Tag Archives: islands

Faux farm

You know I have a real thing for farms—as evidenced by all the sketches that have cropped up here (no pun intended) so far. But I also have a fascination with fake farms—you know, the odd sort of agricultural replica that you sometimes see at museums, tourist traps, or—as in the case above—private property.

I love them because just like any roadside attraction, they range from the hokey to the poetic, with every variation in between. Just like the sort of thing you might find at Wall Drug, you get a scrubbed, glorified, romantic version of farm life—without having to muck out any stalls, fight brush fires or take out crop insurance. Yet both the places themselves and their visitors (including little ol’ me) are remarkably earnest in their enthusiasm.

This replica barn, with its replica mural and (probably) eBay-acquired vintage feed plaques, is much more than lawn decor—it’s a careful homage to the agricultural history of the entire island. While most of Vashon is still rural and dotted with farmland, you’re more likely to find beach homes than egg cooperatives these days. So while I’d still rather have the real thing, I’m glad, at least, that somebody wants us to remember how things used to be.

Island haven

I did this sketch on a Friday afternoon last year, having escaped after an insane week of deadlines and project-juggling. Here I am on a similar Friday, and the thought of spending the afternoon in the sun, on an island, staring out over pristine blue water with just the breeze and the sparrows for company—well, it sounds pretty darn perfect to me.

Now where’s that ferry schedule…

Stay away, Paul

You know, as much I love Paul Bunyan and his mighty axe, I’m breathing a sigh of relief that he and his ilk haven’t gotten to every bit of forest on the continent. Because far better than any lumberjack (even a mythical one) is a patch of virgin, old growth forest. Thankfully, the only folks you’ll see among these towering douglas firs and red cedars are fellow tourists—carrying camera tripods instead of axes.

Calligraphic cobblestones

Roche Harbor is a hidden little pocket on San Juan Island, with impeccably preserved turn-of-the-century buildings, picturesque lime kiln ruins, a pristine saltwater inlet, and wharf buildings that hearken back to some (perhaps slightly revisionist) halcyon era gone by. Yet I had to force myself to even look at those things, let alone sketch them—because I would have been perfectly content to spend all day staring down at my feet.

Edward Scissor-fins

The last post reminded me of another favorite whale effigy of mine: Victoria’s iconic topiary orcas. I only had a few minutes to spare for this sketch, because Don the talented gardener only needed that long to prune the thing. He finished before I did, and wandered over to to see what I was doing. Not only did we have a nice conversation, but he was also kind enough to identify all the plants for me (since that’s never been my strong point).

So wherever you are, Don, thanks for giving me a bit of your time—and for helping keep Victoria beautiful.

Island beacons

You already know I’ll drive hours and hours out of my way for roadside attractions, but I’ve also been known to make some ridiculous detours and extra-long pit stops for lighthouses. As a result, I have a lot of sketchbook drawings similar to this one. I could probably keep this blog going for half a year on lighthouses alone, but then you’d be well justified in jumping ship on me. So I had to make some tough choices this week. In the end, I let geography be my…er…guiding light (sorry): this week we’ll be making “stops” on the Atlantic coast, the Pacific coast, and right in between, on one of the Great Lakes.

I’ll start in the east today, with the only lighthouse that was guaranteed a spot this week. Maine’s Nubble Light has a special place in my heart because I used to come here with my grandfather, who loved lighthouses more than anyone I’ve ever known. He never seemed to mind the tourists that would descend here (or if he did, he never let me see it)—after all, the view is so spectacular it’s well worth braving a crowd.

Still, though, it’s even better if you can manage to have the place to yourself for a little while. On this day Cape Neddick played host to myself, the Tailor and my mother—and not a soul else.

Well…maybe one other soul—or at the very least, a memory. In a way, these sketches are a tribute to the man who gave me a love of lighthouses.

(Thanks, Gramps.)

Spindly spans

To continue this week’s bridge theme, let’s head north and check out a couple of Canadian feats of engineering. These two bridges have very little in common with one another—except that they both kind of gave me the heebie-jeebies.

I think the main thing was the sheer distances spanned here, by two relatively skinny structures. In the case of the Confederation Bridge that connects Prince Edward Island to the mainland, the span is eight miles long. That’s comparable to some of the wider stretches of salt water in Washington state, but thanks to the water depth here, you won’t find bridges like that around my neck of the woods. So even though the crossing to PEI took just a few minutes, it felt like traversing a little ocean.

And as for the world’s longest covered bridge? Well, now that was freaky. And creaky. And saggy. And rattly. And…well…long. It took me almost as long to walk across the Hartland Bridge and back as it did to drive the Confederation Bridge—plenty of time to freak out a little bit. (My fear of heights didn’t help, either.)

But you already know I have a major thing for covered bridges. Heck, I’d already crossed the entire province of New Brunswick just to see this one thing. This was definitely not the moment to chicken out.

Home sweet homes

You know how much I love drawing houses—and Prince Edward Island seemed to be the pretty-farmhouse capital of the world. There were so many, in fact, that it was hard not to spend my entire vacation sketching houses. So this was the only way I could think of to save room in my sketchbook for drawings of other things…

Above the clouds

One of my favorite things about living in the Northwest is how everything seems here seems to exist in its own microcosm. How you can be socked in a gray pall, nothing but pearly fog in every direction—unless you find a tall enough hill to climb. As you near the top, the light changes, sun filtering through in rays, until you reach the top—and find a whole different world waiting.

Time travel

Okay, I just have to say it: I usually have mixed feelings about historical reenactments—even the best ones. While I love the idea of immersing myself in a time and place, costumed interpreters (for all their talents and lovely enthusiasm) tend to bug the heck out of me. I don’t know what it is, but all my little tricks and skills for remaining inconspicuous while sketching just fly right out the window at these places. Without fail, the reenacters find me, notice me, and interact with me, when all I wanted to do was disappear and sketch. “Ah! Good lady! I see you are preparing an engraving—” Yeah, yeah. Whatever, that’s nice. If you need me, I’ll be hiding behind this here cannon.

For all my grumpiness (and, in this case, reluctance to reveal my paltry, rusty French), it’s awfully good fun to sketch in a place like that. And I think I may have found the solution to my interpreter-phobia: visit on a bitterly cold weekday, in the off-season, just after a big tour bus of cruise ship passengers leaves for the day.

And that’s how I got to have the entire, enormous village of Louisbourg to myself for a whole afternoon.

I was first drawn to Louisbourg (no pun intended) because I found out that this year marked the settlement’s 300th anniversary. As there aren’t too many places in our little New World that can boast that kind of longevity, it felt somehow important to take part in that, even in my small way.

But also, Louisbourg was incredibly out of the way for me on this trip—it required almost a full day’s diversion to get there and back. Its location on the remote Atlantic shore of Cape Breton made it truly feel like an outpost of civilization (which, of course, it was)—and that’s saying something, as I’d just come from the Cabot Trail. So getting there felt like an accomplishment, like I’d somehow earned a merit badge for my journey.

Either way, all my shyness aside, it felt like I’d had my own private, self-guided tour of the past—and that’s well worth a detour.