HOMECOMINGS OFTEN TOUCH THE HEART, and my Wednesday return to the Nuthatch was no exception.
Galley Cat and I had departed Center Island on the Island Express water taxi along with daughter Lillian and our friend Lux on the day after Christmas. My destination was the home of my new sweetheart, Carol, three hours south. The next day was her birthday, which we would spend in a beachfront rental looking out on stormy seas at Moclips on the Washington Coast.
I spent another week with Carol and her rambunctious dog, Chevy, at their home in rural Thurston County. Her home sits on five wooded acres a short walk from the pretty Deschutes River, the waterway that skirts the old Olympia Brewery at Tumwater and feeds into Capitol Lake in the shadow of our state’s capitol dome.
This time of year, her neck of the woods feels even moister than mine. In fact, much of her acreage is classified as wetland because of the marshy soil. Alders and cottonwoods are draped in lichen and fringed with moss. Fog frequently lurks among the trees this time of year. On a nearby lake, trumpeter swans paddle in the mist.
Wednesday, Carol was due to fly away to visit her daughter who lives in Washington, D.C., so I dropped her at the airport and came back to my island to rekindle the home fires.
While Carol’s marshy environs are beautiful in their own right, my rocky knoll seems much different. Rather than adorning trees, spongy, emerald-hued moss cushions the island rocks. After plenty of winter rains, the moss is inches thick and vibrantly green. In the mild season we’re experiencing, I still have fuchsias struggling to bloom in planters on my deck.
Galley seems glad to be home. At Carol’s, coyotes are a threat so Galley stays inside unless I take her out on a leash to stroll the garden. The only wildlife threat on Center Island is from foxes ill-advisedly (and illegally) imported by a neighbor. But there aren’t many, and Galley has proven herself adept at quickly climbing a tree if foxes are about.
In our haste to depart on Boxing Day, we left the Christmas tree up. Happily, it has lost few needles, so I’ve left it up for me and Galley to enjoy for a few more days. Tomorrow I start stowing ornaments back in my dad’s old Army trunk — the one that crossed the Atlantic with him aboard the Queen Mary.
Today, I look out the windows of my writing hut as Galley perches on the desk next to my keyboard and meows for kitty treats. Watching through the mullioned windows as trees dance in the wind, listening to Gordon Lightfoot and the Lovin’ Spoonful on my desktop speakers, we are content for a few days to be back at our home, sweet home.
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Cantwell's Reef 