weekending [Doe Bay Resort]

It’s easy to forget the large, enormous old-growth beauty that is the Pacific Northwest.  Or, in the least, take it for granted.  In the grey of late winter, what’s around me becomes the norm.  It happens when I’m rushed, when I’m late, when I’m behind.
With a hurried heart I know I need to listen to the ones who call me Mama.
My daughters say it best, We live where fairies live.  We make our home next to fairy homes, eagles and whales and salmon.  Don’t forget crabs and ferns and driftwood and shrimp and harbor seals…
When I’m sick, it’s easy to see only the dashboard, the front door of the elementary and preschool my daughters bloom within.  It’s easy to see the tissue box, the laundry bin and pillow.
When I’m sick, it’s easy to forget the island, the salty sea and the tall, tall trees that are the Pacific Northwest.
Some things are never forgotten, and no matter how congested I may be in a day I always remember:
I am a mama.
I am a poet.

I am a poet who never thinks in rhyme,
free verse run-on prose with ink as metaphor for my thoughts. 
I wish my days had more room for more guitar playing, lengthy instrumental melodies to take the place when words won’t come.
My mind is loud with acoustics an eavesdropper despises, while my hand is tired with the full half-marathon in one day weighing heavily atop it.
Two things still, calm, quiet my mind – really loud exceptional music and ocean surf on a pebbled shore. 
The winds that carried Spring were wicked, knocking my Schwinn off its kickstand and my cherry tree branches to driveway’s gravel.  
All. Night. Long. 
Wicked winds shook my mail from the mailbox in the deep grey of the not-yet-Spring day
and carried my trash can lids like cymbals in a cyclone symphony down the yellow line scrawled on pavement’s redundant chorus.
The winds came and stifled my sinuses and scoured my throat, kissed with sealed lips a 12-hr stomach flu on its way out the Strait en route to The Rockies. 
Fever-eyed,  I hopped on an early ferry with my sweet, wind-burn and rosy-cheeked family to a neighboring island. Close friends had bought a home and needed help in the cardboard box shuffle that is moving.  Olive and I needed long naps, while the two big sisters needed books and crayons and whispers in a cabin in the woods.
While Luke and his truck did the cardboard box shuffle, the girls and I checked into the thirty-eight acre Doe Bay Resort.  It’s the same resort of the beautiful, centering totally-freakin’-epic Doe Bay Fest.  
In the late afternoon, we took a walk.  Naturally, we looked for fairies.  

I couldn’t believe the wind and the grey and the rain was g-o-n-e.
With warmer weather, blooming bulbs came on clouds.
The clouds look like so many things I don’t know where to begin, said Betty Rose.
Oh the clouds, said Lucy May.
Look, Mama. Puff, puff cloud, said Olive June.
And the blue.  It’s as if I couldn’t remember it.  All I could remember was how much I couldn’t take grey skies anymore.
Doe Bay Resort has cabins and campsites and yurts and a hostel.  There’s yoga and a spa and and an incredible garden looking for volunteers.
Most of all, there are trails around the property, winding along the sea.
Yurts on the beach.  Need I say more?
We moved slowly throughout the afternoon.  Two-year-olds walk slowly, methodically independent in steps and stalls.  It was all good.
I eavesdropped on sister conversations.
I watched Lucy climb the rocks along the waterfall that empties into Doe Bay.

Seaweed is important food for unicorns, Mama.
Lucy was a foul weather unicorn and it was really, really sweet.

As the light in the late afternoon changed, the salt air swept up a Popsicle breeze that froze fingers, mostly my own.  We chased a bunny [Lucy’s favorite part of the day] and walked over a bridge to a playground.
I sat beside her in the swing that looked like a button on a giant piece of thread and noticed how her smile changes with each tooth, each week.
I sat beside her, the middle one, and could not wrap my cold fingers around the idea that in less than a week she’ll be five.  Five.  That’s half a decade.  That’s incredible.
There was still so much light left, so we walked out to the point where we heard Damien Jurado, climbed a totem like a dog.Photobucket
That night, we ate at the waterfront Cafe.  Words like fresh and local and seasoned and harvest are used in honest personality.  And just so you know, the kids’ mac-n-cheese is insane.  I can only hope next time, my girls leave too much left so I can lick their plates clean again.
We ended our stay with a visit to a place with a heart all its own.  Maybe it was the outdoor showers or the totally-awesome-rad-insanely-perfect view, but the clothing-optional soaking tubs were a great way to start the day.

 It’s sort of uncomfortable being the only ones with clothes on, but our girls didn’t think anything of it. 
Betty:  Huh.  Everyone here is a breastfeeder without their baby.
Lucy:  Yeah.  I saw a room on the other side of this building.  All their babies are asleep I think.  I think it’s the nap room.Photobucket
Sometimes, life moves like cookie batter. 

and this stay felt like an endless batch;
I woke up well and rested and, above all else,
peacefully joyful.


  • MJ says:

    Not sure where to begin in response to this post. Your words- incredible as usual, beautiful woven, painted, and wielded. I am sorry your were feeling under the weather, and your half marathon–so close now!! And your girls, they do live in a magical place, a fairy tale and I love how they know it, they breathe it, they truly are a part of it. How I would love to stay in a yurt by the sea and sit in a hot tub. I have now added it to my bucket list…
    have a beautiful weekend my friend and
    cheers to long lasting cookie batter…

  • Swanski says:

    I really enjoy your weekend posts. While helping some friends move you managed a getaway that practically exudes relaxation! The photos are incredible 🙂

  • What does one say to such exquisiteness…

    ( and I need to head west.. my brother lives in Vancouver and I think a visit is in order 🙂 )

  • such beautiful words paired with equally as beautiful photos. your posts always make me realize how much i love the pacific northwest and want more up north. sacramento just isn't cutting it 🙂 happy weekend.

  • “Sometimes life moves like cookie batter.” Love that!

    I actually snorted while reading the bit about everyone having breastfeeders without their babies. Love your girls!


  • Jennifer says:

    don't we all need a slow weekend sometimes, yours looks lovely. glad you could find all that beauty to explore.

  • ivey patton says:

    this is so comforting and lovely. tell doe bay resort that we're coming. my nine year old will LOVE the clothing optional choice!

  • jenletts says:

    The whole place looks incredible – I want to go!

Post a Comment

Your email is never shared. Required fields are marked *