Herons
A single Great [blue? gray?> Heron was standing in the water, right at the very edge of the coastline, Monday morning. First, it was the ferry, looking like it was coming in the room, then it was that heron. Damn bird never moved. He’d curl and uncurl his neck, but he kept standing in one place. Strange.
I’m sure the heron was fishing as I could see is head following various activities under the water, underfoot, for him.
Watched as a roughneck loaded up his lower lip with Copenhagen, at the Port A airport. Made me think of Robert Earl. Also generated a small-town feeling of contentment.
Then, as the fates would decree, I got stuck for an extra day and night in Port A. Not something I planned for, but with the miracles of digital communications, I was able to make new accommodations. Back to the hotel and back to the family. Labor Day in Port A.
Sitting around, waiting, had the best meal thus far. BBQ Grill, tenderloin and fresh King Salmon, “caught in Alaska, a couple of days ago, probably never been frozen….” That was the singular, most important meal, and probably the finest I’ve had in a long time. Two main ingredients, maybe more, but I only recall rare tenderloin and fresh grilled salmon. And flourless chocolate cake with vanilla bean ice cream. I think there was some other stuff, but that tenderloin served side-by-side with the King Salmon, was the best.
Describing the ordeal he went through, my one uncle [it was his 50th wedding anniversary>, just to obtain that prime-cut tenderloin and king salmon, “when I saw that tenderloin, all laid out like that, I got sexually aroused, it looked so good.” The humor gene strikes again. As good as the meal was, though, it’s easy to understand his point.
Sitting around, my cousins were playing a guitar, passing it around, singing old songs, and for all the world, it felt like something that was a little unstuck in time.
Later in the afternoon, my Capricorn uncle sidles up next to me, “Hey, you have an extra set of keys to the rent car, right?”
He’d changed film in his camera, and his baggage was packed, ready to go. Somehow, he’d managed to lock the car keys in the trunk of the car. Much hilarity ensued. It was just one more event to add that special family flavor to the gathering. First my abortive run to the airport then the keys, just one thing after another. All we could do was laugh.
Three of cousins did do an a cappella version of “Happy Anniversary.” If nothing else, that explains why I don’t sing – they got \\all\\ the musical ability.
I didn’t get to ride the ferry boat. I did get to crawl up Hurricane Ridge.
Late Monday night, early Tuesday morning, I was standing on the edge of the Juan de Fuca Straights, looking north to Canada.
I got as far as Houston with fresh blackberry, Logan berry and blue berry stains still on my fingers.
In the Houston Airport, a guy strolled by, wearing a gray felt Stetson, a particularly heinous Hawaiian print shirt, shorts, sandals. It’s good to be home to absurdities – or stylistic choices – that I’m comfortable with.
