Hood Canal, Washington

Arriving in western Washington for the first time in a long time, I encountered a difficult situation. So someone drove me north on highway 101, along Hood Canal.

It was so beautiful as we passed the Skokomish Tribe, Potlatch State Park, Lilliwaup, and Brinnon. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. The water was calm.

This narrow highway is where logging trucks, fuel trucks, and other semi-trucks can rumble frighteningly by—reminding me of the importance of riding in a safe vehicle.

However, more than anything, Hood Canal holds really special memories.

When I was little, Hood Canal was where loving individuals greeted me with outstretched arms, wide grins that opened into joyful exclamations, as they eagerly crouched down for the biggest hugs.

They were gregarious displays of utter affection. I cannot adequately express how those focused actions made me feel so special in their eyes. I felt loved.

I was so excited to feel so loved. Of course, I felt shy at the same time. I truly hope they knew how grateful I was for those moments—for them—as I didn’t regularly see such unabashed love.

What a gift they gave, those actions of theirs.

To this day, just thinking of those moments allows me to feel love. Those individuals, nearly all of whom are no longer here, still make me feel loved.

Even thinking of their long dirt road, the bumpy rocks, tall trees swaying above, their tiny cabin on the rocky beach with clear blue water, and the sun beating down.

I still smell and feel all of this. I still smell and feel them.

I am beyond grateful for all of this.

This doesn’t mean their lives were perfect. Everyone has their trauma. Everyone is impacted by trauma differently. Not everyone had resources to heal.

This doesn’t mean any offspring had it easy. We all have our trauma. We are all impacted by trauma differently. Thank goodness we have more resources to heal.

But holding onto such a special place, those special moments—those special individual efforts. That carries me. Still.