"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible." ~ T. E. Lawrence
We had some much beloved family come from out of town for my grandma’s wedding last weekend. They were all from California and Mexico so the verdant sogginess of Washington was quite the change for them. My poor tios (uncles) didn’t take off their sweaters once in the whole week they were visiting!
Conversely, my lovely mama was also in town from Alaska and basking in the relative warmth of 65 degrees. She wore sundresses while she was here.
On Saturday, my mom and I took my great-uncles out for breakfast at one of my favorite spots: Avenue Bread. We ordered what I consider to be the best breakfast sandwiches in town and some equally amazing hot coffee to wash them down.
Then it was off to the Farmer’s Market to give them a real taste of Bellingham (and because I needed to buy coffee beans). Local vendors were selling their wares, colorfully dressed performers were drawing crowds of onlookers, the smells of curry, barbecue, and pasta wafted in the air, all to the tune of guitars and vocals throughout the market square. It reminds me of another time and place – in the oldest traditions of bazaars and market places. I see these markets all over the world and they’re striking similar so that each time it feels familiar. Like home, like the Bellingham Farmer’s Market.
We met more of our family at the market and shared a quick meal from a food vendor. And we were off again! This time to Whatcom Falls Park. The uncles needed to get a taste of Washington’s natural beauty and they would find it in spades. My grandma and her new husband met us at the park along with uncles, aunts, and so many cousins.
A paved trail lead us through the forest of mossy trees, down to a stone bridge. Rushing water and the unmistakable sound of the falls reached us. From the bridge we could see Whatcom creek gracefully plummet over an edge sending tiny droplets into a spray of melodious tinkling and crashing. My uncles kept commenting on the abundant moss, the greenery. And the younger cousins scurried after each other under logs and over bushes. We walked along the trail to it’s end at the other side of the park where more falls could be seen. There were at least 20 of us laughing, visiting, reminiscing and taking photos to capture these rare moments.
And capture them, we did!