This article was published as an issue of my newsletter Ready for Rain Under our house, we have a pile of lumber, decking, siding, and plywood that was leftover from the build. Nearby is a pile of two-man boulders. My goal is to use these resources to build out the...
We see whales from time to time, but this is the first time I’ve been able to use my phone and the scope to get good photos and videos.
My goal was not only to see into the distance but to take photos. This turned me onto an idea called digiscoping, which combines phone photography with telescopes and spotting scopes.
The longer we live on Orcas Island, and at the mercy of ferries, the more we learn to optimize. It’s normal to visit the mainland as a day trip. You take an hour-long ferry ride over, run errands, and come back on the ferry. The question becomes: what can you get done between ferries? If you plan poorly, you might waste hours waiting for the next ferry. This is where optimization matters most.
This put me on a course to making the most of our wood and one big idea stood out: we needed a wood shed. Firewood burns hotter and cleaner when it’s dry and dry wood comes from wood that can breathe. That’s why it was weird to keep it in the garage. By being out in the elements, it could naturally release moisture or “season”. In fact, rain isn’t a big problem as long as moisture isn’t trapped where it can create mold and decay.
From the moment my line hit the bottom, a fish hit the bait. It was a smallish sand dab. The next time, I pulled up two fish at a time. We couldn’t believe how easy it was. It was like a carpet of flatfish were just waiting for something to float by them.
Last week, we were watching TV, and Sachi jumped from her seat and opened the doors to go outside and peer into the night sky. We both looked up to see what looked like an alien invasion. Small bright dots were moving across the sky in a line. There were a dozen or more in view and they seemed to fade out of view, one after the other, until they were gone.
I snapped a bunch of photos, including this one:
I treat weather watching as a hobby. Living in the PNW means that there is almost always interesting weather to experience. I use a number of weather apps and below, I’ve offered a number of my favorites.
I plan on the transition each year, and for now, I wait and watch for signs of change. The weather models are unsure of what will happen. It’s like the dry PNW summer is battling the north pacific currents trying to push into Washington for the winter. Forecasts this time of year often say there is a 58% chance of rain, which is frustratingly noncommittal. They might as well admit they have no idea.
We want to create a similar experience from home, based mostly on our own planning, time, and self-sufficiency. This summer has been a time to share what we’ve grown and caught.
Part of what has gripped me about the garden is the combination of permanence and change. The sumac tree may be here in twenty years, but it will have changed constantly in that time. Every day, I can inspect it and notice the little things. I can see it in different colors as the seasons change.
Small and isolated places like Orcas Island need hardware stores and I’m so thankful that Island Hardware not only exists but does so in such a family-like style. More than just about any other place, it is Orcas Island and I hope it never changes.
Small and isolated places like Orcas Island need hardware stores and I’m so thankful that Island Hardware not only exists but does so in such a family-like style. More than just about any other place, it is Orcas Island and I hope it never changes.
I’m a little torn about this new reality. On one hand, I never have to think about where to put bowls. On the other, there is nothing left to optimize. The problem has been solved and I take comfort in that. My brain can move on. The question is: to what?
We feed it, but not too much. We allow it to breathe but in only one direction. We benefit from thousands of years of practice and experiments. Yet, each fire still feels like a challenge. The perfect fire is not something you ever achieve. It is only an aspiration.
On an uncharacteristically sunny fall day, about 40 witches boarded their vessels and paddled out across the cold waters of the Salish Sea.
As one of the traps came to the surface, I heard Sachi say, “Whoa!” in a tone that was part surprise and part anxiety. It looked as though an alien had entered the trap. It was a bright orange sunflower sea star with 19 arms and we weren’t sure what to do.
That evening the rain arrived on time and I heard the now-familiar pitter-patter of it on our skylights and metal roof. I had been anticipating it all summer and wondered how the rain would sound, especially at night when it’s time to sleep. Listening that night, I thought about permanence and entropy. Try as we might to establish wetlands, gardens, and homes to be permanent, the universe eventually has its way with human projects.
The post below was sent as an issue of my newsletter, Ready for Rain. A few weeks back, I shared a story called Lee Night that was, in part, about spending an evening watching boats go by our house. I wrote: As boats float by the house, I can’t help but feel like...
I’m sure that my first reaction was a subtle roll of my eyes or at least an imagined one. Two twin-size box springs had sat in our garage for a while and Sachi was formulating a plan. She asked around and no one needed them and she didn't want to just take them to the...