I thought plugging in a link for a local restaurant review might be a little dry in and of itself, so I thought I would spice things up a bit by sharing a few of my personal culinary observations, garnishments if you will, that might whet the reader’s appetite and peak interest just a bit.  The title is meant to encourage a smile, but it is true that many of the significant moments in my life have included gathering, preparing, serving and partaking in delicious…and sometimes not so delicious…food!

My foodie days started early.  I was breast fed, a happy and robust toddler.  I have a large family and there were always at least 7 of us around the dinner table.   My mother was a resourceful cook and an amazing baker.  She knew how to stretch a dime and though our meals were not gourmet, we managed to retain our chubby physiques throughout elementary school.  Sometimes my mother supplemented the family budget by baking wedding cakes for local couples.  She also liked to plug in the deep fryer and make homemade doughnuts.  The whole neighborhood would show up at our house, mouths watering, to indulge in Mom’s warm maple bars oozing with maple icing.  The five of us kids could easily down a loaf of homemade bread or a dozen cinnamon rolls and we took little notice of either the butter running down our chins or our sticky fingers.  Frequently on Sundays Mom would make fresh crepe’s, fill them with orange butter, and roll them in powdered sugar.  They were a little bit of heaven.  Flour, sugar, butter and eggs were convenient and inexpensive, so we indulged.  I was a little kid for heaven’s sake.  What did I care about the calories?  Carbs were filling and a good way to keep a household of munchkins satiated and content.

Eventually we moved near my Grandmother and our culinary experiences started to include the presentation of fresh grown foods.   Grandma was a wonderful cook who emphasized the use of fresh, organic, whole foods with minimal processing.   In many ways she was ahead of her time.   She grew an abundant organic vegetable garden, used fresh herbs, had fruit trees, canned, preserved and froze much of what was consumed in her household.  She raised chickens for the enjoyment of fresh eggs.  She bought fresh milk from local dairies and advocated the use of honey from local bees.  Her canning included fresh caught fish and game meat roused from the local forest by my Grandfather during his fall hunting excursions.  Grandmother was a voracious reader and believed in good health and vitality achieved from a well-balanced diet combined with plenty of fresh water, fresh air, and adequate rest.  She had a practice of lying down every afternoon for 20 minutes, between flurries of gardening and cooking activities, to prop her legs on the back of the couch, above her heart, for improved circulation and robust energy.  She loved to bake and impress dinner guests with new recipes she had discovered while combing newspapers, magazines and various health periodicals.

My own mother was a good cook, but with a limited budget and six children.  She was forced to compromise by relying heavily on carbohydrates, stretched milk with the occasional use of powdered and added bread crumbs to turn one pound of ground beef into enough to serve a family of 7.  She didn’t go to the lengths of healthy eating my grandmother practiced, but she still managed to instill a few positive basic culinary practices.  Always use fresh ingredients, don’t cook out of a box, don’t skimp on generic brands for key ingredients, always have a green, red or orange vegetable at every meal, preferably raw, and never disregard the importance of a simple dessert!

Both my mother and my grandmother headed to the forest and field seasonally to collect mushrooms and berries for preserving or freezing.  Late summer we would go wild blackberry picking, resulting in both horrific scars and the mouthwatering wild blackberry pie that was a family favorite.  Mushrooms were a little trickier and other than Shaggy Manes, we left those up to Grandma for safety reasons.  (To this day, locals do not divulge their locations for gathering either berries or mushrooms).

Meals weren’t just for filling our bellies.  Both matriarchs required us to all sit down at the same time for meals.   After we thanked the Good Lord for our food we received valuable lessons about respect and courtesy for each other; most importantly how to present ourselves as well brought up young ladies and gentlemen while sharing a meal.  No elbows on the table, sit up straight, don’t talk with your mouth full, ask to please have things passed, try a little bit of everything, and if you want dessert clean up your plate.  We learned to engage in conversations with our families, to listen without interrupting, and to share a little of the day’s events with one another.

I always loved how our meals corresponded with the seasons.  In the summertime it was barbeque time, as watermelon, crab and clams, lemonade, ice tea, a myriad of salads followed by strawberry shortcake or hand churned ice cream glorified the picnic table; when hunting season was upon us and  the chilly fall set in our table showcased late garden harvest such as root vegetable stews, venison chili, cornbread and pumpkin pie; in winter the house was warmed by the ovens simmering heavier meals of pot roasts, macaroni and cheese, stuffed turkey, prime rib accompanied by cranberry sauce or a jar of graven stein applesauce canned in the fall, all prefacing the holiday’s sugar cookies and fudge.  When spring’s tender shoots began peeking out from under the last of the season’s frost, the meals turned lighter again with spring pea salad, beets, the first of the season’s salmon, and lemon meringue pie or fresh rhubarb cake.

We are truly blessed in the Pacific Northwest to enjoy such variety and abundance of delicious food.  Fresh food markets and organic farms are literally springing up everywhere.  I for one am delighted to see families searching out locally grown food that they plan to prepare and enjoy together.  Another great joy of mine is hunting down good local vendors who offer scrumptious food when time and life does not allow the opportunity to indulge ourselves with a day in the kitchen.  It is in that spirit that I acknowledge how busy lives have become and offer this local restaurant review for those of you who just don’t want to cook!  There are many fine places to eat on this beautiful Peninsula, and even though I am of the former variety, for your viewing and eating pleasure, here is what Jessica Young of Copper Moments Photography had to say about one of our local eateries, the Next Door Gastropub on Copper Moments’ blog.

Keep a watch out for more reviews of local eateries over the summer.

“The world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles

…only by a spiritual journey…

by which we arrive at the ground at our feet and learn to be at home.”

                                                                                                                      ~ Wendell Berry

I must be the world’s most unmotivated blogger.  I mean seriously I have had this blog site up for a long time now and I blog once every few months.  I don’t think I am attracting many followers that way!  But the truth is that I am always so busy out living my life!  Sunday my husband and I just got back from Nepal and right before that we moved.  Things happen, life is full, and that’s a good thing.

This last trip we took was tough.  I got homesick a couple times and when I thought about home, it wasn’t the new place that came to mind, it was images of the more familiar dwelling of our last 14 years that would pop into my head.  Quickly, I would readjust my thoughts, but there would be a subtle unrest in doing so as the time in the new place has been so short.  So here it is.  I decided this moving thing is really a big deal.  And home???   Well, that’s HUGE.  A question drifted in and settled on my heart.   What makes somewhere home?  I began to wonder when I would again experience that comfortable, safe and fond warmth the word usually brings to mind.

I miss my home at Cherry Orchard Lane.  There were a lot of memories made in that house and I don’t really want to let that part of my life slip away.  Somehow the dwelling became a manifestation of many significant moments and I definitely had a plethora living there.  My youngest child graduated from high school and my three grandchildren were all born while we lived there.  I think we moved in when I was 40 and then I turned 50…not one but two significant ages!  My youngest got married while we lived there and our family went through a major rift, crisis and healing, yet we all survived and our family endured.  My father no longer travels, so that is the last of my homes he will ever visit and sadly the grandest of my homes my mom will never see, because she passed before my husband and I had accomplished it.

We went through our empty nest years there, took up boating again and Bill had his mid-life crisis, or maybe we both did, and he bought a Harley.  We had fun with friends and even rode the bike to Sturgis, rekindling the footloose and fancy free days of our youth.  We did a lot of traveling.  We went to Mexico, the Mayan Riviera, Costa Rica, Disneyland, Hawaii several times, the Bahamas and I even went to Italy with my BFF.  And after each of these wonderful excursions we always came home to 8676 Cherry Orchard Lane and loved it even more because there’s no place like home…truly.

My Grandmother died at 102 years of age and all my sibs came for a visit except one brother, who never came in all the years I lived there.  Neither did my husband’s family, except maybe once or twice and we realized we had built a home and our own life.  We celebrated 14 Christmases, Easters, had Thanksgivings, birthdays and multiple celebrations that anchored our family in that house until they eventually anchored themselves.  I mourned the loss of my favorite cat, Sister Margaret Sophie, a tri-colored Persian, after 18 years of having her warm body curled up every night at the foot of my bed.

Every room was about memories…love and laughter…tears and heartaches…sleepovers and remodels, cooking and gardening, decorating and building things.  It was where we created a life, our life, and as we move on I can only say that I grieve, because home is where memories have been made and those can’t be conjured up in an instant, only in years, and I have discovered that years bring limitations to life… and change.

So who knows?  Someday I will be home again, but it will take time and that is precious, to be made the most of if I dare to stay in the moment, living my process, falling forward with grace, until I can say once again…I’m home.

It’s love month.  February 14th.  Valentine’s Day.  A day set aside to celebrate true love.  Romantic love is a thrilling thing to be sure.  Filled with electricity, attraction and abandon it resonates in our souls like the iambic pentameter of an English sonnet.  “Thou art more lovely and more temperate” says Shakespeare, but being “in love” itself is anything but temperate.  It cajoles us out of our sensibilities and guarantees no self-restraint… but oh… the ecstasy!  The elevator drop stomach, the pounding heart, the wonder and drama of it all can woo us like a delicious dessert, sometimes to be savored a morsel at a time, until our senses overcome us and craving its sweetness we greedily devour it completely.  I have to admit romantic love is a delectable awakening to be anticipated for its carefree spontaneity and effusive fulfillment.

But love its self, what large arms!  It embraces so much more than cheesy Hallmark cards and cardboard crammed with candy.  It’s that heart opening feeling that lets me see the beauty in a sunflower or a sand dollar or a snowfall.  It’s the ability to forgive the misdeeds of others, letting go of retaliation or fear.  It’s the blanket that wraps and comforts me in my grieving when pain and loss are all life hands me.  Love is alive and all knowing, but quiet and gentle like a butterfly that landing on my blouse, catches me by surprise, but never frightens me.  Love never ends.  It endures.  It comforts.  It sustains me.

If I were to begin a list with the words “I love…” it would be endless.  It would be my love list and my gratitude list, to be revered like a promise, filling me with anticipation for each new delight, a knowing that offers me a glimpse of hope and the Divine.  Just knowing that love is in everyone and everything gives me courage and the choice and possibility to fall forward in my life….with grace.

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!  Be in love.  Be in life.      

A  Winter Travail in Spiritual Prose

Truly captivated by the bright fresh bite of new fallen snow, I anticipate each step into forest, across field, shimmering flakes swirling down like so many shooting stars, landing around me in perfect constellations, flocking Alpine Fir, illuminating arduous Pine, perhaps kissing a huckleberry here or there, but surely causing me to pause and ponder, for this winter cloak, laying fluffy white comfort over every inch of hill and trail before me, creates an acute awareness of how very small I am in this vast space, as if ensconced in some small glass globe, where a benevolent giant has turned heaven upside down, forcing iridescence to melt into my red jacket and cling to the furry halo caressing my frosty cheeks, or land ever so gently at my feet, while I place my snowshoes into footprints left by some unnamed traveler;  left foot…right foot… step…swoosh… step…swoosh…gliding smoothly forward I savor a tiny reprieve from the intrepid  rhythm of the trail, listening to my own heart beat, comforted by the cadence of my own deep breaths, tranquil, despite the crispness of the day and the bite of the cold,  I am not deterred from wonder, and I feel thankful for each respite, as warm air echoes inside my jacket hood, and as my fingertips, numb with an icy chill, reach ever deeper inside fleece mittens, I pause in wonder, aware that every branch reaching toward heaven is awash with an ethereal glow, ignited in lacey finery, and I know that what has taken my breath away is not the biting cold, nor the effort of my steps, but the sight of God adorned in a glistening, frosty robe, bowing low, touching the earth, revealing His splendor, bringing me to my knees.

pk

Check out www.nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/hurricane-ridge-in-winter.htm

So spirited,

time has its way with me.

Lifting everyday consequence

to historical significance.

Humble memories

become fantastical in my eyes,

to be lived and relived,

true and through.

Still…layers peel away,

raw and willing yet again,

I turn my head away from then,

as each new day beckons me,

authentically …join in.

Laugh, surrender, pray,

love and be loved back,

serendipity… a part

of life’s breadth and width,

and then, of course,

there’s peace.

pk

Gratitude is something that I need to include in my prayers daily.  A poignant experience at the grocery store this evening brought this fact home with a piercing tug at my heart strings.

Standing in check out lines is never easy at the end of the day and with a crush of commuters lined up at every register I had already gauged my timing as a 3 on a scale of 1 to 10.  The aisles were a madhouse of pre-Turkey Day shoppers.  I hastily careened up to the Altoids, M & M’s and National Enquire.  A warm flush started to creep up my neck as I heard the customer in front of me speaking in a low voice to the checker.  The words “I thought it was marked so and so” and “I’m sorry it looks like it’s such and such” was all I could hear over the noisy din of the evening grocery hustle.

“Oh brother!” I thought.  This looked like it was going to cause a back up in aisle 2 for sure!  My thoughts immediately surged toward irritation at the bundled up, petite, gray haired woman in front of me.  In her out stretched hand was a rumpled five dollar bill.  She was holding it in the direction of the Asian American grocery clerk whose eyes had narrowed into a concerned flatline and whose brow was now furrowed and questioning.  I pushed my cart assertively into the cart path, tossing my dozen or so items onto the conveyor belt with intention.

Their heads had been tilted toward each other in hushed conversation, but as I positioned my items next to the rubber partition, they both glanced my way.  I saw the five dollar bill being considered by the checker.   Suddenly the woman blurted, “Never mind.  I’ll put the rest on my credit card!”

“Ah,” I surmised.  ”This transaction will be concluding sooner than I thought!”.

The smug satisfaction turned to surprise as I heard the checker’s response.  ”That will be $6.69 please.”

As I watched the woman hand over her five dollar bill and slide her card through the machine I felt a stab of remorse for my selfish thinking.  A huge wave of gratitude and  humility washed over me while I watched my fresh raspberries, organic peanut butter, golden raisins, Kerrygold Swiss, (and two boxes of Dove bars I had impulsively thrown in at the last minute),  go sailing past me toward the eye of the UPC scanner.  My own eyes had just been startled open by another’s reality and I realized how blessed I have been to be a recipient of God’s grace over and over again. Here was a women who looked no different than me, but who perhaps was in a much different place.   Who was I to be impatient?  Who was I to be judgmental?  Who was I but just another human being on my own path which would lead me to the unfolding of my own life where the only certainty was in this very minute…and for this minute I became entirely grateful.

Have yourselves a grateful Thanksgiving.  God bless.

I have now become well acquainted with the term wedding jitters, that egregious agitation and anxiety stirred up when one is facing an eminent gathering of one’s closest friends and dearest relatives to witness the joining of two hearts in the most intimate of events demanding public affirmation….a wedding.  Second only to the enormity of the actual commitment, the wedding itself is large and involved.  Something akin to sending a man to the moon and sometimes appearing as if it will cost just a smidge less, the wedding becomes an outward manifestation of the bride and grooms meeting, infatuation, courtship and vision of their future together.  In the planning stages it unfolds either by gradually trickling into a pool of ponderings or by bolting out of the gate to take on a life of its own, catapulting along with the intensity and speed of a thoroughbred. Whether the vision is the brides, the grooms, or some other familial participant, it can spin out of the stratosphere in a heartbeat turning into something totally unintentional.  This is where the faint of hoof may be left far, far behind.  After witnessing up close and personal several of the aforementioned possibilities I have come to a few conclusions about how it may be possible to make things flow gracefully, alleviate the drama, hair raising or feather ruffling that can be disheartening to say the least.  Here are my ideas about the necessary components making that sweet intimate comingling of two lives, special and stress free, be it a gathering of 50 or 250.

Component number one….time.  It is very important to give the planning process plenty of time to develop.  Short engagements can lead to a happy wedding day, but be prepared to be a lot more  flexible.    It is equally important to allow enough time around the actual day of festivities to relax, enjoy your family and friends and to relish your moment.  Fern Hollow is a destination with intention.  The goal at Fern Hollow is to provide that sweet spot where all the pieces of such a monumental event can come together in a setting that is beautiful and serene.  Time stands still at Fern Hollow.  Our clients can be comfortable and unhurried as they set about with the details of their day basking in a retreat like setting.  An overnight stay at Fern Hollow perhaps including its guest house, Settle On Inn, allow the bride, groom or other important guests to wake up on the property, have a relaxing morning, before setting about with the day’s activities.  Fern Hollow is the perfect gathering spot to take care of what can be a big stressor – not enough time.

Component number two….focus.  Keep your eye on the prize.  Even in the comfort of our gorgeous surroundings focus can become obscured with the blending of two families full of various visions, engaging enthusiasm and eager anticipation, all reaching a crescendo on that glorious day.  It is in that spirit that I say please totally disregard what I said above about “being comfortable and unhurried as you set about with the details of the day.”  Let me go out on a very thin and bouncy limb of the family tree here and say that there is absolutely no way on earth the bride, groom, parents of the bride and groom, or other very close members of the bride and groom’s immediate intimate peeps should be involved in the preparations or coordination of the actual wedding day.  (Entire limbs of family trees have been removed for far less).  Fortuitously, many of our lovely couples have enlisted the aid of a wedding coordinator, if not to assist them throughout the entire process at least to coordinate the day of activities.  Here at Fern Hollow we highly recommend securing such a person for all of, or at least a portion of, the design, décor, and directing of the day’s hoopla and critical moments.  This wedding professional is one of the most invaluable elements needed to bring one’s vision to life, for the purpose of assured effortless culmination of the extensive planning of your event.  Second only to the possibility and privilege of having more time at your disposal, our relaxing gathering spot can provide recommendations of numerous  competent, caring, and creative professionals who can make a huge difference in how your dream unfolds.

To you!  Cheers!

Cobwebs, cattails and fog.  Chilly mornings subside into layer upon layer of warm stillness, settling like a cozy blanket over the afternoon.  If you don’t look too close you might mistake this for just another summer day.  Flowers are still blooming in the garden after all.  The butterflies have mostly gone, only to have been replaced by dragonflies recklessly darting, buzzing and careening around the asters.  A bittersweet quality is tangible… a knowing seeps into our consciousness.  We bend to pull a last errant weed from the soil, and the occasional formation of migrating geese, hawk or crane passes by overhead.  Eventually, the sun fades and cool night air is filled with the smoke of maple, alder, and fir adding its pungency to the breadth of an early fall evening.

Summers in the Northwest are short but oh so sweet.  It’s the beach and the mountains;  rivers and lakes… chilly but thrilling;  Indian paintbrush and Lupine…vibrant and bold;  bbqs and picnics;  walks through the woods searching for Shaggy Manes or Chanterelles;  fresh produce in abundance…berries and apples; wild blackberry picking, canning, and pickling; quiet days filled with reading and the smell of fresh cut grass.  It has taken many seasons to make peace with the moment when Mother Nature decides to whip up a little wind, add a spritz of frost or maybe a drenching or two.  Canopies of trees, once stoic, acquiesce … only to be replaced by the bob and weave of a Northwestern fall fashion essential….the umbrella. As each leaf loses its luster, crinkles, and wafts to the ground, the reality of change and impermanence come sharply into focus.

Finally I have come to appreciate the changing of the seasons.    I know the days will only grow shorter, cooler, and soon I will find myself huddled inside in front of a woodstove waiting for the spring to come again.  But for now I will revel in these last dog days and know that they are some of the most beautiful the Pacific Northwest has to offer.

It was a lollapalooza of a weekend at Fern Hollow!  My own family members gathered to celebrate our common family history, sharing memories, yummy food and gorgeous surroundings as we visited and got to know each other again.

Some of us had not been in contact for many years.  To be quite honest, I was totally overwhelmed the entire weekend.  I am an introvert, which means that I am rejuvenated by my quiet time alone.   I am, after all a writer…a watcher…observing things is an intrinsic element of my personality.  As I greeted member after member of my wonderful family, welcoming them to this little piece of heaven, I couldn’t help but be in awe of the importance of this gathering, yet wonder how I would ever be able to keep energized surrounded by the antics of such a variety of personalities.   Thankfully the serene setting of Fern Hollow and jaunts to Lake Crescent and the Dungeness Spit were just what I needed to keep me grounded.

Collectively and individually we have an awesome family.  As a group we have celebrated approximately 200 years of marriage.  My sibs have raised awesome children who are beautiful, intelligent and resourceful members of society, including entrepreneurs, managers in various industries and corporations, teachers, nurses, writers, members of our armed forces and law enforcement.  However, it was easy to see as I experienced each family individually, that the most  eloquent quality my nieces, nephews and their partners possess, is their commitment to their families.  The little ones were absolutely a delight!  They quickly accepted each other, became playmates and explored every square inch of Fern Hollow!  It was a joy to see them comprehend that this was their own special community in the bigger picture of life.

 I have spent much of the last 5 years of my life planning the development of Fern Hollow.  The driving force was primarily recollected memories of my childhood superimposed against the incredible  backdrop of one of the most beautiful places I have ever been privileged to experience…the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state.   It was incredible to see everyone who had come, some from long distance, some at great inconvenience, some making personal sacrifices, in order to be present for a while… to make this connection with our common roots.  We have had the pleasure of hosting many special gatherings at Fern Hollow, but I would have to say that if this were my last I would be satisfied Fern Hollow had fulfilled its optimum purpose…for the most important guests of all…my amazing family!

“Ev’ryone can see we’re together
As we walk on by
(FLY!) and we fly just like birds of a feather
I won’t tell no lie
(ALL!) all of the people around us they say
Can they be that close
Just let me state for the record
We’re giving love in a family dose”

This last weekend as I watched a couple celebrate their wedding at Fern Hollow, surrounded by their loved ones, I started thinking about my family’s upcoming family reunion.  It has been many years since I have gotten together with all my sibs.  Oh we have had family gatherings, of course.  A niece’s graduation, a sister’s birthday, a wedding, or an elder’s celebration for a life well lived.  Usually it is one or two families.  Usually not all members are present.  We have jobs, obligations, children in school, pets we can’t leave, we live too far away, or we just can’t seem to eek out adequate time to sneak away from our daily obligations.  Whatever the reason, as our numbers have grown, there have been more absences than visits, more memories than currency.  When we do gather, whatever the reason, I am always amazed at how the years melt away and we resume our place in the family hierarchy, relating to each other as we once were. 

So much has changed in each of our lives over the years, but the basic common denominators are the same.  We have fallen in, and out, and back in, love.  We have been hired and fired, worked great jobs and been unemployed.  We have had children and maybe more children and some even grandchildren.  We have traveled far and near and seen many places.  We have rented and bought and built and sold homes, moving across towns or across country.   But whatever has happened in each of our lives one thing has always been constant.  We are family. 

We were raised together, through thick and thin, in comfort or poverty, in many small rural towns, eventually, many of us ending up in one particular small rural town, where our mother before us was born and raised herself.  We share common childhood memories of silos and strawberry fields, the fragrance of mint wafting on the summer breeze, Seven Dips Road, Hog Back Road, and Happy Valley.  We checked books out of the book mobile.  We knew how to encourage loggers to honk at us by making a fist and waving our arm to them as they flew by, their trailers weighted down with old growth cedar or fir, or spruce.   It would be hard to forget the memories of staying with our Grandma and Grandpa in the brick house when our Grandpa was a “big wig” at Crown Zellerbach, when making paper was a really big deal in our town.  Commercial fishing was another big deal.  We strawberry picked, moved irrigation lines, went haying, or milked cows for summer work.   We remember salivating over our mother’s homemade maple bars hot from the fryer, or her delicious homemade bread smothered in butter.  We all had our share of handmade clothes and we helped grow vegetables.  All of us equally hated weeding, and each of us was required to do our share of picking fruit off trees, wild blackberry vines, and raspberry bushes for canning and preserving a lot of our own food.   Speaking of food, we all knew you cook a turkey on its breast, silly, and you don’t open the oven and baste if you want the meat to be moist!

 Even though things were thin pickings sometimes, we were fortunate our Mom loved the outdoors and we were lucky enough to be raised in a place that epitomized the best nature has to offer.  We enjoyed swimming in the waters of Jamestown Beach, Salt Water Bay, and Port Williams, the Sol Duc Hot Springs and called the Dungeness Spit the Voice of America.  We hiked at Deer Park, Hurricane Ridge, Lake Ozette, Lake Crescent, the Elwah and the Hoh Rain Forest.   We lived a fairly secular life at home but our grandmothers made sure we had religious training.  Even though some of us have a religious affiliation while some of us do not, I would dare to say we all understand there is a higher being…. to be loved or feared… called God.  Whether we are in a spiritual place or suffering from some disenchantment or another I would venture that across the board we all experience feelings of greater peace, tranquility, and spiritual connection surrounded by the beauty and awe of nature. We were lovingly introduced to local plants and wildlife.  We picked mushrooms with our Grandmother and when we lived in the grey house a deer was once so brazen it actually came up onto the front porch.  Even though there were 18 years between the oldest and youngest of my siblings, we all went to Sequim schools and knew “the Sequim High Wolves are hard to beat.”  We went to operettas in the old auditorium, played band or sports or hooky.  We did the Irrigation Festival every May.  We hung speakers to our cars at the drive in, cruised Sequim, groovin’ through the 60’s and rockin’ through the 70’s.  We were required to maintain the honor roll and encouraged to graduate high school and get to work.  We understood this was the minimum requirement. 

Our parents were old school for sure…sometimes hard to please.  Love wasn’t always spoken, yet we were taught the importance of family.  These are our commonalities as siblings, some of which are carried down in our own families, passed on through generations, whether we get together or even get along.  Genetically and environmentally, we will always share this common history which has shaped us into the people that we are.  I choose to look at my sibs these days with a focus on our similarities.  Our love of nature.  Our creative and artistic traits.  Our sense of adventure.  Our enjoyment manifested in a hearty belly laugh…or our insatiable curiosity about what we might do next…for the subsequent stages of life are always forthcoming.   

I watched the folks below on the lawn.  They were laughing, hugging, listening and all talking at once.  They were all here for one particular purpose.  To love and support a family member in a most significant right of passage.  This is what family does.  We each know when the chips are down we have each other to turn to but it is truly a joy when we gather together to watch our family grow.  Seeing this celebration makes me eager and excited in anticipation for the fortunate opportunity awaiting me in a few weeks and I have the opportunity to rekindle familial relationships and know my sibs….finally….as friends.  

 “Living life is fun and we’ve just begun
To get our share of the world’s delights
(HIGH!) high hopes we have for the future
And our goal’s in sight
(WE!) no we don’t get depressed
Here’s what we call our golden rule
Have faith in you and the things you do
You won’t go wrong
This is our family Jewel”

                 ~ Sister Sledge *1979* ~