Post Boat Trip Blues

Home – whoosh…. And we’re back

Two hours on a gorgeous scenic sea plane flight and I’m back in Seattle. It’s a whoosh of culture shock going from the quiet still space of being up on the boat and then being right in the city. Everything feels a bit loud and abrasive to the senses – the air stinks, things move too fast, and I feel the slight creeping of agitation and annoyance that I didn’t even realize I have probably much of the time in the city, and haven’t had the last two weeks.

Jaxon (dog) was so uttlerly excited to see me. There is nothing better than having your dog jump all around and be SO excited you are home. He was wagging his tale, wanting to put his face right up to mine, and then promptly ‘burned rubber’ (ran wild) as we heading out to the back yard. Husbands don’t quite have the same response, but he was happy to see me too.

jaxon the dog

My garden obviously needs tending, but it looks healthy and wild. It’s amazing what grows and occurs in two weeks. We actually have pumpkins now. They’re green and obviously not “done”, but before we left they were just little nubs. The zucchini and cucumbers are prolific. I opened the fridge to find 10 or so that Dan had picked because they were getting too big. I laughed, and he informed me that there is probably double the amount out in the garden on the plants. I see some major baking and freezing in my future, and I suppose its time to learn the art of pickling. I do hope I can still pick up a canning pot somewhere local.

garden tomatoes


I did have a bit of a sad feeling upon coming home, and not just about the end of vacation. I love my house (though I do feel we’ve outgrown it) and my yard and garden, but as I came through the house, down the back stairs and out onto our patio I looked at the three visible fences around our little property, and the neighbors’ houses that I can see on both sides and behind our house and kitty corner and the thought popped up, “here I am, back in my little box.”   Back in my little fenced in, urban box. Where you literally can’t look more than 20 feet without seeing an object or thing within that space.

I love the s p a c e when I’m up on the boat. Literally to sit in the cockpit and look back and have nothing in your field of view except the shoreline a mile away. The space is room to breathe, to think, to not feel the pressure and oppression of all “this” around, to hear my own thoughts, and to just be able to see far. I need it, I crave it. I love Ballard, the neighborhood I live in and I make the choice to be in the city and close to it because I refuse to spend hours in the car or bus to commute to work. I love the restaurants and farmers market, and the ability to walk to it all. But obviously there’s a tradeoff. I can see why people move out, out in any direction, just to have some s p a c e. Time to awaken the dream of moving west, to the part of Ballard that overlooks Puget Sound. I can imagine it now, looking out over the water, the expansiveness. I need it, it has to happen or I will go crazy in this little box.

mountains water and fog waters and mountain bc

It did feel good to sleep in my bed, but I woke up to normal city noises that have been appreciatively absent the last couple weeks. Car doors, cars traveling down the street, and our neighbors’ stupid chickens. Ugh! I love the idea of urban farms with fresh eggs from your back yard, but these three have changed my mind about the whole chicken thing. They are so loud and annoying in the morning. They cackle and make noises that sound like witches laughing, and other rooster-ish noises, even though they are hens.  I think it’s rude. There, I said it. I wouldn’t let my dog continually bark at the sunrise because I think it’s rude and especially on a weekend, as a polite neighbor, I think it’s social manners to keep things quiet in the early morning. It would help if our neighbors would at least acknowledge it, or ask if it’s a problem, but they’re not those kind of neighbors. Ah, and here is that annoyance and irritation arising again. Hello old friend, hello.

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