Spring here in the Pacific Northwest means having to make do with wet weather. It’s just part of the price to be paid for living in such a wonderful location. Spring means having to deal with the extremes of that weather on what seems to be a minute by minute basis; sun followed by gale; followed by hale; followed by thunderstorm. Yet this spring seems to have had more then it’s fair share of the wet stuff and not nearly as much of the sun stuff.

However, when Jason and I met Friday morning at Boston Harbor for a day of stretching the old paddling muscles, it was an absolute glorious day. We turned our bows toward Olympia and paddled the shore line of Budd Inlet each taking turns catching the other up on the latest news.

It wasn’t long before I felt the need to stretch, and used the excuse to beach in front of a cabin slowly being reclaimed by the surrounding woods. There are many such abandoned homesteads to be found in the south sound, each with a story to tell. Most are gutted with little clues left, but this one surprised me as it looked as if it was in the same state as the day the owners left it for the last time. Books, kitchen ware, 8-track player along with the tapes, and notes where still scattered throughout. The earliest dated material was from 1957, the latest 1996.

The one item that really caught my eye was the fire place. The front was decorated with seashells and broken pottery. I wondered was this a family project started the first summer they stayed in the new cottage? Was the pottery donated from from the grand kids clumsy mistakes? Was there a story in each piece? I could almost hear the family laugher or was that just the wind in the eves?

As I looked at the various objects I couldn’t help but wonder how does such a beautiful home in such a great location become abandoned? It certainly didn’t appear as if the owners left knowing they’d never return. As a matter of fact, it looked as if they had every intention of returning. So what prevented them year after year from coming to play one more game of Scrabble on the waters edge?

Sometimes I wish walls could talk.