Copyright 2006 Lydia HinshawJOYCE, WA -- Here at In the Wind, we never let chronology get in the way of a good story, especially since we're aware of the computer gymnastics necessary to rearrange the order of these blog entries.
I thought Prince Charming had already told you about this cabin, since he liked it so much. But now I find out he didn't write anything about it, so I'm playing catch up.
Anyhow, this cabin, where we stayed the night of Oct. 1, is called Barnacle Hill. It's part of an RV park/campground/cabin resort overlooking the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the north coast of Washington's Olympic Peninsula.
The view was great. The sound of the surf made for wonderful sleeping. Otherwise, it was very 19th century. The lighting was by kerosene and propane. In other words, no one over the age of 50 can read after dark.
The Prince didn't quite know how to light the propane lamp. Fortunately, the explosion was not serious enough to damage anything but our nerves.
The heat came from a wood stove, which also heated water for the shower. Yes, incredibly, it had indoor plumbing, though the bathroom was cramped and barely lighted at all.
Once the Prince got a look at the place, he absolutely had to stay here. He was thrilled to have the opportunity to build a fire in a wood stove, and even to split some logs with an axe.
I am uncomfortable when the Prince plays with sharp toys, but he managed to miss all body parts. This time.
We were a long way from any open restaurants on this Sunday evening, so we made a dinner of nachos, pepperoni, a few bites of sandwich leftovers from lunch and a couple of diet sodas.
Then we curled up in sleeping bags (the cabin came with beds but no linens,) and went to sleep.
The place looked much better in the morning, but I was still glad the Prince didn't insist on another night.
I thought Prince Charming had already told you about this cabin, since he liked it so much. But now I find out he didn't write anything about it, so I'm playing catch up.
Anyhow, this cabin, where we stayed the night of Oct. 1, is called Barnacle Hill. It's part of an RV park/campground/cabin resort overlooking the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the north coast of Washington's Olympic Peninsula.
The view was great. The sound of the surf made for wonderful sleeping. Otherwise, it was very 19th century. The lighting was by kerosene and propane. In other words, no one over the age of 50 can read after dark.
The Prince didn't quite know how to light the propane lamp. Fortunately, the explosion was not serious enough to damage anything but our nerves.
The heat came from a wood stove, which also heated water for the shower. Yes, incredibly, it had indoor plumbing, though the bathroom was cramped and barely lighted at all.
Once the Prince got a look at the place, he absolutely had to stay here. He was thrilled to have the opportunity to build a fire in a wood stove, and even to split some logs with an axe.
I am uncomfortable when the Prince plays with sharp toys, but he managed to miss all body parts. This time.
We were a long way from any open restaurants on this Sunday evening, so we made a dinner of nachos, pepperoni, a few bites of sandwich leftovers from lunch and a couple of diet sodas.
Then we curled up in sleeping bags (the cabin came with beds but no linens,) and went to sleep.
The place looked much better in the morning, but I was still glad the Prince didn't insist on another night.
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