Ooh, that smell...

Last week, Mrs. TSMK and I set about trying to find something unusual to do over the weekend. And so we began to look at local happenings.

Without question, the most intriguing local event was happening in the town of Everett – which is north of Seattle. For this weekend was the annual Everett Sausage Fest.

We haven’t been to this festival before, and Mrs. TSMK was intrigued. I was less excited about the opportunity. You see, I have something of a one-penis rule. And the fact that we have three sons and two male dogs would already seem to be something of a violation of that rule. No, indeed - unless and until I got additional information about precisely what kinds of activities might take place at the Sausage Fest I wasn’t prepared to attend.

Lacking that essential information, and given that our oldest boy has never met a tube meat he didn’t hate, we decided to pass on the occasion.

So, instead of heading east toward what I hoped would simply be bratwurst, we headed west. Specifically, this weekend we found ourselves in the small town of Sequim – which is located on the uppermost part of the Olympic peninsula.

Sequim has the unique feature of being in the rain shadow of the Olympic mountains, meaning that it is often a bright sunny spot in the middle of our typical mist and gloom.  Also, I'm told it is the lavender capital of North America.

This sunshine and feels good on your face. But it comes at a price – and that price is confusion. For if you wander into Sequim unprepared you may find yourself wondering if you’ve stepped into a time machine. “Sequim” is an English adaptation of a Klallam word.  I’m not sure of the exact translation – but believe it is something like: “Land of the Early Bird Special.” According to the 2000 census, the median age of residents is just under 60. And I’m here to tell you that it hasn’t gotten any younger in the last 10 years.

Now seeing as Mrs. TSMK and I grew up in Florida – we actually found Sequim’s demographics rather comforting. But the look on the face of our poor waitress at lunch suggested that not everyone shares that view. She was approximately 20 years old – and clearly the youngest person in the restaurant (apart from our three boys). And we were the youngest patrons by at least 30 years. As she moved from table to table in the restaurant, attempting to drown out the piped in elevator music versions of 1950s and 1960s pop music, the poor girl seemed like she was about to crack under the strain. She looked, in short, like someone who was praying for death.

But I digress.

We went to Sequim not to feel young. But rather to attend my first fiber arts festival. It was small, but very cool. I met a number of amazing knitters. And I walked away with some great additions to the stash – about 750 yards of some wonderful hand-painted laceweight alpaca and about 600 yards of locally produced wool from a Sequim sheep.

I did, however, pass on one particular offering.  I know that there are many who enjoy spinning chiengora.  And I too may give it a shot at some point.  But I draw the line at buying a bag of dog.

Now, to figure out what to do with the alpaca.  I may need to use some of that for a Christmas present...

~TSMK