The Lady of the Lake glides to the dock as Captain Wilsey steers the boat’s white body, trimmed in crisp blue, within inches of the pilings. The aluminum gangplank squeaks and creaks into place, bridging the boat deck to the landing as The Lady’s passengers tromp across its grated metal in waffle-soled hiking boots.Continue reading… "Hiking Naked"
First she was Steamboat Pottery. Then Redwing Pottery. Now it’s just Nancy Bingham and a business card with a graphic of a pair of hands. A potter for forty of her fifty-eight years, Nancy says, “My hands are my best sense organ. I feel an amazing amount of stuff. I live in my hands.”Continue reading… "Living in Her Hands"
All of the pieces in this issue of SHARK REEF are from the members of one long-standing writing group on Lopez Island. We are honored to have been invited to share our work in this publication. We admit to having “connections.” Two of our members, Lorna Reese and Leta Currie Marshall, have been among the steadfast leaders of the Lopez Writers’ Guild as well as the founding editors of SHARK REEF. But over the past seven years, we’ve proven ourselves to be worthy of this recognition. All of us have been published, and several of us have rejection letters from some very fine publications.Continue reading… "One writing group"
Plans for a March vacation in Mexico, and the recognition that my 10-year-old bathing suit is well past its prime, compelled me to go shopping for a new swimsuit. In the middle of January. This is a shopping trip I’ve never enjoyed, even when I was thirty years younger and weighed twenty-five pounds less.Continue reading… "How to Buy a Bathing Suit"
Recently I received my membership card for the Pacific Northwest Writers Association. The next day I deleted my name from a listserve for the state public health association. One rite of passage followed another as I make a living as a nurse, writer, and artist – a balancing act I’ve been refining for nearly ten years.Continue reading… "Balancing Act"
Every time I sing that folk song, I think of the Stehekin River, formed by glaciers of the North Cascades and flowing into Lake Chelan in North Central Washington. That old river changed dramatically during our second winter living on its banks, and the “Flood of ’95” left its mark on me.Continue reading… "Rolling Old River"
I was in a kayak September 11, paddling in the serene waters of Puget Sound with my husband and four friends. Just before launching our boats, a friend called with news of the plane crashes at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. We phoned family to reassure and be reassured that everyone was where they were supposed to be.Continue reading… "In the Wake of September 11"