That’s an adjective I love. It describes moments in life I most cherish. There are places, people and memories that feel absolutely timeless to me: Canyon Lodge, the turn of the century fishing lodge/club in the Agawa Canyon my parents lucked into. The Buckhorn, Bruce and Tiffany’s log cabin staring out over the islands and Mount Baker. Listening to Big 10 football in my neighbor Bill’s shop while he builds his next gorgeous wooden day sailer. Playing basketball on the dirt floor in the old white barn in Williamston where I grew up. Those moments are special. They are truly few, and often very far between. Years. But I hope to never forget them. They aren’t just good memories, they are memories that almost defy a temporal label. They could’ve existed or happend decades or even centuries ago. You are fully in the moment, and, for me, they are associated with places that don’t require electricity, like the top of a mountain or the ring of a campfire. They feel like the types of moments we have woven into our DNA over millenia.
The other night I was lucky enough to share one with my family and friends in the cockpit of Lyrae. One becalmed day Adam decided our journey needed to commemorated in a sea shanty. So mid-passage he got to work song writing. And of course Bruce can play anything on the guitar, so he whipped up a tune. For a good afternoon or two they were seen conspiring in the cockpit with pencils, a songbook and guitars. And so it was, after finishing our passage, feasting at a restaurant, and finally showering up, I found our myself in the cockpit, late at night, singing along with the first ever performance of “That Northwind Ain’t so Foul,” surrounded by my kids, my wife, and my best friends. All singing. Coral sang (no surprise). The girls sang. Sierra was loud. LJ harmonized (of course). Forrest sang proudly and laughed. Even Murray sang (this may be the first ever recording of Murray singing in his 50+ years of existence). And Bruce showed us a few of his hard earned magic tricks with knots that had the kids screaming “Again!” It was special. It was timeless. It was ours.
Years ago one of my best friends completed a truly epic journey, the type of accomplishment that, when done early in life, leaves one wondering if anything else can ever top it. I asked him recently why he hadn’t yet written a book. He answered with a wink: “who said I haven’t?” More seriously, he went on to say “maybe it’s ok to keep some things just for yourself. Just for the people that were there.” I’m starting to appreciate that, the specialness of some of these moments or adventures. It’s hard, maybe impossible to truly share them. I realize how confused this sounds as I sit here writing for a family blog. But also, maybe we’ll keep some things that are ours, just ours. They belong to the crew. They belong to the family. They belong to Lyrae. And they make us who we are.
Meet the Millers 