Today I’m lounging on the front porch at my grandparent’s cabin in Brinnon. The sunshine is dancing through the clouds and a family of squirrels keeps climbing up the pine tree behind me. My daughter has taken our dog, Max, for a walk to the beach, so I’ve decided to use the quiet time to write.
My grandparents have been gone for several years now. The cabin now belongs to their children. Even though they are no longer here, everywhere I look there are memories from my childhood.
Across the lawn, where a small patio set sits, used to be the archery field where my grandfather taught me to shoot a bow and arrow. I remember the arrows flying over the target and my grandfather sending me to find them. I was scared of the woods and didn’t want to go. He would never get mad, just chuckle, take my hand, and walk into the woods with me.
Under the down spouts, on the corners of the house, are several handfuls of polished rocks. My grandfather had purchased a polisher for my grandmother one year, for her birthday, and every rock she saw she polished. She would spend hours marveling at their newly found beauty.
How fortunate for us to still have this home and the tangible memories attached. It is something special to me that I hope many generations to come will have the opportunity to enjoy.