Blog
May 9th, 2010
Today was just begging for a Sunday drive, Mother’s Day crowds be darned, so the Tailor and I moseyed up to another of my favorite haunts: Port Townsend.
Port Townsend is located on the northeastern tip of the Olympic Peninsula (close on a map to but in reality very far from Cape Flattery) and guards Admiralty Inlet, where Puget Sound ends and the Straits of Juan de Fuca begin. It’s practically within shouting distance of Canada on one side (you can just make out the line of Vancouver Island along the horizon here), and lava-spewing range of Mt. Baker on another.
These days it’s a sleepy, semi-tourist town (thankfully it’s remote enough that it’s often possible to go without being mobbed by teeming hordes), home to both artists and seagulls, but at one time this place was hoppin’.
Its location made it an ideal military, trade, and shipping hub; Port Townsend was a prosperous and well-established seaport by the 1870s—nearly twenty years before Washington became a state. The town’s early boom afforded it a lavish and significant array of Victorian architecture—and once shipping fell out of favor there, its failure to develop a replacement industry (see above: remote) proved to be an accidental blessing of historical preservation. As a result, Port Townsend has an astonishing collection of Victorian houses and commercial buildings, and is one of only three seaports on the National Register of Historic Places.
Beyond the architecture (which, don’t get me wrong, is the stuff of my dreams), what I love about this place is how lived-in it feels. It’s not a stage set, or an overgrown museum, like so many historic towns I’ve seen. Port Townsend feels comfortable, inviting, and absolutely real.
It reminds me of places like Durango, Colorado; Stillwater, Minnesota; Salem, Massachusetts—all places that have taken up permanent residency in my heart. Places with real, breathing history and still-current ordinary life.
And I’m not even biased by the New England-authentic jimmies-coated ice cream cone I stumbled upon today—though the pitch-perfect nostalgia of my favorite childhood treat favorite-thing-in-the-whole-wide-world (which really can’t be found west of the Hudson, at least not completely slathered like this, and for which I nevertheless search tirelessly) made me happier than I can say.
Ahem. I digress. Big time. Port Townsend has one more beauty up its sleeve—although as it’s not on the beaten path, it’s easy to miss. The tippy-tip of the town’s little peninsula is occupied by Fort Worden, formerly an army installation (1890s to 1953) and now a state park. The gub’mint knew what it was doing with this one—they picked one of the loveliest and most strategically important chunks of real estate in the Pacific Northwest. I’m sure glad it belongs to all of us now—I think it’s better for flying kites than cannonballs anyway.
Fort Worden’s best feature, and the perfect climax to a day in Port Townsend, is Point Wilson Light, the tallest lighthouse on the Sound. This is one of my favorite spots to sit and watch the world go by, and today’s date reminded me that while we didn’t get to it on her recent visit, this is one spot that I think my mum would love, too.
Happy Mother’s Day, everyone! (And happy birthday, Dad!)
April 12th, 2010
The sun came out yesterday afternoon, and Mt. Rainier peeked out from behind the clouds. On a whim I tossed my camera into the car and bolted to Paradise, where I had been hoping for one more research shot for my book: Rainier in the snow.
Well, I certainly got my wish.
An hour and a half later I was standing in the cold, at the highest point on the southern park road, and the furthest one can go before the snow melts at the end of June and the rest of the park opens.
I looked over at one of the few cars around me, and was absurdly reminded of all those winters I spent in North Dakota (minus the mountains, of course).
It was nice to think that if I wanted snow, I could come and get it whenever I wanted—without having to shovel my way out of it.
April 7th, 2010
Yesterday I headed north with a friend for my second Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. I was hoping to do some drawing this year, but the weather had other plans.
It was like I’d never been there before—everything was different this year. For one thing, the tulips are blooming early, so the daffodils hadn’t retired yet.
For another, the farmers have rotated their crops, so the tulips are occupying different fields than last year—which gave me a whole new set of photo possibilities.
And best of all, we had the place to ourselves—Tuesday discouraged the tourists with day jobs, and the rain took care of the rest.
The Skagit Valley is quickly becoming a favorite haunt; it was hard not to turn the day trip into a week of following all the back roads and exploring all the hidden pockets of scenery I discovered yesterday.
That’s okay, though. I know that next time, more than just tulips will be waiting for me.
February 23rd, 2010
…it would be the unexpected blooming of an early spring.
February 10th, 2010
The past couple of weeks have been an absolute whirlwind, and when I look in the mirror I see a walking, talking to-do list. The notes-to-self strewn all over the studio (among half-finished boxes, reference materials, pencil layouts, proof prints, watercolor pans, etc.) aren’t enough, so now I’ve taken to muttering little reminders under my breath—call this client, mail this order, drop off this pile of prints, invoice this subscriber, edit this illustration, proof these plates, cut this book cloth, list these cards, upload these photos, etc.
I needed a break. So today I bolted to Seattle to clear my head.
One of my favorite hobbies is wandering around the Market alone, especially on winter weekdays when it’s pretty much empty. Losing myself among the fruit stalls and neon is as therapeutic as meditation.
I wasn’t in the drawing mood this time, but the Market is also on my short list of all-time favorite sketching haunts. This is one from a year ago or so, on a completely packed, sunny Saturday, when I flattened myself against poles and ducked down onto the curb to draw without being trampled by tourists.
I love it for the people-watching when it’s crowded, but there’s something special about having the place to myself. There is a downside, however (besides being heckled by bored fishmongers): it’s awfully hard not to splurge on sampling from the unbelievable smorgasbord of fresh goodies.
Now how could I say no to that?
January 23rd, 2010
After weeks and weeks of typical winter rain, the Tailor and I took advantage of a rare sunny afternoon and headed to Point Defiance for a stroll on the beach. We quickly discovered that nature had a few surprises for us today—beyond the perpetual shock of Mount Rainier appearing out of nowhere, that is.
The tide was way, way out today; not quite a spring tide, but almost. It was a steep descent down to the water, the crazy slope creating the optical illusion of standing below sea level. At the water’s edge we met a couple of unlucky creatures left high and dry by the tide:
first a half dollar-sized jellyfish that strayed too far into the shallows…
and then a hapless sea star who apparently made a bad choice in real estate (talk about being upside-down on your mortgage).
But the surprise of stranded jelly- and starfish was nothing to the shock we received on our way back, just a few blocks from home:
Camellias. Blooming in January. Now, I’m quite confident that I can adapt to the short, snow-less winters in these here parts—but flowers in January? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wrap my brain around that.
(Not that I’m complaining, mind you.)
December 10th, 2009
After nearly a year, image-gathering for my Mt. Rainier artist book is finally coming to an end, and I’m starting to make the final illustrations. I have a huge stack of sketches, scribbles and recorded data, and thousands upon thousands of photos to sift through. This month and next are scheduled for the all-important (and terrifying) process of Figuring Out How the Heck to Make It Work—physical mock-ups, final compositions, text-writing, etc. But before I could move on with a clear conscience, I had one last far-away location to cross off my research list: Portland. And for some reason, the stars just weren’t aligning for me.
My first attempt this summer was also my first-ever trip to the city, so I had to location-scout with a blank mental map—and when I finally found what I was looking for, it was too hazy to see anything anyway (hence the dotted line where Rainier should be). Since Portland is 140 miles away, I couldn’t just try again any old time I pleased. As the months went by, I became increasingly frustrated—the location I visited over the summer (Larch Mountain) is inaccessible in the winter, and although I had another spot in mind, my schedule and the weather (which was way harder to pin down than an open travel day!) just couldn’t find anything in common; the last few months have been typically Northwestern, with plenty of rain, fog and drear for a volcano to hide behind. Finally, last week, it seemed I had my chance. T-town was socked in with pea-soup fog, but since the previous day had started the same way and ended in sunshine, I decided to go for it. As I cleared the Puget lowlands and the fog lifted, I caught crystal-clear glimpses of Rainier to the east as I went, and my confidence rose. I wouldn’t know for sure until I got there, but the sunny weather seemed like it would hold. I made good time to Portland, wound my way up to Council Crest Park, jogged up to the viewpoint and faced north—
—and saw that Mt. Saint Helens didn’t get the memo. It had its own private weather system blocking Rainier from view.
It was a long drive home that night.
The last few days were torture. The weekend taunted me with sunny mornings and cloudy afternoons (good thing I didn’t take the bait), and the perfect weather went untested Monday and Tuesday while I taught class and kept appointments instead. By Tuesday night, I was sure I’d missed my last chance, and resigned myself to leaving Portland out of the book. But yesterday dawned cold and flawlessly clear, and I was astonished to find my calendar empty. I left the Tailor an incoherent voicemail at work (“I’m going right now! I’ll be back tonight!”) and jumped in the car. Exactly two hours and twenty-three minutes later, this is what I saw:
That’s St. Helens in front, with Rainier just peeking around her left shoulder.
And here’s the illustration that resulted from all this work:
And in case I had any doubts about one image being worth all this trouble, Portland offered me a little bonus—a compositional jewel that I could never have dreamed up on my own:
The City of Roses was still, impossibly, in bloom.
December 2nd, 2009
Reason number 6,792 why I love it here.
November 26th, 2009
Today I am thankful for the new and old friends who surround me today; for the contrast between the wet Northwestern chill outside and the cozy warmth inside; for the beauty that is so easy to find ’round these parts; and for you. Thank you for joining me here in my little virtual space.
Happy Thanksgiving.
November 2nd, 2009
Sunny days are getting fewer and farther between around here, and Mt. Rainier is M.I.A. more often than not. So the gorgeous weather and the threat of an early nightfall (thanks to the end of Daylight Saving Time and living at 47.25° N latitude) were enough to coax me out of the studio and into the car, in hopes of capturing another image for my book.
As far as research goes, the day was a total bust (the Mountain was glorious; I just couldn’t find the right vantage point), but I did come away with an expanded mental map and one good shot.
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