... and yes, we finally reached our northernmost destination yesterday. Orcas Island. We gave completed 1,660 miles in the Prius, at an overall gas consumption of 48.5 miles per gallon.
Great car! No hitches, no glitches, aside from that squeak or rattle that aggravates Ellie so much, but which remains inaudible to me. We did solve one squeak that I could hear: the dog crate door. A paper towel jammed in the gap took care of that one.
Before leaving for the ferry, we ate a hasty breakfast at our not-much of a motel, paid more than we had bargained for, and stopped at one of the three Starbucks in Anacortes for a New York Times Following advice to arrive there in good time, we were glad to have our copy of the paper to keep us occupied during the one and a half hour wait in line...
Once aboard the ferry, we had to stay on the vehicle level thanks to George whose canine presence was apparently unwelcome on the passenger deck.
We did take him out for a short walk, but it was cold and dark in the long tunnel that accommodates the vehicles—amazing, how many, and the size of some of them!—so we soon returned to the car.
It was a relatively short crossing, anyway—just a little more than an hour—and we were among the first to be marshaled off the boat and up the ramp onto the island. We were soon reminded how very beautiful is here, in this corner of the North West: rolling hills and farmlands, rocky inlets and coves, innumerable meadows and ponds.
We drove through the village of East Sound and, following directions, on a couple of miles to the bungalow at Buckhorn Farm, where we are booked for a week’s stay in this rural paradise.
It was good to finally unpack the car, unpack the bags, and settle in to a place where we can look forward to several days of complete relaxation.
We took a walk in the direction of the shoreline, but found it further than we had imagined and returned to our digs without having reached our goal. Then back to the village for a shared sandwich, a stroll through the streets to explore for restaurant possibilities—there are many---and a stop at the organic market for some purchases for our own kitchen. A fruit stand provided several pannets of luscious blackberries, blueberries and peaches, and I found a meditation and healing center where I booked a therapy session for today, to help recover from those 1,660 miles on the road.
We worry a bit about George. He’s is a delight whenever he’d alone with us—except for that habit of getting hysterical when one or the other of us disappears from his direct line of vision. But he is NOT good with other dogs and, particularly, with small children. I think his intention is good--to protect his clan. But he chooses a bad way to do it. If w don't watch for him, he lunges at unsuspecting passers by. He lunges at flapping edges of passing garments—a skirt or the end of a shawl—and has been known to grab on to them, much to our embarrassment. We realize that it must be in part a reflection of ourselves, our tight unit as a couple in which he has now become a third. But it saddens us that he is not more receptive to the spontaneous admiration and affection of strangers, which he constantly attracts, wherever we go. Not sure what to do about this. He’s already nearly seven years old, and change becomes increasingly difficult with age.
Back at the bungalow, we met our hostess, Stella (we had met her husband, Mark, in the handsome, light green 1954 Chevrolet pickup truck he has owned for 31 years...
... and her daughter, Sophie, separately) and learned some of the essentials—including the fact there are certain places on the acreage where telephone reception is possible, and a spot or two where I can expect to get online, thanks to their wireless connection. Late afternoon, we took a long-ish walk toward the shoreline—but once again, failed to find access to the beach, and returned to our bungalow to prepare for dinner.
City-slickers that we are, we were amazed to glance outside the window of out sitting room and see a couple of deer grazing happily just a few yards from us, by the Toyota.
Later, a stag stopped by to try his luck picking fruit from the apple tree just outside the kitchen door...
... and we saw a pair of raccoons scuttling away from the trash heap. Wild life! So exciting. We have already spotted woodpeckers—we don’t see many of those in Los Angeles!—and I have been scanning the treetops for bald eagles. So far, no sightings.Ellie cooked up a tasty, fresh-caught salmon steak for us to share, which we enjoyed with a salad, a baked potato, and a glass of Oregon pinot gris. Then, Keith Olberman and a few minutes of Olympics: BORING! We switched off almost immediately. Can’t they show anything except gymnastics, beach volleyball, and swimming? I also find it hard to listen to the unending hyperbole. So, a book… and early to bed.
For breakfast...
... followed by a leisurely walk down to the nearest beach. Lacking a ball, George had to learn that sticks are objects that can also be chased. He was not happy about it, though. He did managed to get his paws extremely yellow, chasing through the algae.
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