When I agreed with Kathy to restart our blog with Project 365, I didn’t think she would be quite so … relentless about it.

My share of the project sounded like not such a big deal — just post a quick picture every other day — what could possibly go wrong?

I didn’t know there would be all kinds of rules.

Today is an odd-numbered day, so I’m responsible to uphold the sanctity of the Project. Never mind that I’m tired, and my bus was late, so I missed my train. Never mind that I spent all day in a 5th floor cubicle, and that I didn’t take any pictures today. Never mind that it is 10:40 pm, and I have to be up at 5:30 tomorrow morning.

“I’ll just use one of the great pictures I took yesterday,” I told Kathy, confidently. I took 87 pictures yesterday while we visited Mount Rainier for David’s birthday. A number of them were pretty darn good pictures, if I do say so myself.

“No, you can’t do that!” Kathy was aghast. “You have to take a picture today!”

“Since when?” I challenged, lamely.

“That’s what Project 365 means,” Kathy insisted, rather scornfully.

Fine. She doesn’t want one of my great pictures from yesterday, and hogged the day for her own pictures of that glorious mountain? I can roll with that.

This is the face of a man who forgot to take a picture today.

Today is also an historic moment in the life of our blog — with this blog we will exceed (in 2015) the number of postings from all of 2014, so some might say we have already succeeded in our effort to enhance our blog-writing.

It looks like it might be a pretty good year, for blog-writing.

Project 365, Day 48
Tim

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From March of 2000 until September of 2004, our family lived in a green house, tucked in a small clearing in the forest about two miles up the Duckabush valley. Although our time there ended in difficulty and sorrow, I still remember being astonished almost every day that we were allowed to live in such a beautiful place.

Our little green house in the forest — there was a family staying there, so I had to take my picture rather stealthily, so as not to disturb them.

Personally, I really liked living there. Now we reside in the suburbs, but there is a part of my heart that still yearns to wake up each morning in the Duckabush. There is something about the tranquility of the valley that seeps into my soul — I feel like I can let my breath out … all the way out, and really be at peace.

Unlike Boston, we’ve had very little snow, this winter — Mt. Jupiter is bare in February! Very unusual.

That isn’t hard to imagine on a day like today. As occasionally happens in February, we’re experiencing a warm and sunny spell these days, and the whole valley was flooded with golden sunshine and blue skies, promising that Spring will come soon. (Of course, such days of promise are lying through their metaphorical teeth — Spring in Washington means rain, and lots of it.)

I never get tired of taking pictures of the gold leaf Refuge sign at the top of the driveway.

There was a Counselors in Training (CIT) meeting this afternoon at Wilderness Northwest (WNW) and I was the designated adult driver for the Lakewood contingent (we brought ten kids out in two cars). The meeting lasted for about three hours this afternoon, so I had some time to kill. Unfortunately, I neglected to tell my parents I would be coming, so they were away for most of the afternoon. I only got a few minutes to visit with them, which seemed rather ironic, after such a long drive.

The main lodge of the Refuge — locked, so all my pictures today are of the outside.

So I spent the hours being reflective. I reflected on how beautiful the Refuge is, and how much I miss living in the valley. I reflected on God’s goodness to me over the years, and how my eyes delight to soak in the gold and brown and blue and green of God’s creation. And I reflected on how I really should have brought a book with me, or at least a laptop.

The view from our road — such a pretty blue sky — what a treat, in February!

Being reflective is good for me. It gives me the time I need to shake all the thoughts in my head so that they fall down into their proper places, sort of like one of those toys for toddlers with progressive-diameter sieves, so that different sized pieces can sort themselves into discrete layers by size.

Like this toy, my brain needs time (or some pretty brisk shaking) to properly sort its thoughts properly.

I admit, some of my thoughts get stuck in the wrong layer, and then the metaphor breaks down pretty quickly.

One of the little ‘camping cabins’ that my parents have added, to expand the capacity of The Refuge.

It was a lovely afternoon, and I was a more than a little sorry to dispel the peace of the day by piling back into the car with six teenagers for the drive home. But we sang and joked and wended our way back to Lakewood, where I am also very much at home. Maybe my heart can learn to live with two homes, and take joy in both.

Project 365, Day 46
Tim

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