"SPIT" & POLISH. . . . . Blog # 13

   It is a little after 9 am, Sunday morning, at Homer Spit, Alaska. Sweet Lynda is getting ready for church. Shortly we are heading over to worship with the Nazarene congregation. A while ago I stepped over to the water's edge and wetted the toes of my shoes in the waters of  Kachemak Bay that surrounds this five mile long, skinny little strip of land. The sun is shining at the moment and the winds are calm. I try to take in the whole scene of the encompassing, snowcapped mountains and the charter fishing boats heading out into the waters for the day's catch. When they return in a few hours the Halibut and all will be strung up, photographed, and bragged over. The motorcoach is parked looking out at the bay, the mountains and the rocky beach. Several tenters are camped on the beach even though it has been very cold here. 

   I tell myself that I want to remember and be able to recall all of this at a future time. Of course, we will do that in some fashion or other through pictures. But really, it's a spiritual thing. I want to inhale deeply and do my best to absorb it in it's entirety into my heart and soul. I want to take it with me when we leave. I joyfully concur with the words of the Psalmist in chapter 103, "Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His hold name."

    Homer Spit is a crazy place: from the Salty Dog Saloon to the Spit Sisters Cafe, to the Spit Licks ice cream shop, to the numerous charter fishing outfits and the myriad restaurants and eatin' joints. Campgrounds and campsites litter the place. There are RV's of every era and kind. All are equal here. A few kids are around, but mostly older "hippies." Not that Lynda and I qualify for that designation, of course. Not often, anyway. One old couple camped across from us the past couple of nights in an old VW Microbus camper with a flip-up top. Neat!  Another couple, Bob & Mary,  from near Traverse City, Michigan, are pulling a very well preserved 1972 Holiday Rambler trailer. It looks like the one my folks pulled in the early seventies. In the wintertime, Bob & Mary, both several years older then me, drive big John Deere tractors grooming hundreds of miles of trails for various snowmobile groups. She fed us tasty lemon squares while we chatted for a spell.

    In this area float planes are parked at the docks. Class C rental motorhomes are virtually everywhere. In town there is a great True Value hardware store and Pharmacy combination, along with delightful bookstores and gift shops, as well as a couple of large ocean-going vessels anchored off shore. Yesterday we watched a sailing regatta on the bay in front of us. We are enjoying it all.  You might say we've been "Homer-ized."

   Traveling this way over the Sterling highway a few days ago, we became more acutely aware of the many, fast-moving rivers. They are everywhere. We had a late breakfast that day at the lovely and rustic Princess Lodge overlooking the Kenai river gorge. We parked along with many other rv'ers that night, in Fred Myers lot in Saldotna and then took our time cruising on down here to Homer alongside the breath-taking Cook Inlet. 

   From Louis L'Amour's "Lando".   These would be words from the book's main character, Orlando Sackett.

   "Odd thing, I'd never thought of my pa as a person. I expect a child rarely does think of his parents that way.  They are a father and mother, but nobody thinks of them as having hopes, dreams, ambitions and desires and loves. . . . I got to wondering if he ever doubted himself like I did, if he ever felt short of what he wished to be, if he ever longed for things beyond him that he couldn't quite put into words."

   Well, it's Sunday afternoon now. Lynda is working on a bit of lunch. She has taken a multitude of pictures.  We met for the first time three years ago tomorrow at the farm at Herrington Lake. Love at first sight? Pretty much. It didn't us long to discover that we cared for one another. And fortunately, the relationship continues to grow and prosper. We travel well and happily together. Tomorrow I'll take her out to dinner (the early-bird special), and tell her I love her for the umteenth time. Those are words we never tire of hearing from one another.

   On Tuesday we'll head out of here for other parts of this 49th state, but a chunk of my heart will remain at Homer Spit. I've eye-balled this little finger of land on the map for many years, wondering what it was like. Now I know.

Blessings. . . . . on the road with Winston & Lynda