I grew up in the PNW and always loved being outside. I have great memories of fishing rivers and lakes with my brothers, and hiking trails with my friends. But no place captured me quite like the beach. The smell of the salt air before I could even see the ocean was always the perfect tease. The feel of sand under my bare feet as I would charge down the beach, the perfect tactile touch. The unending ocean stretched out beyond the horizon methodically rolling to shore, always gave me the sense of endless space. The sound of the waves rhythmic murmur, the perfect soundtrack to my sense of wonder. The smell of the bonfire lingering in my sweatshirt, my treasured bonus when the trip was over.
My family's favorite place to stay at the beach was an old board and batten cedar cabin that was rustic, open and cozy. My 2 brothers, sister, and I would scour the house for games, books or anything fun that we could do. My mom would put the food away in the kitchen and start to make something that always smelled like the perfect companion to our growing hunger. My dad would assign the beds and then start trying to set up the Tv and VCR that he brought. Movie’s after dinner was such a rare treat.
Simply put, my homes are an ode to these memories. They are personal but designed to share. They are an outlet for my creativity; the unending project for someone who loves a good project.
I spend many Friday evenings driving to the beach with my dog, Patty, in a truck loaded with tools and supplies. There is always something that needs to be fixed or replaced. If I'm lucky I will get an evening where the wind is calm and the stars are on full display. I will set down my toolbelt, whistle to my dog and walk to the beach, pulling a wagon loaded with firewood and a cooler. Reclining under the stars, looking out over the Pacific Ocean I will try to soak it in. Life is short and work is right around the corner, but at this moment I am exactly where I want to be.