed the tall propane heaters are waiting in a corner of the deck... a reminder of the cold weather that's just around the corner.

Frog in a box

What do you call a frog in a box?
Charlie or Willie or Sam?
Probably not.
He came in from the lawn one day
Decided to stay
In a garden trunk full of cool stuff.
Cushions for chairs and buckets and tubs,
Hoses and tools and pruners for shrubs.
Lots of hiding places for a frog and his friends,
in quite an enormous space.
He comes and he goes through a crack in the side,
But always returns to the quiet inside.
So what do you call a frog in a box?
Jack would make sense,
but he seems to like George.