It was rare weather for Western Washington, sunny and hot. Where to go? I thought of Fairhaven and it's tree shaded downtown, which is tucked between the south side of Bellingham and the Bellingham Bay. There's lots of charm in this place. Always interesting. It's close to Western Washington University, so it has that eclecticism college towns are known for.
Fairhaven is a very old town (although now it is part of Bellingham), and it's history is preserved through renovation of old buildings and covenants that require any new construction fit the 19th century style of the architectural treasures, such as Sycamore Square. This particular building is one of my all-time favorites. It was originally built to be the Puget Sound terminus of the Great Northern Railroad, but has had many lives and uses since those days.
I love the big atrium that is the center. I walk up the stairs and marvel at the woodwork and the views from each floor. There are old photos in frames that tell of Fairhaven's days as a transportation hub. Besides the rai
lroad, there were and still are a bus depot and the southern end of the Alaska Marine Highway. You can start here and go all the way by ferry to Dutch Harbor at the end of the Aleutian Island Chain. Cruise ships come and go, too.My usual course is to park in front of Sycamore Square, and walk down to the harbor, feel the cool breezes from the bay as I watch the activity and the boats, then walk up the opposite side of the street and return to my car. It's a an hour or two of good diversion, and I get lunch some where on the journey... so many interesting choices.
On my way down the street, I peeked into shops. There is fine art on the first corner, and I imagined a big acrylic painting of sailboats at rest in dry dock hanging in my living room. And small brass sculpture of wood ducks on the fireplace mantel. Beautiful things of water and air. But such things are hard to place in a restless atmosphere.
I looked in a consignment shop filled with festive gowns and colorful ensembles "pre-loved" and marked at bargain prices. I imagined where they'd been. High school proms, wedding receptions, cruise ship dining salons. In and out of suitcases, in and out of the closets of people unknown to me. And I thought, these beautiful things are mementos of other peoples' lives.
In the window of a jewelry store I saw a gold and amethyst pendant. A beautiful thing I could picture around the neck of a younger woman of high spirits and hopeful future. A gift from a lover, perhaps.
Inside an antique shop I found two nicely seasoned cast iron skillets. Beautiful things I could take home and put to good use. The clerk put them in a reusable cloth shopping bag with the company logo printed on it for just a dollar extra. So "green" they are in Bellingham. Through the door and on the sidewalk I thought about how I used to enjoy cooking, but haven't found much joy in that or anything around the house, and why in the world am I now carrying heavy skillets around with me?
I continued my walk to Squalicum Harbor where I gazed at the choppy water and the sea gulls dipping from the blue of the sky to the blue of the bay. And I said a prayer for the beautiful things and my loss of connection with them. Then back to the sidewalk and the uphill walk returning to my car and the freeway and home.
Just past the Persian carpet seller I sat down on a bench and rested for a moment. The bag of skillets was heavy and I had several blocks left to go, and uphill, too. I rose to start the trudge. Just then a young man appeared and said, "That bag looks heavy, why don't you let me carry it for you?" Surprised I turned to him and saw the bluest eyes, blue as the summer sky above us. And he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, "Here, you can hold this if you think I'm going to run off with your bag." Amazed at the stranger's friendliness, I took the wallet in dumb reaction. He took my bag. We introduced each other, he said his name was Michael.
He looked inside the bag, "Perfectly seasoned skillets, beautiful things. No telling how old they are. Do you like to cook?"
"Oh, I used to," I answered him, "Not as much these days. I don't know why I bought them. Right now they're just heavy."
Michael said, "If you think hard, you might remember something about them."
"My grandma used pans just like these," I said, softly. "She showed me how to fry chicken, make the perfect grilled cheese sandwich, and how to keep the skillet seasoned. She made it look so easy."
As we walked, I studied the young man. I saw a very kind face with just a few lines. Hard to guess his age, maybe 25, maybe 35. Average height, slight of build, but I remember his eyes best, the bluest eyes, the color of calm seas.
"Where are you going?" I asked Michael. And he said,"Anywhere, everywhere. I travel light, and don't stay in any place very long. The world is big and my needs are small. I find good company where ever I am. I'm thinking of boarding the ferry and exploring the stops along Alaska Marine Highway."
"All the way to Dutch?" I asked him.
"No particular destination." He smiled. "There are beautiful things all along any route, or any wandering. I always find them. Some might call me a drifter, but it seems to be my calling."
"Look!" he said, "Cupcakes!" We were alongside a small shop that sold cupcakes, only cupcakes, with good coffee and tea. Beautiful things as seen from the window, very inviting. I asked if he'd let me treat him to one and he said sure. We went inside the store, decorated as you might expect in pastel colors with whitewashed chairs and tables. He chose Black Forest and I chose Very Vanilla and we sat down to enjoy. Michael's blue eyes shone as he sipped his coffee, eyes as blue as royal velvet.
On the wall, hung high, were some badly done acrylic paintings of dark content. One was a very disturbing landscape with a chilly blue house on the far left. Dayglow footprints led from the house to what looked like a child in pajamas lying down before a long-toothed bear that might eat him. Two "Red Riding Hoods" stood smiling passively nearby, while a wolf hid behind a tree.
I pointed it out to Michael, and I said, "What on earth is that doing in this place? So parents can bring their children here for a goodie and a nightmare?"
"It is an interesting contrast," said Michael. "But notice that it's hung pretty high up on the wall. I doubt a child would notice anything but the clashing colors and harsh brushstrokes. A child's eye would rather consider the glass cases of cupcakes and the delight of eating them."
"A parent should notice, you'd think one would suggest that the owner take that horrible thing down," I said. At the next table sat a daddy and a beautiful little girl. He sipped coffee and chatted with her while she took apart her cupcake, eating the cake first and then the icing. Michael clearly enjoyed watching them. After the treat was all gone, the father and daughter stood up and started for the door. The daddy glanced up at the awful painting, then reached for his little girl's hand. She smiled at him and hugged his leg. They left, laughing.
I returned my attention to Michael and my cupcake and the good coffee. Beautiful things. His blue eyes, as blue as Ceylon sapphires, the aroma of the Columbian coffee, the softness and sweetness of the confection, the easy companionship.
"The most beautiful things are personal," said Michael, "And those things beheld and shared with another are the most beautiful of all. Even the ugly falls away when that beauty is present."
As we got up to leave the shop, I remembered Michael's wallet and gave it to him, smiling. I picked up my bag.
"Well, you go on with your travels, Michael. This bag isn't so heavy and I've only got another block to my car."
We gave each other goodbyes and best wishes. He went back down the street toward the waterfront, and I found my car where I left it.
And the bag wasn't heavy at all.
