Vagabond

Boarding the Fauntleroy Ferry. 

I love a good road trip, always have. The planning, the anticipation, the freedom, the pit-stops, the destination. It's all good.

Honestly, it hardly matters where I'm headed or how many nights (if any) are involved. As long as there's a journey, I'm down. I mean, come on - what's not to love?

Road Trip Breakdown:

~ You wake up early and pack the car. 

~ You drink coffee and forgo breakfast. Breakfast is for suckers.

~ You lock the door and pray to God your feline isn't hiding inside {and she usually is, having worked her way into some incomprehensible space the size of a matchbox car}.

~ You're off!

~ You fret about the feline and return to the house. And, yes, she is there, tucked under your bed, next to a bundle of big, grey, woolly socks, which is quite clever because she's always looked rather like winter wear anyway. 

~ You place both the feline and the socks outside, just to be sure.

~ You're off...again!

~ You swing through a drive-thru coffee stand and hit the interstate. 

~ You watch your city shrink in the rear view mirror, and you look ahead at the yellow lines that run on into infinity, into every unshaped adventure you've ever had the pleasure of imagining.

~ You narrow your eyes, grip the steering wheel, and slam your foot down on the accelerator. Just kidding. 

~ You set the speed control at seven over and Pandora to the Black Keys station. And you relish that giddy feeling that never ages, no matter how many years have crept up. 

Yes, it's a little romanticized - feline bit aside, of course, though that would also occur in my imagination because there's just no way out of that scenario.

Basically, I'm a closet vagabond - minus the shifty nature {at least I'd like to think so}. It's the grand romance of a road trip that gets me every time, the giddiness that I touched on before. That sweet, pure shot of life's goodness.

The Russian and Honeybee, cruising the Sound.

As a young family of five, we've had to find our own way of creating the road trip adventure. Because taking off for a week isn't usally an option, and sometimes you've only got a day to play with.

A day, seemingly short, can be packed to the brim with unexpected exploits. Thus, Family Adventure Day was born. And no, we don't shorten it to F.A.D. - all three words, please. 

Several times a year, we choose a random destination - usually within 100 miles of our home. I pack for every possibility {because we don't do much planning}, and we head out bright and early, not to return until bed time.

It's awesome. 

This last weekend Family Adventure Day took us to Vashon Island, a long, skinny strip of land in the southern end of our Puget Sound. 

KVI Beach, Vashon Island.

We hopped on a ferry, stopped at the local grocery store, and asked the clerk where he thought we ought to go. And so, we found our way to KVI Beach, which had the most beautiful stones and was a perfect place to eat lunch and watch tankers lumber along. 

Then we moved onto Maury Island, a small island connected to Vashon by an isthmus (narrow strip of land) that the locals built in 1913. 

We found the Point Robinson Lighthouse and beach, a long and curving shoreline littered with crab, clam, and mussel shells. Which led to several discussion about why we don't need to keep every special {read: stinky/partially living} treasure that we find on our travels.

And, true to Family Adventure Day form, our plans took an unexpected turn when an accident on the main road to the ferry terminal forced us to miss our boat and return to town. 

And since splitting the last beaten up banana just wasn't gonna cut it, and we were all hankering for pizza, we ended the day with some pretty great pies from Rock Island Pub & Pizza.

There you have it. One day, two islands. 

Yes, we slept in our own beds that night, and it's true that we never went anywhere near an interstate. 

But, still, I felt it - that giddiness. As we piled in the car, the feline glaring at us from our front deck, my inner vagabond let down her hair.