Almost exactly 10 years ago, my wife and I, and our (now late) cat Owsley, flew from Chicago to Seattle one-way, on (now defunct) Mark Air. We settled in near Lowman Beach in West Seattle. I had a new job. Leaving Chicago for here was the smartest thing I've ever done, aside from getting married in 1987, and becoming a dad nine years later.

Anyhew, when I undertook my first Seattle reconnaisance mission in early April '94, with job offer in hand, I was pretty intent on exploring the region. Chicago is flat, and Lake Michigan gets old fast.

One of the first great places I went was Key Peninsula, southwest of Seattle and Northwest of Tacoma. It's a long, long, wide finger of land, bucolic and strange and wonderful.

Utopian, socialist, free-love practitioners settled there in the late 1800s, and it's still just a bit off the map of the mind, somehow. Ancient spirits lurk amidst the canopy of tall trees on the drive out past the oyster farm near Burley, along two-lane Key Peninsula "Highway."

Seattle liberal stiffs will hardly notice all the American flags and pro-Bush bumper stickers, it's so cool.

We went there again today, across Puget Sound on a ferry to Southworth, and then to Joemma Beach State Park, on the peninsula's southwest shores.

What a spot! If you're ever visting Greater Seattle (the late anti-growth newspaper columnist Emmett Watson would doubtless rotate in his grave at that phrase), or live here, but haven't been to the South Sound, hie thee to Joemma ASAP.

Today was summer, and there were just 20 people on the beach, even with the great western exposure. For some reason, the much-less impressive Penrose Point State Park on Key Peninsula draws many more visitors (probably clamming and oystering). Joemma Beach goes on forever, assuming you know to ignore the "private property" warning signs. There are no homes visible for a long way, just sheer sandstone bluffs. To boot, it's very sandy at low tide.

Walk west along Joemma Beach, and the glorious Olympic Mountains come into full view, from the south end of the range to the north. Sand dollars, scallop shells and submerged spouting clams are everywhere. Pack a picnic and some beach chairs. We had focaccia sandwiches, feta-stuffed peppers, taboulleh, Mineola tangelos, roasted turkey, crackers, Odwalla juices, and water. No to mention the all-essential pails and shovels.

You know your karma is in order when THIS happens, and you just chuckle. A horse that's been tromping about on the beach for an hour or two comes back toward you. The rider says Hi, you admire the steed. Then, the critter looks at you carefully, steps just around behind you -sitting there reading your piquant crime fiction - and offloads a fresh, steaming mass of dung.

It was meant to be. You contemplate the inevitability of horse dung, and recall fond memories associated with childhood and horses. The lovely day goes on.

Posted by Matt Rosenberg at April 25, 2004 09:55 PM

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