Island Tidings: Farm, Ferry

Island Tidings: pictures and prose about our recent adventures on and off our tiny island

Last week we dreamed of a ski bum life.  We pictured ourselves spending weekends in ski mountain parking lots.  Our girls would be islanders, true, but they’d grow as skiers who knew first tracks and snow-capped sunrises through frost-covered truck windows.  They’d value the sacrifices taken to hone their slope style, just as they’d appreciate the miles on ferries and highways traveled to sit atop a chairlift.  We’d spend weekends in our base layers, but we wouldn’t spend hundreds to be there.  And, by the looks of things we wouldn’t spend hundreds to get there.

We hit the ferry jackpot when we drove onto the inter-island.  It had been a year since we got to park in the front of the vessel.  Our girls clapped, Luke and I high-fived.  Oh, the simple pleasures in life.

There’s not much separating car from current; luckily the Saturday sloop race provided a nice focal point.
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In the island classifieds my thrifty husband found a free truck camper that came with a $400 truck that didn’t run.  Or wait, was it a $400 truck camper that, with purchase, came with a free truck that didn’t run?  The ad said, small amount of water damage on older but nice pop-up camper.  Heater works.  Truck needs work – doesn’t run..  The ad neglected to mention the mold palace interior and giant roof hole.  The girls thought it was lovely.

All it needs is Oxyclean, Mommy.  And we can paint it red with giant flames and maybe a portrait of Princess Jasmine on the side, says Betty.

And I can play in that truck!  What do you mean it’s free!  I’ll fix it with my tools.  Daddy can help, exclaims Lucy.  

It seems as though the girls have a soft spot for wounded yard vehicles, just like Daddy.  Awesome.  Without a doubt, I know Luke could fix it.  We just didn’t need project #893 to topple our list.  So, we drove away.  Olive sobbed hysterically and I blamed her empty tummy, full diap-y.

I know our dream ski bum truck camper is out there.  It helped the broken hearts when I repeated this belief to Luke, to the skiing sisters.

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Our farm friends welcomed baby lambs last week.  From Farmer Rex we heard about mommy sheep who have twins and choose only one baby to keep.  Just like China, says Betty.  Sort of, says Rex, somewhat shocked.   From Farmer Rex we heard about the lamb named Michael left alone in a field, brought inside with the forgotten twin and placed into a grown son’s crib.  We learned how to mix lamb formula and how badly some of us want a lamb and a crib in our very own home.
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From Farmer Rex we heard about sheep, mid-labor, who lose their baby’s eyes to hovering and hungry ravens.  The girls still want me to retell the newborn-baby-raven-sheep-eyeball-pecking story with all the missing details their minds have filled in.
We learn so much about life and death whenever we visit the farm.  
We learn how animals need us and understand us.  

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We learn how they love our knock-knock jokes while they neigh as if to giggle.

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We learn how a decades-old horse named Dallas with salt air in his mane moves his ears in the directions of clouds and tells secrets to his friends, all the while speaking horse and that’s why we can’t understand him, explains Lucy, because we don’t speak horse… 


I learned the best sister-kisses come when no one knows I’m watching.  
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And I learned to savor these moments, these sideways glimpses of love.

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