Invited for T-Day with our son’s family in Ballard we were so thrilled by the thought of being off-island that we decided to stay overnight and then keep going. The destination was to be Granite Falls on account of a Seattle Times article on the mayoral race there. The challenger is the Pakistani-American owner of the town’s watering hole, The Timberline Café. Text and photos from the Times:
“Saleem Haroon tells a classic immigrant's tale of coming to America in 1979 as a young man seeking wider opportunities. He candidly admits to overstaying his visitor's visa and at one point, moving from San Francisco to Los Angeles to stay ahead of immigration officials. In 1987, when then-President Reagan extended amnesty to undocumented immigrants, Haroon became a legal resident and won his citizenship in 1995.
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“The apparent election of a Muslim immigrant who went on to become a citizen and business owner, surprised even friends and supporters” Thanks, reporter Mark Harrison. Myself, I’d been so taken by the image of a “good old boy” hugging a Muslim that I had talked my wife into braving rare sun-bursts and spending the night in Granite Falls.
Well, at table Thursday I mentioned Granite Falls whereupon biologist daughter-in-law with Snohomish County shrieked, it’s a meth lab! A dump! Or words to that effect. Now, hold on, because she has creds, having been working Salmon recovery in the Cascade watershed for two years, first for the Indians and now for Snohomish County. Anyway, in the interest of family harmony and common sense, we instead headed for Port Townsend next morning.
Finding breakfast on the Edmonds waterfront was our career for the day as it has become totally yuppied since we knew it in the Seventies when it was a handy moorage for our 27 foot Erickson. Nevertheless, sustained perseverance found Claire’s Restaurant. We got to Pt. T. in the early afternoon. We did the Point Hudson waterfront (tippity tip of Pt T.), then climbed the bluff to P.T’s “Uptown” for a crafts fair. A guy there was playing a Celtic harp which he said predated the kind we see today by a few thousand years. It’s small, bass strings about one yard long, and has a sound box as big as a good-sized bongo drum.. The sound was lovely. He was our first stop at the fair as he was outside closing one of the double doors. Were they about to close? Nope, the chill was getting his fingers. David Michael is his name and he was set up just inside. Had I folding money I would have gotten a CD. We did buy some cute homespun woolen xmas tree ornaments. Next we found the Port Townsend Inn, $75 with continental breakfast, but with only one artificial light by the bed. It was like reading in a closet. We dined-in on leftover turkey and trimmings courtesy of son and biologist. Next morning I had a bright idea, we’d catch Granite Falls on the way home, see if it is as bad as she said. Wife said, okay, but let’s do Sequim first. Sequim is only, what, thirty miles west. Off to Sequim it was then.
Coming in off 101 onto the business route through town we hit the visitor’s kiosk. A nice old couple ran it. Guy asked me, have something in mind? I thought, decided against a trite mumble even though it was all I had, and went straight for the jugular. Ah, um, uh, I ah, wonder if there is a, um, communal sense? Guy was forthright, said, “There’s a number of local communities that do it, but no central one”. He then drew a driving route for us that got the good views. Squim, you know, is nearly smack dab on the Straight, separated from it only by the nearghost town of Dungeness which is full smack dab, almost in, the Straight. To complement that view of the Straight, the snow-draped Olympics loom violently to the south. I took the map and tried to leave but guy’s wife had me by the arm. She’d noticed my age, even though most people take me for a spry sixty, and wanted to tell me about the senior club activities. One of the more active activities was travel, and the travel secretary, Carol, had a motto, “ What do you want to do before you kick the bucket?” More on that later. Breaking free, we drove north to Dungeness and its famous Spit.
We drove to the end of a road, parked in the parking lot of the Three Crab Restaurant, closed just now, got out of the car and stepped to the edge of the gravel beach. The base of the Spit was out of sight off to our left a mile or so, from where it took a giraffe-necked curve out to the lighthouse. The end was straight out in front of us, somewhat indistinct in the wet distance. The sky was partly overcast, and the wind mild. Just in front of us on the water was a line of seabirds parallel to the beach that mysteriously vanished, appeared, vanished, appeared . . . We soon realized there was a swell so slight that without the birds it would not have been apparent. Out in the Straight a freighter was outbound. We stood there some moments, then I turned to wife and said, this is doing something to me, f… Granite Falls.
We then finished the yellow high-lighted route on our map, which took us to the base of the Spit and a $3 entry gate. The inside edge of the Spit and the mainland base is a wildlife reserve. The trail to the lighthouse stretches along the outside edge. Just before entering the wildlife reserve we saw two hunters, one with crossbow and the other with a pair of very happy dogs. Back downtown we got a nice motel room, $45, It had a fifty gallon hw tank in the closet. The room was well maintained although the shower dripped. Our rest thus modestly secured we headed for Art’s barbershop, over by where we first came into town, and I entered a two-chair shop, one barber, two customers waiting. In the chair was a talkative man of about fifty- five. Across the rear of the shop there was a counter and attentively leaning on it was a person soon to be identified as the barber’s husband. He swept up the cuts. The barber was straight out of that television show Hee Haw minus only the hat with the price tag on it. Slightly near-sighted, she peered closely to aim the clippers. A hand lettered sign taped on the mirror read “Haircuts $12”. The man in the chair soon rose, finished his chat with the barber, and headed out. As he passed he said to me, “How ya doing?” and left. The husband swept, and the barber indicated the elder of the two waiting, which were a father and son. The boy looked about ten, But it was just the son who was up. Before starting, the barber allowed a small debate on how the cut was to proceed, in which several suggestions were heard to which the boy’s response was not audible. The barber leaned into her work, seriously, no talk now. Soon I was in the chair composing a response to the usual question barbers ask, how much off. I fancied a careless comment along the lines of oh, take off about sixty years. But that was aborted, as she only asked how was your thanksgiving. Out came the shears and off went my hair. Back in the car Ingeborg said, what a nice haircut. Youthfully we headed back to Dungeness. It was about two-thirty. Earlier, after we’d buried Granite Falls Ingeborg had talked to a fellow working outside back of the Restaurant so we knew that it would be open. Our breakfast had been meager, so between that and some old news releases on this restaurant we were drooling. We parked as before and went in. A kind of family conference inside blocked the way in but when it cleared a smiling woman bearing menus took us to a corner table by a big window framing the Spit and assorted freighters. We were the only occupants in the dining room. Ingeborg ordered crab cakes, I had the halibut casserole special, and were they ever good. With three drinks the bill came to $48. Before we left two more couples came in, so perhaps by suppertime the place might be doing okay. We drove to the Sundowner Motel, waddled into our room and lay down on the bed, the earlier idea of a movie forgotten. Even if we had not been so relaxed it might have been hard to find a theater as we’d seen none. Next morning I went next door to the Hi Way 101 Diner for coffee and nums. The counter people bumped into each other making sure I got served. As I left with the drink carrier so thoughtfully provided, a woman customer seated by the door smiled at me. Putting it together, the people in Art’s shop, the waitress at the three crab, these people at the diner, and that couple at the Visitor’s Kiosk, the prevalent courtesy in Sequim is unmistakable. They are immune to recession blues? Across from the motel a sporting goods store had this on its window: “1/2 OFF”. Down the bypass road aways were two shopping plazas; the only one with life had a Safeway. But the town did not feel dead. And those Sequim seniors I suspect are regarding the bucket with a cool eye for just look at their travel schedule for November: Protection Island Cruise. Molbaks Nursery in Woodinville. The Bainbridge Symphony. Elwha River Casino. U Dub Burke Museum and Arboretum. Coeur d’Alene Lake cruise.
We pulled out feeling like Sequim was some kind of a paradox in paradise, balmy weather and eye-popping views of ocean and snow-capped peaks inducing mild euphoria and a judgement that beyond Clallom County the world and its woes could go to hell. By the way, I think I picked up some of that bucket-kicking optimism for I still want to go to Granite Falls.