The House my Dad Built

Here’s a poem I wrote about the house my father designed and built on Lummi Island. I’ve included a photo of my parents waving goodbye after my last visit while they lived there.

I’d always hoped the house would stay in the family, but it recently sold, thus ending a big chapter in my life.

Lummi Island Home

Is it really just a place?
This house built by Dad’s hands
Where memories toss and gather
Like sea foam at the beach:

Days planned around ferry runs
High and low tide
Berries picked with nails on sticks
Arms scratched and ankles stung by nettles

Walks through the forest
And along the water’s edge
Playing “Swamp Thing” and stuffing our pockets
With beach rocks and seashells

Dishes of agates gleam in long light
Little altars to the sea
A testament to Mom’s sharp eyes
Nephews grow from summer to summer

Late afternoon on the deck
Gin and tonics, crackers and cheese
Pine siskins and hummingbirds chatter
Will chickadees ever eat from my hand?

Mom’s cactus flowers bloom in pots
Dad’s vegetable garden below
We scan for orcas, eagles, and ship silhouettes
But the green flash eludes us yet again

Another orange sherbet sun
Melts into Georgia Strait
As the Liberty Ship bell’s shadow
Slides around the corner
Taking the day’s heat with it

Deer glide through the yard
And birds roost
Ship lights and stars twinkle
Nighttime brings a new quiet
And conversation shifts

Time to wrap an afghan around my shoulders and
Stoke the chiminea
Time to laugh off pre-dinner tensions
Beneath Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper, and if we’re lucky: the Northern LightsBaca lagi