Wild Swimming in Seattle

My new passion started as a polar bear-style plunge, a quick dip in and out of the chilly sea near my home.

Inspired by a friend who was doing plunges and posting about it on FaceBook, I decided to join her in late January 2020. (I was also inspired by this lovely British film by Hannah Maia.)

When it's 47 degrees F° outside and the water is even colder, a plunge is an instant wake-up. I'M HERE, IT'S COLD, AND I MUST MOVE!

Despite the cold, I quickly got hooked on that bracing sense of exhilaration, that feeling that you've done something epic after swimming in the sea, even if just a few strokes.

The very first plunge. January 2020.

So I started going almost every week, and sometimes a good friend joined me. Despite wind and waves, we'd wade out to waist deep water, then plunge in and swim in a circle and back to shore. My very slender friend Maryann, who has much less natural insulation than I do, somehow managed to stay in longer every time.

Come March, when the world started going sideways and the pandemic lockdown started, this weekly ritual became even more important. It provided a sense of outdoors adventure and excitement when we were told stay home except for shopping for essentials. 

Last spring, these weekly plunges became a vestige of normalcy. On nice days, Maryann and I would sit on the beach (distanced) and enjoyed the warmth and sunshine before and after. Often we would stop and get hot tea and a scone afterwards at Miri's, the little cafe on the beach at Golden Gardens.

Surveying the sea, getting ready to swim

 A few times we went over to Lake Washington, which was somewhat warmer. In the summer, with swimming pools still closed, it was heavenly to swim, like really  swim, in the pleasantly cool lake.

 

 

As the year progressed, sometimes I'd miss a few weeks here and there, but getting back out there got my juices going again. Last summer, we went over to Bainbridge Island for a plunge, with a view back across to Seattle. I started shooting short little videos that I dropped on YouTube (Bainbridge below):

 

 

Earlier this year, after noticing a big group of much more hard-core swimmers than us on the beach, we went up to ask them about how they do it. As we approached, I heard "Jill!" (my name). It was long-time neighbors who live across the street. 

 

They started a little after us last year, and their group has ballooned to sometimes 25 swimmers, real swimmers, most with wetsuits and floats, who swim for 30 minutes or more (see the video below).

 

 

So now I'm teetering on the verge of becoming a true open water swimmer. I'm slowly upping my time in the water each week. 

 

But it's still baby steps. An exception was a couple days ago, when I stayed in almost 15 minutes (video below). The infamous "heat dome" that lingered over the Pacific Northwest raised the Puget Sound water temperatures near the surface to well over 60 degrees (in the winter and spring, it's in the 40s).

While Seattle is known for having some world class open water swimmers, I'd like to up my game. Besides the challenge and camaraderie, "wild swimming" offers a host of health benefits.

So we'll see. It's still daunting and a bit scary to me. I don't aspire to swim across Puget Sound from, say, West Seattle to Bremerton like some do. But every increase brings a sense of accomplishment and, dare I say, well-being.

How about you? Have you done any serious open water swimming or even just plunges?

 

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.

 

 

Mourning the Loss of a Secret Garden

 

Last spring when I started walking more around my corner of northwest Seattle, I first noticed the sign in front of a lush wooded lot: 

"Notice of Proposed Land Use Action."

I've seen a lot of these signs around Seattle the last few years, as the city rezones single-family residential areas to allow multi-story, multi-family buildings. With our shortage of housing and the City's push to increase density, many homes with spacious, landscaped yards are being demolished and scraped bare to make room for big boxes.

This particular sign showed the whole south end of the block being torn down (three homes) and replaced with a multi-story building extending to the proposed sidewalk. There wasn't a tree in sight on the proposed development sketch.

My stomach churned in dismay at the impending loss of the gorgeously landscaped lot on one corner, where a charming small house with a Japanese flair sat surrounded by a variety of beautiful, vigorous trees and happy, healthy shrubs like rhododendron and Oregon grape.

With the pandemic lockdown, the plans hit pause, and I often walked past that home with an increasing appreciation for the time and care the owners took cultivating such a sweet woodland in a built-out neighborhood.

And so a year passed, with many trips walking past this treasure, and nothing happened.

Within the last few months, however, the sign finally came down and the house started to look uninhabited. A few plants and trees started to disappear, and the yard began to look less than its meticulously cared for best. 

A few weeks ago, after staying away for a few days, when I returned and saw the devastation, I was shocked. The huge laurel hedge and house at the west side of the block were demolished into a scorched earth war-like zone of dirt, jagged pieces of wood, and smashed bricks. The little Japanese house was also gone, with just a pile of rubble remaining.

But the woodland out front remained intact, for the moment. With the house gone, my walking partner and I scrambled over the bank and into an enchanted glen of native plants, shrubs, and lovely mixed trees.

I stepped into what felt like a secret garden, with native wood sorrel and delicate purple woodland violets scattered around carefully placed stones and the base of trees.

This little glen felt surprisingly private and rich, just across the street from a playfield. With sun filtering through the newly leafed out Japanese maples and evergreens, I breathed in the rich scent of mature forest.

My friend Lynette brought her clippers, and got some greenery for the beautiful wreaths she makes. I came back a day later (they weren't working the weekend there) with a few pots and trowel and dug up some wood sorrel and violets to take home, to spare them the crush of the tractors.

Before I stepped inside the glen, I paused and watched a hummingbird hovering and flitting around in there. As I stood in the glen, I found myself touching the trees, calling each one sister. It pained me to see such spring brilliance, with fresh shoots coming out of the evergreens, Japanese maple leaves unfurling, and lovely blossoms, knowing very soon their lives would be destroyed.

It brought back sorrowful feelings of a few months earlier, when I made the appointment for a vet to come to my home to put my Tashi cat to rest, although in that instance we were ending her suffering from end-stage kidney failure. She didn't know the fate that was soon to befall her.  In this instance, these trees were healthy and vibrant with the promise of spring, likely not cognizant of their impending demise.

I was dreading walking by and seeing all this gone, but each day for a week the glen remained intact. Maybe the developers saw the value in retaining these mature trees and a well-tended landscape; perhaps they would keep them as an asset to work into their development plans.

The next Monday I got a text from Lynette, telling me they had taken our garden. While I thought I couldn't bear to see it, I made myself walk over there to record what I saw, which was pretty darn sad. It made me feel numb.

I snapped a few shots and walked away. I haven't looked at it since. Fred, who tends the community garden across the street, said they found empty bird nests amidst the trashed landscape. No one in the neighborhood is happy about it.

I do realize the irony of this European American, whose nearby home sits on what was lush forest land not much more than a century ago, bemoaning the loss of a mid-20th century garden. My ancestors came to this area over 150 years ago and were likely involved in the massive destruction/filling of the tidal estuary between West Seattle and present-day downtown.

But still, trees are important for the health of our climate, our birds, our wildlife, and, yes, people. The City of Seattle has some tree protection ordinances, but nothing that would have saved this little lot. 

I think it's a shame. 

Shame on the City for not providing more oversight and regulations to save a wonderful woodland, however small, that provided valuable habitat for birds and such. Shame on the developers for not adjusting their plans, for not sacrificing a little $$ for the sake of saving a restorative woodland that would have been wonderful for the new residents and important for the birds who nested there. Shame on us all for allowing the continued loss of green space and trees in our city and region.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

Gnomes, Art, and Garden Treasures: Walking Seattle Neighborhoods

 

Since I've been walking my corner of Seattle much more in the last year, I'm discovering a whimsical side of my city.

Lately I've started approaching my walks as a treasure hunt. I look closely in yards and gardens I pass for the quirky, the art, and of course the ubiquitous gnomes. 

Seattleites love their gardens. With 75 percent of its residential land zoned for single-family homes (which BTW is now controversial with our growing population and affordability issues), there are a lot of sweet, tiny, and spacious yards to pass.

While some zoning is switching from single family to more dense development, with a loss of landscaping, plenty of yards and gardens persist, for now.

For starters, I'm seeing a lot more painted rocks, some with messages of encouragement, placed carefully in rockeries, parking strips, and even drainage swales.

And then there are little surprises sometimes when you look down at the ground.

Fence art and decorative gates are one of my favorite things to spot. I love that this niche is giving some artists work. The gorgeous sunflower gate below appears to be hand-carved.

One corner home/yard I passed last week was full of Easter eggs scattered about and hanging from trees, along with various other bits of garden art, like an old sink repurposed as a (dried up) frog pond. They even had a little machine set up on steps beside the sidewalk that pumps out bubbles as you pass by. 

I think I would like whomever lives there.

After gnomes and Buddhas, frogs (or toads?) are pretty popular, like this chill guy and the pensive one below. He called me to stop and contemplate for a moment.

And yes, the gnomes. They call a bunch of crows a murder of crows. Do you know what a group of gnomes is called? (I don't, but I could easily make something up. A gaggle? A nonsense? Ah, some commenters below says it's a donsey of gnomes).

My personal taste trends toward the Asian, which I find charming, a bit mysterious, and serene.

My Buddha, created by a Zen Master

This unique sculpture caught my eye yesterday. It looks like these three fish are swimming toward Puget Sound from up on the side of a modern box-style home.

While the rush is on here to convert smaller houses with bigger yards to tear-down/rebuild big box houses (or apartments) with very little yard, I value the green spaces, the messy yards, the tidy yards, and the shrubs and trees that provide habitat for birds and urban wildlife. 

And I especially appreciate those who take the care and time to add their own quirky, artistic touches to their landscape. I think I need to start looking for a home gnome to stash in my yard.

Not my gnome.

How about you? Do you have a yard with any unique art? Any gnomes or toads or decorative touches? Would love to hear in a comment below!

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

The Covid Food Chronicles

Over a year has passed now since the first Covid-19 case was detected in my state (Washington), which was also the first recorded in the United States. I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten a meal inside a restaurant since March 12, 2020.

There's been a lot of cooking going on. 

I've also gotten numerous takeout meals to support some of my local, independent cafes, bakeshops, and restaurants as best I can. But the cooking has increased.

I know that I'm fortunate to have a home and enough money to eat healthfully and well, albeit not extravagantly. I recognized in my impoverished, liberal arts graduate twenties that one didn't need to be wealthy to eat just as well as someone of great affluence. (Can you say fresh from the garden? Or my friend Becky's caramel chocolate brownies?)

Initially, everything was closed during the first lockdown last March, with no takeout food at all. Out came my cookbooks, and I tried a classic Better Homes & Gardens American comfort food dish: tuna noodle casserole. I did what I could to lighten it up a bit (low-fat milk, less cheese, more veggies). 

My friend Matt, who was parked in my guest room for the first 3 months of the pandemic, raved about it, so it was a repeat dish. 

Since no bakeries were open and I was cooking for someone else much taller and hungrier, I tried baking my "Mock Croc" spicy chocolate chip cookies. Given that my oven only had one setting (way too hot) before it died in May, I was lucky to not burn every cookie.They tasted better than they looked.

Since then, the bakeshops/bakeries reopened for takeout. I've left most of the baking to the pros except for the huckleberry galette I made from berries I picked in the mountains last fall.

While cooking for two, I cooked more elaborate dishes than I normally would. This roasted chicken (from local Stokesberry Sustainable Farms) for Easter Sunday was as good as anything at a fancy restaurant, IMHO.

And stewed spring rhubarb with yogurt and homemade granola was my staple breakfast for over a month.

For the first few months of the pandemic, our farmers markets were not allowed to open here in Seattle. Some farmers came anyway and set up stalls on the street, so I snuck out there too to buy spring local veggies. By summer the farmers markets were able to reopen. I feel safer shopping outdoors and supporting our local farmers anyway.

With the months-long closure of Golden Gardens Park last spring, food vendor Miri's, a tiny cafe in the park's historic bathhouse, lost most of their business, so I've ordered their home delivery. They offer excellent Mediterranean fare and mini Dutch pancakes called poffertjes.

In late spring and summer, my vegetable garden kicked into full gear. (Last year more people took up gardening since most of us stuck closer to home. Did you?) 

There's nothing quite so splendid to eat as a salad or veggies freshly harvested from your own garden. Here west of the Cascade Mountains, we do battle with slugs and snails who also love the fresh greens, but still, we manage.

 

By late June, my raspberries began bursting out a bumper crop. There's really nothing as splendid as eating freshly picked raspberries. Besides plucking and eating them to excess, I made freezer jam and froze several bags to use for smoothies.

Later in the summer, a few heads of cabbage in my garden survived the relentless attack of the slugs. Smaller heads of just-harvested cabbage are surprisingly tender.

Spring and summer were about the garden, but with fall came soup season. I could live on salad and good, flavorful soup. I have a rotation of soup recipes, and added a few this past year. A lemony split pea (below) is a new favorite.

And it hasn't been all garden fresh and homemade. A classic Seattle burger chain is  just 2.5 blocks from my home, the closest place to get food. A couple times in the last year I've gotten their so-so cheeseburger and locally made ice cream scoops (maple walnut is my fave). (We all indulge sometimes, right? No?)

During the dark winter months, my afternoon ritual of fika has become increasingly important to me. Perhaps because of my Scandinavian ancestry, I've embraced this Swedish tradition, loosely defined as a coffee and cake break (for me tea and a cookie).

I suspect the pandemic plays a role in my need for this ritual, but these 10 minutes or so each afternoon while I sip fine tea out of my grandmother's china and nibble a baked treat are a balm, a mini-vacation from the day's stresses. I blend silver and jasmine pearl teas in a teapot and then reheat the cookie (usually a buckwheat fig bar, but in the shot above a madeleine) to just crispy. 

There have been hits and misses as I work my way through new recipes and revive old favorites. I've rediscovered old cookbooks I stopped using years ago. I've gotten a few new ones. 

Some sources I've used a lot are Deborah Madison's cookbooks (mostly vegetarian classics), Danielle Walker's Eat What You Love (paleo forward), Terry Walter's Clean Food books, farm-to-table Dishing up the Dirt by farmer Andrea Bemis, the 1980s classic Silver Palate by Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso, and various magazines like Eating Well and Bon Appetit.  Plus numerous websites.

 I didn't get on the sourdough baking bandwagon that was a craze early in the pandemic. But I've expanded my repertoire, saved $$ on eating out, occasionally indulged in too many sweets, eaten healthfully, and generally enjoyed eating better.

How about you? Have you been cooking more the last year? Trying new foods? Would love to hear in a comment below!

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.