Our weather finally cracked 50 degrees on Friday. With no rain and few clouds. Yay! (Picture Kermit the Frog waving his arms-on-sticks and yelling.)
Yesterday was back to the blanket of grey we call home.
When it’s a high-overcast day, the reflected light can be bright enough to make us squint, to wear sunglasses. But the light has no warmth to it, no golden glow, no cheer. Bah.
At least it wasn’t raining.
We decided to make our own cheer, and headed to Bainbridge Island on the ferry. There is something about getting on a ferry that tells my mind to
shut the hell up take a break and relax into the wind for a bit. From the moment the engines rev and we leave the dock, it feels like a mini-vacation.
Arriving on Bainbridge is always a treat. We head straight to Blackbird Bakery, for one of the best lattés I’ve ever had, and a wide assortment of gluten-free baked snacks. (They have regular baked goods also, but I don’t pay too much attention to those.)
Or, if it’s summer-time, we head straight to Mora, the in-demand creamery started by an Argentine couple. Mora serves the finest ice cream around – rich and decadent – made with local ingredients into creative (and comforting) flavours.
(Yes, I know, it all sounds hyperbolic, but Bainbridge is a superlative place.)
Then a wander down the main road, maybe a walk to the marina, and a tour of Eagle Harbor Books. After a few hours of people-watching and holding hands, we are renewed.
Time to head back. When we drive down to the ferry dock, straight up to a wicket, and onto the waiting ferry – one of the last cars to make the boat – the whole occasion feels blessed by a benevolent hand.
Several flights above the car deck, we ducked into the solarium, an open-on-the-sides shelter with glass walls and benches, on the top deck. An older man with a Corgi stepped out of the wind, and was soon followed by a father walking with his kids.
“May I pet your dog?” called the older of the two, a tow-headed little boy.
When the old man answered, “Yes,” he was peppered with more questions.
“What is your dog’s name?” “Pompeii.”
“How old is he?” “Six.” Turns out the little boy was also six. But a very different six. Six on a Corgi looks a little more tired and a lot more impatient.
When the red-headed little brother tried to get in on the petting action, Pompeii had about had it. The dog moved away, as much as his leash would allow, and the young one pursued.
Dad noticed, and said, “I think that dog may be a little afraid of you.” (I’m not sure afraid is the word I would use, as a subsequent growl and snap confirmed, but it was a feeling the boy could relate to.)
“Maybe he’s afraid because you have a tyrannosaurus on your shirt.” The boy halted, and looked down. We could see the wheels turning, as he thought, Hey, there is a carnivorous dinosaur on my shirt. And then he gave a hearty, “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” and turned around in search of another adventure.
We cracked up.
Witnessing that little exchange was a lovely cap to a sweet day.
Note: photos in this post were not taken on this particular day-trip. The wall-to-wall grey is just not that appealing in photos. But wall-to-wall blue definitely is.