Free Speech on Vacation

We Americans pride ourselves on freedom of speech - except for when we don't.

I was back east over the holidays visiting my son and his wife. The weather was pleasant - sunny and warm for late December. So we went sight-seeing. As we were strolling the streets of a lovely, scenic seaside town (whose name will be revealed at the end of this post), my son pointed to this sign.

"What do you think that sign says, Mom?" he asked. Thinking it was a joke, I said, "I don't know - no swearing?" "Yup," he answered. Still thinking it might be a joke, I started to look more closely at signs posted along the street. I saw that these "no cursing" signs appear all along the main street. Apparently, folks around here are not kidding. (Which naturally made me WANT to cuss up a blue streak. There's nothing like being told "no" to make an activity irresistible.)

In case visitors don't get the message, posted in between the "no swearing" signs are more signs, each with a reminder about "language:"

Reading this, I had to laugh. I live in a beach community, too. I know what it is like to have your neighborhood taken over by thousands of strangers the moment the sun comes out. Most of the people who show up are respectful of others and don't have to be told what the "rules" are. And the people who disturb the peace - don't read signs. 

Surely the good people of Virginia Beach, Virginia, can find better uses for their tax dollars.

Listening to the Train

A few weeks ago, I went down to Portland, Oregon, to visit friends. Portland is about 175 miles from Seattle and, by car, the trip takes roughly three hours, traffic permitting. Which is to say that it is better to plan on four hours each way. Traffic along Interstate 5 between the two cities has become steadily more congested and, over time, making the trip by car has lost its charm for me. These days, I take the train.

The trip on Amtrak takes 3-1/2 hours from Seattle to Portland, with 5 or 6 stops along the way. I can read a book, watch a movie, walk around, get lunch or take a nap. But on this particular day, I amused myself, as you will see, by taking pictures out the window of freight trains as they passed alongside us.

Freight trains move more freight across the US (42%) than any other form of transport. In terms of ton-miles, trucks come in a distant second (28%). Trains are everywhere, it seems, their tracks crisscrossing the nation, connecting cities and rumbling across the wide open spaces between rural communities.

But most of the time, I don't much notice trains. I hear them, of course, and see them in my peripheral vision as I am driving to and from downtown Seattle on Highway 99. But mostly, trains run in the background of my life. So on this particular day, I was was surprised to find that sitting in a window seat on a train, photographing other trains, was a thoroughly engaging and thoughtful way to pass the time.

Visually, trains have a lot to offer. Different sizes, colors. Forms that follow function, like the tanker below.

When I pay attention, trains bring back memories. As I looked out the window, "ridin' the train," the Grateful Dead's rendition of Casey Jones easily came to mind. As did Arlo Guthrie's voice, singing the chorus of "City of New Orleans."

Freight trains remind me of childhood. I grew up in San Francisco's East Bay Area in a town then called Irvington (which later became Fremont). Our house was in the middle of the block. At the end of the block was a pickle factory and, running perpendicular to our street, the railroad tracks. Even now, 50 years later, I have a clear memory of laying awake on hot summer nights, the windows open to catch any bit of breeze. The air was heavy with the sour smell from the pickle vats. (I wonder now what kind they were. Dill?) And the only sounds were the clatter of passing trains and the groan of train cars being rearranged.

In those days, homeless men, hobos we called them, would sneak onto empty train cars and ride the rails from one town to another. When they got off the train, they would go door to door, offering to do chores in exchange for something to eat. Since our house was just a half block from the tracks, we got to see these fellows on a fairly regular basis. Looking back, it is surprising to me that my mother, one of the least trusting people I've ever known, used to actually "hire" some of these guys. She'd occasionally give a man some outdoor job to do and then set about making sandwiches and coffee while he worked. She would never let me go outside while he was there. She would never let him come inside the house. After he finished his work, she would put his food outside and instruct him to knock on the door and hand her the empty dishes when he finished. 

But of all my memories involving trains, the most indelible is one from a time in my 20s when my sons were little boys. At that time, we were living in southern Illinois near St. Louis, and I had to cross at least one set of train tracks to get anyplace I needed to go. In those days I was usually in a hurry, trying to cram as much as possible into my day. Having to wait for a train (or anything) did not set well with me.

One particular day I was driving with my sons: Brett, who was around 4, and Mike, two years younger. I was running late for something or other and, of course, we got caught by a train. I sat there fuming and ranting about stupid trains, and and why is this thing so long, and why can't they run them at night so they don't screw up people's lives during the day, and... honestly, I don't know what all I was going on about. After a few minutes, I heard Brett's clear little voice.

"Mommy, why are you so mad?" he asked. "Mike and I like the train. We like the way it sounds. Roll down your window so we can listen to it."

I sat there embarrassed, realizing that the adult in the car was not the person behind the wheel. My son was right. What was the point in getting upset? Being upset wasn't going to make the train go faster or keep me from being late. I was going to have to wait, pure and simple. It was up to me to decide how I wanted to spend that time; and there was at least one other choice besides being angry and miserable.

So I rolled my window down. And the three of us sat there, in silence, listening to the train. And in spite of myself, I enjoyed it. 

My wise 4-year-old boy is now a 40-year-old man. But I remember his words from that day every time I am stopped by a train. And unless it is raining sideways, as it sometimes does in the Northwest, I push the little button inside my car that lowers the window, and I listen.

A Different Perspective

Welcome to my neighborhood, Alki Beach, located at the north end of West Seattle. It is a wonderful place to live, just minutes from downtown Seattle, yet offering the relaxed atmosphere of a beach community. Nearly every day, weather permitting, I walk along the beach and enjoy the ever changing views of sky, water, islands and mountains. Sunny, stormy, placid, moody, always dramatic - I never get tired of the remarkable scenery here.

This is the view from here: the bike path and walking trail in the foreground; the waters of Puget Sound just past the beach; beyond that you see Bainbridge Island; and above it all, the snow-capped Olympic Mountains. If you look closely, you can see a white Washington state ferry in the distance, making the crossing between Bainbridge and downtown Seattle.

I watch these ferries go by every day and pretty much take them for granted. I realized the other day that it had been years since I'd been on one. I decided it was high time to take a little day trip and get a different view of my neighborhood and city - a view from the water.

On Tuesday, I left my house around noon, headed for Coleman Dock in downtown Seattle, hoping to catch the 1:10 boat to Bainbridge. I was surprised and delighted to find that on a sunny, August day, during the height of tourist season, there were short lines at the terminal. I bought my ticket, took my place in the loading area and within a few minutes I was on board and underway.

This ferry, the Tacoma, is one of the largest in the Washington state ferry fleet. It can carry up to 2500 passengers and 200 vehicles. It dwarfs everything else on the water, except for the jumbo cruise ships that operate in summer, carrying passengers to Alaska. It takes about 30 minutes to make the crossing to Bainbridge, which leaves plenty of time to get out of the car and go upstairs to the observation decks for a look around.

There's no better way to view the waterfront than from, well, the waterfront. Here's part of that sweeping view, looking north. You can see the Space Needle in the distance.

Looking even further north, on a very clear day like this, you can see Mt. Baker. This mountain which is part of the Cascade range, is located near the Canadian border.

Arriving at Bainbridge Island, the ferry docks in the little town of Winslow. I got off and headed into the picturesque downtown area to look around and get some lunch.

[Afterward, I stopped at Eagle Harbor Books and bought a copy of their paperback, "From Bad to Verse: Celebrating Three Years of Bainbridge Island Limericks." This book is a compilation of limericks that have been winners in an annual contest sponsored by the bookstore. Being a lover of limericks myself, I had to have a copy. And after sharing the story of my 50th birthday limerick party with members of the bookstore staff, I was encouraged to enter next year's contest. Woohoo! What fun.]

From there, it was back to the car to go check out the views from the southern tip of the island. I have been to the north end many times, mostly to visit Bloedel Reserve, an extraordinary public garden. But this time, I wanted to see my neighborhood from the point of view of being across the water from my daily walks. I left Winslow, and having forgotten to bring a map, I figured I'd just turn left (south) and somehow find my way. And so I did, winding through miles of woods, acres of green, cool and soothing on a hot day. When I came, literally, to the end of the road, I found what I came for -- the view was stunning!

To the left, I could see the low outline of West Seattle. To the right, Blake Island. And straight ahead, in all her glory, magnificent Mt. Rainier. On a different day, I would expect to see West Seattle and Blake Island, but the mountain is elusive. We can go days, often weeks, without a view of it because of weather conditions. Although I've seen Rainier hundreds of times, it is surprisingly easy to forget how big, and how majestic, it is. So when, as we say around here, "the mountain is out," we locals can be just as awestruck as people seeing it for the first time. I stood for a while, taking it all in, feeling like one of the luckiest people on the planet: grateful for the day, for the view, for being in the Northwest and for having the opportunity to hop on a ferry and have this experience. At last, my eyes were full and it was time to head back to the ferry for the trip home.

I arrived at the terminal around 4:30 and again had just a short wait to board. As we are approaching autumn, the days are shorter and the light in late afternoon makes for good photography, so once we were underway, I went up top for more views and photo opportunities.

In a few minutes, we were alongside my Alki Beach neighborhood, the very top of Mt. Rainier visible above the bluff. Nearly every day, from somewhere along that stretch of beach, I look out and see a ferry. On this day, I'm riding a ferry, looking back the other way.

Moments later, we were back in downtown Seattle. Passengers disembarked and we all went our separate ways. As I drove along the beach on my way home, I looked back across the water at the island I'd just left. My splendid, unhurried little getaway had only taken a few hours. But it gave me a fresh perspective on the geography surrounding my neighborhood. As a bonus, I am sure I will never forget the view from the southern tip of Bainbridge Island.

Related post:

An R-Rated Botanical Limerick

Daffodils, Lingerie and Snow Geese

According to the calendar, it is still winter, but here in the Seattle area, yesterday sure felt like spring. It was sunny, temperatures close to 60 degrees, trees in bloom everywhere. It was the perfect day for a little road trip and, lucky for me, I had a destination - the Style Show at the Museum of Northwest Art in La Conner, Washington. My friend, Kelly Lyles, was an exhibitor, and she and another friend involved with the event had invited me to attend. 

So I tossed my trusty little Canon PowerShot into my purse, loaded Songs in the Key of Life into my CD player and headed north on I-5. La Conner is located in Skagit County, about 75 miles from Seattle. When you exit the freeway up there, you drive at least 10 more miles to the west, along picturesque roads that wind through farm fields to reach the town. As I rounded a bend on one of these roads, I saw a field covered in white to my right. 

If we hadn't had so much warm weather lately, I would have assumed it was a late winter snow. But whatever snow we had in the lowlands this year has long since melted. As I got closer, I realized what it was - the field was covered in birds, hundreds and hundreds of them.

I had forgotten that this area is part of the migration path for many birds, in this case, snow geese. These birds overwinter in the Skagit Valley, foraging and building their strength before the journey to their nesting grounds in the tundra of northernmost Canada. For more details on these amazing birds go here. I pulled over to take photos, fascinated by all the activity: birds milling about feeding on insects, seeds, whatever, while others flew overhead. What a sight! A road trip bonus, for sure. 


Then it was on to the MoNA Style Show. The museum, upstairs and down, was filled with artist's booths, each featuring some kind of wearable art or items for the home - jewelry, jackets, sweaters, dresses, hats, pillows, ceramics, and Kelly's matchbox car necklaces and humorous paintings. Beautiful items everywhere. Great color and design. A visual treat. 


One section consisted of art pieces created with the theme: Lingerie. (Unfortunately, photography was not allowed in the show, so you will have to rely on my memory of some of these, plus your own imagination.) There were some great interpretations on this theme, including a sort of long-line corset made of basketry. There were a couple of diaphanous gowns, one trimmed in vintage lace and tatting, that looked as though they had come from a dream. There was a classic, black bra with gold embroidery, that I thought kind of went with my shoes. And a painting called "Sky Slip," which was the image used for the show publicity posters. All of these items, and more, were offered in a silent auction, so there were lists of bidders and bids posted by each one. Next to a bra and panty set, studded with scary looking spikes, someone had written in the names of "bidders:" Madonna and Lady Gaga. That got a laugh. 


After a late lunch, it was time to head back toward Seattle. I took my time, though. It was too pretty a day to be in any hurry. This area is home to the annual Skagit Tulip Festival, which usually takes place throughout the month of April. There are several spring bulb producers here, including Washington Blub Company, the largest in the US. With spring arriving early this year, I wondered if I might find a field or two already in bloom. And I was not disappointed.

Just a few miles from La Conner, heading toward Mt. Vernon, I spied this sea of yellow daffodils. (That's the snowy peak of Mt. Baker barely showing above the coastal mountains in this photo.)

Daffodils always make me happy. Partly because of their sunny disposition. But mostly because they remind me of my son, Mike. His birthday is in a few days and no matter where I live, it seems that daffodils are always blooming on that day. (He is in the Navy and underway at the moment, so I emailed him some daffodils via digital photography this morning.)


On the way home, I missed the worst of the southbound traffic on I-5 by skipping over to Highway 99 at the north end of Seattle. This route comes south alongside downtown with great views of the city on the left, of Elliott Bay and Olympic Mountains on the right and, on a clear day as yesterday was, straight ahead you see majestic Mt. Rainier rising above it all. What a view! It was the perfect ending to a perfect little road trip.