Day trip

Mary and I went for a little – okay, eleven hours – drive yesterday and it was absolutely perfect. We went from rain to rain shadow, from sea level to the tree line, across salt water and up the shoulder of a mountain. We saw some of the coolest little seaside towns and farms galore.  Oh, and had a fantastic breakfast at a local place in Sequim.

The main purpose of the trip was really just to get out for the day but my ulterior motive was to visualize locales for some writing I’m doing. Although the work is fiction and everything in it made of whole cloth, it helps to have a picture in mind and so I spent much of the day mentally and digitally recording the sights.

I found the perfect view from Max’s workshop that plays such a central visual role and the switchback road Julia will drive in Chapter Two. The view of the islands in the straits beyond the foothills from the house is now fixed in my mind, as is the view looking back from the ferry as it departs Edmonds.

Mary didn’t find it odd to share a date while my mind was frequently elsewhere; she’s used to me thinking about writing. She even took pics of the places I needed to capture precisely. So you could say she’s my partner in crime (that is, if you don’t like the book, assuming anyone ever reads it) and my fellow researcher if you do like it. I even found Georgia’s house which I hadn’t intended to describe but now think will provide the setting for a key scene. So IF I finish this hog and IF it gets published or I print off enough copies and IF you read it, you may spot echoes of yesterday’s little ramble.

One scene wasn’t part of the book research at all but did provide a moment of poignancy I want to share with you. About halfway between Edmonds and Kingston, the ferry slowed to a stop and the captain blew the ship’s whistle three times. Mary and I happened to be standing just by the pilot house when she hit the horn and if you’ve ever heard a ship’s whistle from close by, you will understand my saying that I nearly colored my culottes when that thing first went off.

The captain, seemingly unconcerned at having provided me with an embarrassing senior moment, explained herself by announcing a memorial service so we went to the stern to see how they did it. From our vantage on the promenade deck, we were above and behind the four people who had just ‘committed their loved one to the deep.’ They do these things by putting the ashes in a ceremonial container that’s designed to float for a few minutes before becoming sufficiently waterlogged that it sinks and of course, eventually biodegrades and releases the remains on the ocean floor.

For most folks on the M/V Walla Walla – perhaps four hundred people on this off-peak crossing – the slight delay was just a mildly interesting interlude, of no more import than the sighting of an Orca or watching a coastal steamer cross close aboard.  But for the two men and two women standing on the stern ramp of the main vehicle deck, this was a profound event in their lives.

They stood stock still as long as the container remained in view and when it finally sank as the stern began to vibrate and the prop wash began to stretch a broad swath behind us, they still stared. Not a word, not a movement among them until finally they peeled off one by one to head back to their car. The older blond woman in the red car coat blew a kiss before turning away, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

It was their moment and the two crew members assigned to help them get the container overboard without following it stood protectively and silently off to port and starboard. Once they reset the safety chain, one of them glanced behind before they headed off to do whatever deck hands do mid-crossing.

I had this great day driving the Olympic peninsula with Mary and checking sites for the book. And I’d like to think these four people had a good day as well, completing their final duty to someone for whom they’d clearly cared.