We idle in our vehicle and wait for the ferry line to load. Through our lowered windows we hear the calls of gulls amidst drizzle in the morning air. As we drive onto the hulking ferry boat, I’m reminded of similar childhood ferry rides from the Houston heat to visit my grandmother in Galveston: the slow drive up, the gentle rock of the boat, the constant loud hum and growl of a powerful boat engine. The main difference is we are not in Texas; we are across the country in Washington State, taking the Edmonds-Kingston ferry across the Puget Sound.
The heavy morning fog obscures the land and makes it seem like we are the only people in the world. I climb the stairs to the observation deck and walk into a brisk and insistent wind and am grateful for my jacket. I pause at the rail, observe, and enjoy the array of silvers and grays that make up the landscape. Our day will take us to see history, brilliant flora, and local art, but I enjoy this time, this simple experience. This small piece of our travel becomes its own distinct memory.
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