Tag Archives: Pacific Northwest

Super moonrise

I had other plans for today’s post, but I had a surprise on Saturday evening that changed all of that. I spent the day on the Oregon coast, and arrived on the home stretch just as the last light was fading. As I neared the Nisqually Delta, I looked east out of habit, where I knew I’d see Mt. Rainier above the ridge. The moon was just on its way up, but this time it was no ordinary moonrise. The full moon that night was a supermoon—where the full moon coincides with the point on its orbit where it is closest to Earth.

The result was jaw-dropping—I had just enough time and presence of mind to take the next exit, head to the nearest uphill spot, pull over, and jot down a quick sketch with my pencil. When I got home (and had access to a proper lamp!), I filled in the color.

It’ll never match what I saw that night. But at the very least, it’ll always remind me of the moment—and how lucky I was to be able to witness it.

Pink pachyderm

If the Yoken’s whale is the queen of the east coast’s Route 1, then the Elephant Carwash sign surely must rule Highway 99 in the west. The restaurant inside the Space Needle can eat its heart out—this jumbo gal is my favorite spinning landmark in the Emerald City.

Okey-dokey, artichokey

Now, I know these might not exactly be roses by another name, but I didn’t have to travel far or wide to see them: these artichokes are my favorite thing in my next-door neighbor’s garden.

Turns out she grows them as ornamentals, as she’s not a big fan of eating them. So thanks to her, I got to see them bloom for the first time.

Now, just about the only thing that would make those next-door artichokes better is if they were fifteen feet tall…. Just sayin’.

Coming up roses

Drawing super-complex things like rose gardens always breaks my brain a little. I start out with good intentions, attracted by the detail in every petal and the stunning colors of all the rose varieties. But every time I look down at my page and back up again, I lose track of where I was. Then I kind of throw up my hands, and suddenly everything becomes a mess of color blotches. But that’s okay—because when I go and look at the sketch later, my memory of actually standing among all those real roses is crystal clear.

Catch of the day

A June day at Alki doesn’t tend to provide the summer warmth you might find at a beach outside of the Northwest—but even in the chilly overcast air, there’s nothing better or more summery than a basket of fried clams and hot chips.

Blue, and gray, and green

It always amazes me how different the ocean can be, depending on what the sky is doing. I did the California sketch in the winter, and the Washington one at midsummer, and it seems like the seasons are reversed.

Perfect panorama

For the many days of the year, these mountains are invisible. If you showed up in western Washington in November, you might not even know we had mountains here. Our rainy Northwest climate makes these peaks disappear into the clouds on most days—even, sometimes, when you’re right there, standing amongst them.

Not in the summertime, though. The best thing about the Northwest is that in the summer, the clouds disappear for months on end—and nearly every day we’re treated to crystal-clear views and flawless blue skies.

Quick Draw McGraw

What can I say? Sign says “Draw,” I reach for my pen.

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Perennial pagoda

This Sunday my town is celebrating the 100th anniversary of the pagoda at Point Defiance Park. Originally a streetcar station, the building features an Arts & Crafts design, Japanese-style roof and Welsh ceramic roof tiles. A teenage arsonist nearly destroyed the structure in 2011, but the subsequent restoration brought back several of the original features that had been remodeled away over the years. The restored pagoda looks better than ever, and just in time—since it was just added to the National Historic Register.

So you can bet I’ll be there on Sunday, raising a toast to the next hundred years.

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Ghost lodging

The Panama Hotel was the centerpiece of Seattle’s once-thriving Japanese community, until every one of the neighborhood’s residents was rounded up and imprisoned during World War II. Many stowed their personal belongings in the basement of the Panama for safekeeping—and never came back to claim them. The few who did return after the war found their homes and businesses had been sold out from under them. Japantown was finished.

To this day, the hotel is still stuffed with personal effects and artifacts from the war era. The Panama is now part hotel, part museum, part tea house. I sketched in the warm light of the front windows this week, trying to capture a sense of what Japantown must have felt like so many decades ago. But all I found was an overwhelming feeling of what has been lost to Seattle—and what will never return.