Melancholia

I really love getting under way early in the morning!  This morning it was dead calm, the water like glass.  Just a tiny burst of power got Eolian moving out of the slip, ghosting along at far less than a walking pace.  We were moving so slow in fact, that the rudder didn't bite and start to turn her stern until we were well out in the waterway.  A couple of quick bursts in Fwd and Rev (you single screw boaters know what I mean), got her bow pointed down the waterway, and then out of the marina.  A warm, calm, peaceful sunny morning, latté in hand, we left the marina and headed for the Islands.

The melancholy part is, that despite it being a perfect day to be on the water, warm and sunny, this could be the last trip out to the Islands for us this year.  So, in just the same way that you savor the last glorious days of summer when there is a hint of fall in the air telling you, that like everything else, it has to come to an end, the trip across Rosario Strait to Thatcher Pass was filled with not only the enjoyment of a perfect day on the water, but also with the memories we made this summer:

• Set a new record boat speed:  8.7 kt under yankee alone, in 35+ kt of wind, on our way to Sucia
  
• Speaking of Sucia, we ended up making four visits there this year.  It is a magical place...
  
• We discovered that going by north of Guemes Island and on to Sucia, one can mostly ignore the tides...
  
• We discovered a wind tunnel between Orcas Island and Clark/Barnes islands...  if there is wind anywhere, it will be here...
  
• Truly a mountain of crab!
  
• The stack-pack I made for the mizzen is wonderful!
  
• New friends on s/v Odyssey and m/v Konocti Bay
• And many, many nites at anchor, throughout the islands.
  

So...  here I sit, typing away in the last days of summer and the last days of the sailing season for us.  I am endeavoring to be present in each and every moment so that I will have enough days and nites stored away to get me thru the long, wet, dark winter that is inexorably coming...

Melancholia

Blogging to meet people

Those of you who have been blogging for a while (we'll hit 1000 posts sometime in 2017) know that a blog is a wonderful way to meet folks.

On a rare occasion, the meeting comes not in the bloggosphere, but in person - these are most special!

And this weekend, it happened again.  We met Jonathan and Sarah, the brand new owners of s/v Odyssey, a beautifully maintained and fitted out Baba 35...  that was coincidentally for sale right here in the Cap Sante marina.  Jonathan & Sarah are from Oregon, and have both apparently been readers of this blog for some time, so when they found themselves headed to Anacortes, they contacted us and arranged a meeting...  a meeting that lasted 4 hours aboard both Eolian and Odyssey, included wine and champagne (!) and a wonderful from-scratch carrot cake that Sarah had baked aboard.  And it turns out that we have way more in common than we could possibly cover in that short time, so I'm sure that this was only the first of many cozy times aboard one or the other boat.  Because Odyssey is going to stay in Anacortes to serve as their platform to explore the San Juans and the Inside Passage....

It turns out that Jonathan is also a blogger (I didn't know!) - you'll want to read the story of the journey that took them to Anacortes and Odyssey.  There's always a story about how the boat picks you...

So the moral of this blog post is:  Blog!  Write!   Look for opportunities to meet your fellow bloggers... don't be shy!   Something wonderful could happen...

Blogging to meet people

For the Dreamers

From my friends' blog, in the process of selling their cat before heading really far south in a new-to-them expedition boat.  This is just a taste - check out the link for the whole description and specs...

---

2015 July 25

by Mike

While all of my recent posts have been focused on the new Amel, it’s important to remember that there is a very beautiful and well-maintained PDQ 32 for sale, just waiting for the right owner to start making memories on her!

People may not fully comprehend the benefits of purchasing a boat here in Grenada. In most cases, the trip south from the US to the Windward Islands can be a tough one. It typically involves a number of uncomfortable passages, beating against the easterly trades. They don’t call this route the Thorny Path for nothing! Whoever ends up with ZTC will not have to deal with that though. He or she will be able to start cruising in beautiful Grenada, gaining experience at a comfortable pace by sailing here, and in the nearby Grenadines. It doesn’t get much better than that!

[...]

Want to help us out? Share the following link to all of your friends, and on your social media pages:
—–> http://www.pdq32forsale.com

For the Dreamers

The Renaissance Man

Tom Steinbach 1932-2014

In 1975, when two young kids drove cross country from St. Louis to Chewelah, Washington, they were beginning an adventure that would last a lifetime.  But they didn't know that they were following in the footsteps of another adventurer.

We first met Tom Steinbach (and Dorna, and Teena, and John, and Mike - it was a family business...) in 1980 when we contracted with Steinbach Construction to pour the foundation for the house we were building.  But because of Tom's outgoing and inquisitive nature, the relationship grew.

Pretty soon Tom was helping me with difficult framing issues - have you ever built a house?  Framing is solving one problem after another.

And grew.  Tom and his family essentially adopted us...  he became an older brother to Jane and I, and he and Dorna became surrogate grandparents to our children (since their real grandparents lived 2500 miles away).   Our children were part of Teena's wedding, and the Steinbachs hosted Easter egg hunts for Adam and Erica.  Tom and John even participated in the Christmas Eve toy assembly ritual at our house.  He introduced me to goose hunting and trout fishing (but alas, thru no fault of his, I am no good at either), and flying (yes, Tom was a pilot).

Above all, Tom was curious.  He was always thinking.  Some of our best conversations involved the Big Subjects:  the meaning of life, cosmology, etc.  But not always big, tho always from an unusual angle.  One particular thought that comes to me in that vein as I write this was a remark he made as we surveyed a woodlot he held behind Quartzite mountain - he asked me to imagine the tons of wood that were being created literally from thin air every month in that woodlot.

Tom was gifted mechanically - he was an inventor.  Have you ever been to a real sawmill?  I suggest you go to one, and then contemplate the fact that Tom built his own.  And I remember that he stole a march on the power tool industry when he came up with the idea of using propane to power an air nailer instead of compressed air, the idea being that this would be an internal combustion tool, burning the propane one explosion at a time to drive nails (my small contribution was to use a piezo ignitor as the trigger).  Dragging an air hose around not required!

I cherish the memories of those discussions.

Tom was also a collector of what today might be called practical knowledge:

• How to hammer a saw blade (look it up)
• What varieties of wood were best suited to each purpose (use locust for fence posts - instead of rotting, it will take root)
• How to run 3-phase tools on 2-phase power
• How to straighten a warped cast iron saw table by building a fire under it and then cooling it slowly
• How to build a metal-cutting chop saw using an automotive power steering pump for the hydraulics
• How to supply his house with all the water it needed from a small spring way up the hill behind the house
• He ran a few cows occasionally butchered one.  Have you ever cut up an animal?
• His house was heated with a wood-fired thermostat-controlled furnace... that he built.

And as if that weren't enough, he was an artist:

Tom carved this squirrel on a yellow locust log harvested from his property on the Flowery Trail in Chewelah.

Tom was a true Renaissance Man, and the world will be a poorer and drabber place for his passing.

The Renaissance Man

Blogger Blog

I had a real treat yesterday.

In this world, this life, connections with other people are some of the most important things we have... maybe the most important.  And yesterday, one of those connections got a lot stronger.

It seems that Rick and Ruth Bailey, of s/v Cay of Sea and the Middle Bay Sailing blog had made a cross-country drive to deliver a 7 foot antique clock to their son on Whidbey Island.  Rick contacted me, and we arranged to meet for lunch at Dad's in Anacortes.

What wonderful folks they are!  As you would undoubtedly guess, the conversation ranged over boat topics...  lots of boat topics.  And if you knew the correct pronunciation of Cay:

 A cay (/ˈkiː/ or /ˈkeɪ/), also spelled caye or key, is a small, low-elevation, sandy island on the surface of a coral reef.

then you would not be surprised to know that music was covered too.  Tho I must confess that the right brain simulator I run in my left brain (my actual right brain is a shriveled up raisin) doesn't hold a candle to either of these folks, who both have huge glowing right brains, Rick in music and Ruth in art (Rick often features Ruth's work on Middle Bay Sailing).  I knew that I wasn't going to attempt to play when Rick picked up my guitar and ran thru the opening riff from 'Blackbird', flawlessly.  Oh my.

It was a wonderful visit.  And firming up these tenuous connections we have with each other over the Internet with actual personal contact is too a wonderful thing.  I only wish that it was possible to do more of it.

Thanks for visiting Rick & Ruth!

Blogger Blog

Dislocation

So here I am, aboard Eolian.   Its been 2 weeks since we docked here and nearly all of that time has been spent at our cabin, away from the boat - I think this may be the longest contiguous stretch of time we have spent there, ever.

When I came aboard yesterday evening, it was like a homecoming after a vacation.  But different somehow.

Yes, everything down below was the same as we left it, and yet..

• Tho we are still a port tie, the boat is now facing south instead of north - the light enters the cabin at a different slant.  Places that were dark are now light, and places that were light are how in shadows.
• The view out the windows has changed.
• It is quiet!  No more trains.  No more Kenmore Air planes droning overhead.  No more 737s, 747s, 787s roaring by above.
• I know no one on the dock.

I suppose that after a year or three this will all seem normal, and the differences will recede into the background.  But for now, I feel vaguely dislocated. 

Dislocation

In a San Juan Frame of Mind

Shilshole Sunset

In 1997 we berthed Eolian in Seattle because I had just gotten a job with the University of Washington.  Later, we moved her from the Fairview Marina on the south end of Lake Union out to Shilshole when a slip became available there, in 1999.  We've been there ever since - for 15 years - the longest time we have ever lived in any one place, ever.  Now that I just said that, I realize that's a pretty big indictment of our apparently nomadic lifestyle.

But in any case, we are now retired.  The need for a living space convenient to work is over.  As one of the many life changes that occur with the end of work, out of the blue Jane contacted the Port of Bellingham wondering if there were any slips available suitable for Eolian...  the wait list was five years long.  Then she tried the Port of Anacortes, asking for 50' slips (Eolian is 52' overall, without the dinghy hanging from the davits - maybe we could squeeze in...) - ten year wait list.

Then something completely surprising happened.  The helpful guy at the Port of Anacortes asked if we might be interested in a 57' slip.  They had nine available.

Wait - what??!

Yup - not only was there a slip big enough to take Eolian, with the dinghy, but we could have our choice of nine!  And these are brand new docks.  And the slips are eight feet wider than those at Shilshole.  And the Port supplies free WiFi. And it's cheaper than Shilshole. And finally, Anacortes is the gateway to the San Juans - just a hop, skip and a jump across Rosario Strait.

Cruising in the San Juan Islands has always been a life objective for us, ever since our first visit in 1977, aboard our little Cal 21, Deja Vu.  While berthed in Seattle, we've made it to the Islands several times over the years, but it is always a journey, if you know what I mean.  And for years we had our names on the waitlists at Friday Harbor and Anacortes, hoping for an opening (and the opportunity to work remotely, which sadly never appeared).

So, yeah, we took a slip at Anacortes.  We have it now.  And we have given notice to Shilshole - our time there ends 5/31.

I know it's not the same, but I feel a little of that footloose and fancy free feeling that world cruisers get when they are about to cut the docklines.  But without the anxiety of whether we have covered everything on the boat prep list.  We could go to Anacortes today.  Or next week.  Or after Memorial Day.  Or we could leave Shilshole at the end of the month and arrive in Anacortes at some indeterminate time further in the future. 

We will miss all of our favorite anchorages - Port Madison, Eagle Harbor, Poulsbo, etc.  And we will miss all of our friends on the docks at Shilshole, old and new.  But I trust that we will see our Seattle friends up in the Islands, because they are a popular Seattle destination.  And that we will make new friends in Anacortes.

It's a time of leaving, and a time of arriving.  It's sad.  It's exciting!

Sunset in Parks Bay, San Juan Islands

In a San Juan Frame of Mind

Foggy morn

The fog horns are blowing here in Seattle this morning, echoing my mood.

We had Helmut and Dominic over for dinner last nite, for the last time.  s/v Nevada Faye will be hauled out tomorrow for transport to Conneticut, from whence she will sail to Germany.

Well, we think that's what will happen.  I spent some time on the phone with Dominic at my side this morning, trying to help salvage the plans they had made - salvage was needed because their hauler had become ill and could not transport the boat.  So, a visit to the yard to nail down details and then the time on the phone and another hauler was arranged.  Situation sorted.

Nevada Faye will get her masts pulled tomorrow morning at low tide (to give the crane enough headroom), and should be on the hard on stands later in the day, or possibly Wednesday, depending on how the prep work goes and the yard schedule.  The boat leaves Thursday, and Helmut and Dominic fly back to Germany on Friday, leaving behind an empty slip and a big hole in our hearts.

Helmut and Dominic are two of the most congenial folks you'd ever meet.

They will be missed out here on the end of G Dock.

Foggy morn

Blowin' a Hoolie

"The bee's knees", "blowin' a hoolie", and "earlier than sparrow fart".

Kath, nb Bobcat

What do these phrases have in common?  They (and several others) were all uttered by Kath of nb Bobcat.

We had the distinct pleasure of hosting Kath and Rob both at our home on Camano and aboard (however briefly) Eolian this past weekend.  They were on a trip to British Columbia and took the time to journey down to the USA to be with us for a couple of brief days.

It has been said that the Americans and the British are peoples separated by a common language.  There is some truth to this, as the common usage for a number of items is different in surprising ways - for example, you readers in the UK will understand what I mean when I announced that I was pulling an old pair of pants out of the console of our car.  My American readers, on the other hand, will have no idea what the consternation was...

Rob, demonstrating  a proper tea ceremony

Kath and Rob are wonderful, down-to-earth people.  They too are splitting their time between house and boat:  Rob's house (which incidentally houses a surprising number of classic Ducati motorcycles) and narrow boat Bobcat - 58' LOA x 7' beam x 19" draft.  Between the marine connection and the classic motor vehicles, we found that we had no shortage of things to talk about.

In fact, the brief time we had together was simply not enough.  I wish, for example, that it had not been "blowin' a hoolie", so that we could have taken Eolian off the dock - and that we had had enough time to make it for a couple of days.  Ah well.

Kath and Rob have offered to return the favor (favour?), and we are giving this thoughtful consideration.  I have written before about the entirely civilized way narrow boating is done, and I must confess that there is a serious attraction...

 

Blowin' a Hoolie

Shhh... Please do disturb

When we are at anchor, a major part of the charm of the experience is the peace that the situation provides.  After the crowded hustle and bustle of being tied to the dock, it is like a breath of cool, refreshing air.  When the anchor goes down and the engine is turned off, I can actually feel the quiet draining the tension out of my shoulders.

I guess we are not very gregarious by nature.  We don't like being in raftups - they are too crowded, too noisy, and require 100% "on" time.  We don't even like being anchored near a raftup because they are typically so noisy (although several recent examples we have encountered have put the lie to that). 

But.

But with all that said, the ability to visit another boat at anchor, or to have someone visit ours is a privilege - something that we geatly look forward to.  We have even been known to row over to someone we have never met and barely know thru the InterTubes and invite them aboard for dinner (Hi Courtney!).   I have written about what a magical, intimate experience it is to visit another boat at anchor, and I can only suppose and hope that it goes the other way too, for people visiting us.

So please, dear readers, should you find yourself anchored in the same bay as Eolian,  do not hesitate to row over and knock on the hull.  Of course you will probably find us dressed in sweats, because that's how we live at anchor, but if you're not embarrassed by that then we certainly won't be.  And we usually have an ample supply of wine or beer to share (and our yardarm is adjustable...).

Everyone at anchor in a harbor has a story to tell...

And we want to hear yours.

Shhh... Please do disturb

Everyone has a story

Everyone has a story.  We all do.

But unlike those on shore, the stories of those of us living out here on G Dock lead to us living on a boat.  And that makes us definitely weird, at least by the standards of those living ashore.  So that means the stories that got us here all have an unusual twist, or a strange angle.

So aside from just having some common experiences with others living aboard (which are worth exploring in their own right), all of us have stories which are well above average when it comes to their interest level.

So it behooves you to grab a bottle of wine and go visit your neighbors down the dock.  Ask them how they got here, and listen.

I promise that you will not be bored.

Everyone has a story

Something is not quite right

Something is missing...

Something is not quite right.

At Shilshole, the slips are in pairs; they are horseshoe shaped, with one boat tying up to its port side and the other in the pair tying up to its starboard side.

We are the port side tie-up in our horseshoe.

Over the years that we have been moored here, slip-mates have come and gone.  But the one constant has been that there has been a slip-mate.

But when your slip mate pulls out for 5 months (and still counting...) of major work, something is not quite right.  Sure, when you look out the window, it is obvious that the boat is gone.

But when you are not looking out the window, your unconscious nags you, communicating in the only way it can.  Back in your conscious life, that communication manifests as a vague feeling that something is amiss.

And then you consciously look out the window again, and...

Oh.  Yeah - the boat's gone.

C'mon Wander Bird, it's time to get back in the water.

A constant is missing.

Something is not quite right

Tethered aeronautics

What do you do on a warm spring evening?  When you have a Styrofoam birthday glider with a three foot wingspan?

And you live on a boat?

If you're Zak over across the dock on s/v Ghost, you have it figured it out.  You tie a fishing line to it!  Then after each water landing (some good, some not so much), you just reel it back in for another flight.  And you get your sister Ellie to hold the fishing pole during the launch.

You might have guessed: Zak's dad is a pilot.

Tethered aeronautics

Our G-Dock Heroine

Right across the dock from us, on s/v Ghost, we have a genuine credentialed heroine.

On Nov 20th, there was an electrical fire aboard Ghost; 10 year-old Ellie and Fathom the dog were the only ones aboard.  Ellie did the right things, in the right order to save the situation. 

And on January 18th she was awarded a special medal by the Seattle Fire Department for her courage. 

Way to go Ellie!

The Ballard News Tribune has the full story.

Our G-Dock Heroine

It's a small world

Who would have thought it?

Puget Sound is big.  And the San Juan Islands, tho smaller are a big and very complicated water space.

Finally, consider the size of time itself, the hours, days, and decades.

So, what are the chances that we would meet, completely unplanned, at one particular place and one particular time one of our blogging friends out here in the San Juans?  Pretty small I'd say.

And yet, we did.   We had left Reid Harbor on Stuart Island and were heading for Roche Harbor on San Juan Island.  And who should we meet on the reciprocal course but  s/v Letitgo.

By the time I realized that the catamaran was Letitgo, it was too late to get the camera for a picture, but we did have enough time to hail each other and shout happy and surprised greetings back and forth.

Now the only thing that could have been better was if we had shared an anchorage.  And a glass of wine.

It's a small world

A certain intimacy

At anchor in Roche Hrbr

Last nite we had the distinct pleasure of being invited aboard s/v Nevada Faye for dinner.

Helmet and Dominic were most gracious hosts, and the dinner was a wonderful repast. But, while sitting and talking in the after-dinner glow, I was struck by the special closeness, and yes, intimacy born of the shared experience. The shared dining experience, yes of course. But also the shared experiences that we both had in getting our boats to the same anchorage.

It is quite different than the feeling one gets when visiting another house. Different, in fact, than visiting another boat at the dock.

It makes for fast friends.

A certain intimacy

SOMEbody is a big fan of Halloween...

But when your boat is named Ghost, there should be no surprise in that...

SOMEbody is a big fan of Halloween...

*That* call

On Saturday, we got that call.  You know, the one that no boat owner ever wants to get.

Brent & Jill, our next door neighbors (bless you guys!) called us Saturday morning (we were away from the boat) and told us that our bilge pump was running every 20 minutes or so.

Yeah, THAT call.

I jumped in my TransAm and may have grazed some speed regulations getting to the marina.

Thankfully, what I found was not serious.  We were not in danger of sinking.  As Brent pointed out, the pump was no where near to running continuously, so the situation was stable.  But it was not pretty.

In order to describe what happened, I need to backtrack a little.  Remember when I told you that our refrigeration was seawater-cooled?  And that we had a small telltale stream running into the sink?  Now imagine that someone left the sink stopper in the sink, and that it managed to seal up the drain (something which we never seem to be able to get it to do).

Yeah, the sink filled up with seawater.  And because of our current state of trim, when the sink overflowed, the water ran outboard... and into the freezer.  Yes, we had a freezer nearly full of frozen seawater.  Not quite full of ice because of the near continuous stream of warm seawater which kept coming, but certainly full of seawater.  When the freezer overflowed, the water made its way behind the cabinetry attached to the hull, and then into the bilge, where the bilge pump took care of it.

There was no damage.  But do you have any idea how many pans of boiling water it takes to melt a block of ice that big?  No, I didn't either.

*That* call

Double anchor, double kudos

Friday, Sept 16 and Saturday Sept 17
(delayed due to sparse internet connectivity in the South Sound)

On an out-and-back trip, one of the problems is that the return trip can be kind of anti-climatic.  As soon as you turn around, you are in territory you covered only a little while ago, and there is a mixture of the beginnings of nostalgia and the undeniable draw of home.  We try to minimize this by stopping in alternate places where possible.  But portions of the trip are inevitably repeats.  Nevertheless, with the wind as propulsion, it is unlikely that both the outbound and inbound legs will be identical. 

We rose early again (rats!) and motored out of Filucy Bay ("wind as propulsion"?  not on this leg), heading for Gig Harbor once again.  It was a strangely uneventful trip...  We only saw three other boats in the entire distance:  the strange part was that these were three Canadian military vessels (#60, #61, #62).  We met them as they traversed Balch Passage, and we speculated that perhaps Olympia was about to be invaded by Canada.

A view of the Tacoma Narrows
bridges that most will never see

Passing under the (now dual!) span of the Tacoma Narrows bridge is always a rush - literally a rush if you do it properly, with the tide. 

We moved to the back of the harbor in Gig Harbor once again, in about the same place we had been a few days prior.  Tho the depth shown on the chart was a uniform 23 feet, as we drifted back and forth on the anchor, we occasionally saw depths of 14 feet.  I joked that perhaps there was a wreck down there.

It was a pretty evening and nite, and I experimented again with long-exposure pictures.  Normally I would have discarded this one, but something in the colors and shapes interested me, in an abstract sort of way.

Next morning: final, or final but one leg.  The wind forecast for Monday was for 20-25 kt at Shilshole, and I didn't really want to dock in that much wind.  So we hoped to use Sunday's 10-15 kt southerlies as travelling wind and get tied to the dock ahead of the big blow.

The first setback occurred as we hoisted anchor.  I was down in the bow, flaking the chain as it came aboard as usual.  I noticed that the windless seemed to be running unusually slow...  and then Jane called me up topside.  Uh oh.  There really was something down there.  Tho I can't say for certain if there was a wreck, there was certainly an abandoned old-fashioned anchor and its rode.  Kudos to our windless for being able to hoist this mess up to the surface where it could be dealt with!

The time-honored way to clean up this situation is to pass a line under the offending object, securing both ends on deck.  Then you lower your anchor, away from the now-suspended object.  In the picture I have started reeving the line.  The procedure worked for us (the second time we have had to do it), and the old anchor is back on the bottom of Gig Harbor.  It would have made a really neat souvenir, except that we really had no way to carry a very heavy and very rust-corroded object.  If anyone is interested, I can forward approximate coordinates - it would be good to get it out of the harbor.

We motored most of the way up Colvos Passage, with the current at our back.  Near the north end, the beginnings of a travelling wind appeared and we unrolled the yankee for a downwind run to Shilshole.

Unfortunately, by the time we reached West Point, we were seeing 20+ kt at our backs while making 7+ kts.  We briefly discussed running off to Port Madison and anchoring to wait it out.  But the forecast was for more (perhaps much more) of the same.  West Point partially shelters the Marina and the breakwater adds some protection.  We decided to explore and see how bad it was right at our slip - with the option to bail and head to Port Madison if it was bad.  Jane called Angela on the phone, and she rallied up a crew on the dock.

Things seemed tenable as I turned into the waterway, and so I committed to docking.  All went well until the boat was halfway into the slip.  Then a BIG gust hit us broadside, slamming us into the corner of the finger.  Kudos to Angela and our good friends and neighbors for saving us!  We already had one line ashore at that point - that meant that the bow could be kept under control; the rest of the crew fended off and took the other three lines.  No damage, thanks to all the help!

Tied to a dock again, for the first time since Sept 9... and the beer never tasted so good!

Double anchor, double kudos

Longing to see our neighbors

Thank heavens for Daylight Savings Time!

And for the progress of the seasons.  I am no longer walking down the dock in the dark evenings. 

There is now the chance to see our neighbors once again.  When it is dark, walking the 1000 feet of dock is a lonely experience.  And unpleasant, if it is not just dark but also raining.  Or snowing.  And in the winter it is always cold and windy.  No one dawdles - everyone rushes to get aboard and into the warm, lighted interiors of their boats, closing out the outside.  Little bubbles of comfort in an inhospitable environment.

But when the sun is shining, folks move outside.  They are cleaning, fixing, playing music, visiting.  It is hard to make it all the way down to the end where Eolian is moored without having several conversations, and perhaps the offer of a beer.  The walk is a leisurely and enjoyable one.

C'mon SPRING!

(I can't wait)

Longing to see our neighbors