So...about this retirement thing.

I hear, and take seriously, the horror stories about people retiring from all sorts of careers and just being lost; of swinging their legs off the bed in the morning as they had done for decades, washing their face, brushing their teeth, and turning by reflex toward the front door that used to lead to their working lives, only to be faced with a nagging chasm where once they thrived among the productive, experienced, and wise; of facing "NOW WHAT?" and of fearing that there is no "WHAT;" of feeling valueless or useless or both, adding a taunting emptiness to the looming realities of advancing age. Truth is, such stories make me nervous, you never know until you know. Add to that this move from our world of friends and family in Colorado, shared experiences, familiarity on every level; of well established identities, an environment where people know who and what I am (we are), to a place where whatever I've established is not only not known, but - really now - who cares? It all does make a fellow wonder. Disquiet is the word that comes to mind.

But so far, this stuff just hasn't been an issue for me, and I think it's safe to say, for us. There has been so much to see and do, to keep our attention. Like the trailhead for Mount Storm King is 10 minutes away and the one to Shi Shi Beach, as remote and stunning a slice of wild Pacific coastline as you could ever want, is an hour.

And like the Dungeness Spit, stretching its 'longest natural sand spit in the U.S.' self along the Canada bordering Strait of Juan de Fuca, safely part of the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge, teeming with bird life and grounded (what do you call grounded when they are in the water? Seaed? Watered) critters, offers the calming rhythm of tides the whole 11 mile roundtrip hike to its classic lighthouse; and is pronounced - as the locals will make sure you learn - DungenSSSS...not DungenUS. This trailhead is maybe 15 minutes from the Farmhouse, 25 from the lake.

And then this smallish (I'm serious, this ain't even a big one) granddaddy of an tree dwarfing our son, Conor, and Boo, along the 140 mile Olympic Discovery Trail, just one giant in an army of ancient, gargantuan wonders of Douglas Fir, Red Cedar, Sitka Spruce, Western Hemlock, even Cottonwood, and their shorter, magnificent companions Maple, Alder, and Medrona, all a very few miles away.

And the eternally slippery and entertaining log bridges by the score, each with its own spark and character, these on the Barnes Creek trail (15 minutes away) and Shi Shi trail, both in Olympic National Park.

And mountain lakes, like Mink Lake here, up the Sol Duc; filled with Brook trout planted generations ago, the bane of the National Park, not being native and all. Half an hour to the trailhead.

And sea-run cutthroat trout on the Sol Duc River, about an hour's drive. These catches of mine netted by guide extraordinare, Curt from Water's West Fly Shop. Bill Kindler treated me to that crazy good day on the water, and while this is intended to be a general post, I am compelled, as always, to acknowledge his generosity.

Then there is The Farmhouse, our home for the year,where the humble old outbuildings manage to hold their own against magnificent, erratic skies

And, of course, there is the plot of land on Lake Sutherland that brought us out here;

With its crazy, gorgeous wall the splendid Eden Excavation crew built from the boulders they found right there in that ground dwarfing (that adjective seems to come up a lot up here) Shar, Kat, and Conor;

the wall leading to the house that is rising from the ground at the behest of builder Jim Schouten and the hearty skill of carpenters Jim, Chad, and Tom, whose last names I don't know, a failing I surely need to remedy. The work they are doing in all sorts of weather is impressive, to say the very least.

And I haven't even started with the world above about 3000 feet, and quite the world it is.

All of which goes to say, maybe there has been too much change, to much to do, too many things to keep us busy, too much to explore, to try and wrap our heads around. Maybe there has been so very much to enjoy and appreciate that we just haven't had time or opportunity to feel any of those retirement blues. Maybe they'll be sneaking around a corner in the near future. Maybe. For now, this is pretty great; unsettling, interesting, challenging, exciting, and a little frightening. All the things a growing boy needs.

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