Mosaic pieces

   Life’s smorgasbord of endless possibilities set its table in our house this last month, and the more edible tidbits to share consist of:
     men in skirts
     working boat racers
     preparing for winter
     the bat out of hell. 
  But first, two things:
   1. We apologize for not having written in our blog for almost a month, but it’s been a rather trying, busy, exasperating, stupefying, and demanding few weeks. To quote an anonymous source, “We love chaos because we love to produce order.” Actually, that's not necessarily true, but forgive us anyway.
   2. To enlarge an image, please click on it.
The Wooden Boat Show – July 3

   Charmingly, daughters Lisa Rodasta and Dana Wilshin intermittently talk about David’s retirement in terms of when he builds his first wooden boat. It makes me smile, for in the background David’s shaking his head and insisting. “It’ll never happen. I’m not a finish carpenter.”
   Frankly, the jury’s out. The girls may be right-on.
   Regardless, on Independence Day Eve we took in the Seattle Wooden Boat Show sponsored by the Center for Wooden Boats (“the museum of doing, not just viewing”).
   After boarding the Arthur Foss and other fine old tugs, it became apparent that David enjoys all the below-deck engine stuff, and I like rigging and smoke stacks, perhaps because during World War I David’s father was a twelve-year-old cabin boy in the Chesapeake, and my father was a fourteen-year-old deck hand on a Norwegian schooling ship. 

   Regardless, neither David nor I can get enough of breathing the smells boats reek (yum diesel!), sizing up each boat’s efficient layout, figuring out the bridge-to-engine-room and other linkage systems, and feeling with our hands and eyes the woods, lines, and tackle, as if some part of us is reliving our fathers’ lives (which is kind of inexplicable for me, since I was adopted). 

   Of the boats we saw, we especially loved a particular little skiff with details that could make FL Wright drool (except FL Wright houses always leak!). Rounded brass nails. Inlaid oar blades. Leather-padded oar handles. Brass oarlocks. Gorgeous accent woods. A dozen pictures we took before we were suddenly stunned to find an incredibly inappropriate cleat-off and coil. Mystified, we set off in search of a lovely tie-off job, and easily found one that would settle our inner tar (above, right).

   Alongside the compulsory tall ships, ancient Sound ferries, Mosquito fleet survivors, and mahogany Chris Crafts from Michael Corleone’s (??) flotilla, we spotted a fleet of Knockabouts, the same kind that were at the Naval Academy when David attended a very long time ago (pic. 3).
   NOTE: In Puget Sound, Mosquito Fleet, we’ve learned, refers to the thick swarm of steam boats that serviced the Sound in the early 1900s.
   ANOTHER NOTE: It was closed, but we really wanted to see the inside of Close Enough Engineering’s studio, which was where we parked for the boat chow. Alas.
The Fauna

   Besides hosting three carp, a covey of constantly complaining quails (because their brains hang outside their heads), a football team of goldfinch, and a neighborhood of rabbits, we have a snake. Actually we might have more, but they’re never together, so we don’t really know if he’s the same one here and there, or ten that never moved. We know one did move on, however, since David had to lift him out of the pond where he unfortunately went for a spin.
   For three days now, I’ve walked past this snake as it sleeps in various coiled designs atop a crop of chives. He’s obviously not camouflaged, so I’m wondering what his exact escape plan is for when one of the local bald eagles finally decides to make him its dinner.
   A couple of days ago we had a bat in our bedroom, which is against every Martha Stewart principle I choose to follow. (We still haven’t figured out how it got there.) After removing a window screen, we just kept walking toward it and talking. In its blindness, it missed the beauty of our tidily-made bed and the newly upholstered easy chairs, and the look of horror on our faces. I have no idea what was drilling through David’s mind, but worried endlessly about the little guy’s digestive system, and how I didn’t want to upset it. Actually, getting it out wasn’t as easy as I make it sound, because the bat stalled on the window sill, a good eight inches from the unscreened opening. There it played dead so long, we thought it might actually be. Finally it had enough of David pressing the screen against its furry little hide and sprung back to life and out the window.
   I put all this on Facebook, with half the responses being, “Cool, I want one too,” and the other half being one loud “EWWWW!”
   I’ve stuck a couple of other animal pix up here because I did find it odd to see a camel preparing to spit at us on San Juan Island. And I did love the little fox cruising along Lopez Island’s southern quarter.
   I have yet to get a picture of the deer, though. We have a black-tailed deer who regularly strolls through our yard like he owns the place and nips off a single rose or rhodie before wandering to our neighbor’s for a bite of something else.
   It was not until I was in Coupeville that I realized the deer ARE in charge. At some point driving into Coupeville proper, a deer sauntered across the road like a queen unafraid of her subjects, while cars all around simply stopped and waited, as if this were the most natural thing in the world, which it should be.
The Highland Games – July 11
   Besides being extremely educational, the Highland Games proved itself to be the one venue where the men looked significantly and consistently more handsome and interesting than the women.
   The Highland Games we attended with Carl and Linda were in Mt. Vernon, on I-5 where you make the left turn toward Fidalgo Island and the San Juan Islands Ferry. The Highland Games is a traveling show, in the same spirit as circuses or traveling theatre and ballet troupes. They have their fundamental events and rely on the locals for the rest, in this case shepherding, jigging, piping, stone putting, hammer throwing, etc.
   Here’re a few things we really enjoyed.

   During the opening ceremony, they played first the Canadian national anthem and then the US’s, which as a SoCal native, I found extremely lovely and ironic.
   While the anthems were playing, the extremely buff guy directly in front of me, saluted, imbuing the tam on his head with a definite militarism. I found it stunning. I stepped back for a more complete shot of him. I cannot explain how capable and war-worthy he appeared. Wowzer! (The lad to the left of him, in the tartan slacks, is preparing to dance a jig.)

   Watching the working dogs sent me back to the early 80s, when I watched Sesame Street with my kids, each day hoping they’d play one of my two favorite songs, “I’m a Hard Working Dog.” (The other is Frisbee-catching Barkley. Oh, go ahead, watch/listen to them and reminisce!!)
   Sheep herding, we learned, is not all fun and games. After all, there’s a living to be made. Sheep ranchers want their dogs to be quiet, so the sheep remain calm, which means the sheep won’t be running of their fat. Kaching.

   We thoroughly enjoyed the Pipe Band competition (Portland Pipe Band, rt.), and discovered that pipe-band moms are closely related to soccer moms. They come equipped with water bottles, cookies and oranges; they hover; and they’re dutiful gofers when a kid forgot his cap. Made me laugh.
   Other things we attended were the jig and hornpipe contests, the harpists, the throws, and Molly's Revenge, a knock off of the Wicked Tinker singers, .
   Afterward, we went to the Carpenter Creek winery and then to Carl and Linda’s for dinner with another couple, and we played Mexican Train, which I’d never heard of in my life, and actually had a great deal of fun playing, but couldn’t figure out how in the world it got its name, politically correct person that I am.
The Stove

   Like chipmunks, we’ve spent part of the summer preparing for the winter. We got a Napoleon stove to heat the downstairs, but had to get a marble slab for it to sit on. Next, we get the chimney cracks taken care of and invest in a generator for when the electricity goes out and the people who don’t live within the city limits have a to wait an extra long time to see their lights come back on.
Yacht Mischief
   For those who have visited our Yacht Mischief home in Newport Beach, we want you to know that it is going through a transformation. This picture shows our dining room, kitchen and family room. The dining room now has staircase going to the upstairs. I can’t wait to see it when it’s done!
The Poet

   Before going to the Wooden Boat Show, we stopped at Marie de Haan’s Wayside Wysteria gardens. Marie is a poet and writer in the Wednesday afternoon Just Write group I attend in Coupeville. Her books coming out soon are Cancer is a Funny Thing and The Lighthouse Never Dims.
Viking Days – July 18

   Yesterday, David donned his blue and yellows, and I my red, white and blues, and we headed to Ballard for Viking Days at the Nordic Museum.

   Just so you know in which corner we each sit, David’s a fourth-or-fifth generation Swede and I’m a first-generation Norsk (even though I was Priscilla Sargent before I was adopted, so I’m technically a Daughter of the Mayflower or something ancient and questionably-noble like that). We got there just in time for some Swedish pancakes (loganberry and whipped cream), which, I have to admit pales in comparison to Norwegian pannekaker with its raspberry jam and powdered sugar. It was, however, totally worth suffering through sprue for.

   As for the mini events, we loved the children’s fiddling orchestra; the modern, two-hundred-year-old Viking boat; the weapons (Viking sword hilts were wire coiled so their hands wouldn’t slip when covered with blood. Such warriors!); and the carved rosemaling.

   Hopefully David will write about the Viking boat and explain clinker-built and lapstrake, because that’s what made the Viking boats seaworthy in the North Sea.
The Workboat Races – July 17

   After spending Saturday morning scouring the flea-market style main drag of Anacortes (Shipwreck Day – all flotsam and jetsam can be yours for a song!), we headed for the pier overlooking Guemes Channel to watch the Working Boat Races.

   The festivities started out with the official town crier (right) announcing the events, which included three classes of working boats racing each other up to the Guemes Ferry turnaround and back, a chowder challenge, the Shifty Sailors from Whidbey Island, and a pirate contest, which we didn’t stay for, but are really happy for the people who did.

   The crier interviewed a lady who’d already sampled and voted for her favorite chowder. “It’s terrific. So good it’s like dinner,” she said, to which the crier rersponded, “Yes, almost like a Sunday afternoon visit to Costco.”

   Then the races began. The really big boats were in Class B, and they made it up and back in about fifteen minutes. Class C did it in three. The propane hauler San Juan Enterprise, with its large projecting landing craft bow, won its class (B), partly because it headed the snag boat Deception Pass off at the pass, forcing it to take the San Juan’s stern to miss hitting the pier. It was a close race. The winner won by two minutes. One boat never finished. It like left or something. Anyway, three hardworking boats earned twelve months’ bragging rights, and I hope they do it justice.
A Boat-Building Town

   At Fidalgo Island's northern end lies its one town, Anacortes, which we've been delighted to find has a thriving boat-building industry. Previously we've written how the last America Cup winner was built in Anacortes. Since moving here, we've been watching the steady progress of Cade Candies, an oil-rig-positioning platform (pic. 2, 3) and a yet-to-be-named Foss tug (pic. 4). We also wanted you to see that we're not outlandish with our blog's name. Anacortes is in a Banana Belt! (pic. 1)