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Category: Writings

No Sailboat? No Problem!

Published April 26, 2018 by Jourdan

*Originally published in the September 2014 Freshwater News*

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day on the Columbia River. The sun was shining and the wind was picking up little tufts on the water’s surface. I was about to have my first ride on a large sailboat, a Hunter 28.5 to be exact. There was quite a bit of hustle and bustle as we set to work preparing this large vessel. Winches were winched, sails were raised, bumpers were pulled in, and we set our course to sail the Columbia. We were in fact only one sailboat of many out on the Columbia that day, just one part of a majestic flock. Once we had settled into a calm glide down the river it was easy to see the comfortable camaraderie between the sailors on board. You wouldn’t even know that the majority of sailors had only met each other that day. Each sailor had their own unique story behind how they discovered sailing. It seems that sailing, like many hobbies, attracts people from all walks of life.

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The Plover – Book Review

Published September 22, 2015 by Jourdan

5/5 Stars

 

The Plover by Brian Doyle is a unique kind of book. If you liked Mink River, this book is even better. Reading The Plover is kind of like having someone quietly whisper to your soul. Doyle writes with a stream-of-thought style, which makes you feel that you’re floating along with a vibrant and tangible dream, the best kind of dream, where you know if you try hard enough you can make yourself fly. This is one of those books that perfectly encapsulates why I love to read. It is a friendly voice who invites himself into your brain. You offer him a seat in a comfy armchair and bring him a warm cup of coffee in exchange for his story. And when the story is done, he will have to leave, and tears will fall down your face, but he will say it is the way it has to be, the way it has always been, and he will kiss you on the forehead and remind you, that really, he is not so far away, and goodbye is never forever. After he is gone, you will see his coffee cup resting on the side table, with the faint, tan stain of his lips, and you will know that his gentle voice is still a quiet whisper in your brain, if you really listen.

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Sunrise Phoenix

Published April 10, 2015 by Jourdan

They say that phoenixes are born from the ashes of their own death. That they start anew from the remains of what once was, are made stronger by the leftovers of the past. I wonder how they know when the time is right. Is it when they become too beaten down by life, burdened by the enormous weight of their current existence? Or is it because they have found the perfect moment, when the world is silent yet pulsing with energy, and they realize that forgiveness and new life can begin at this exact breathtaking moment.

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The Last Goodbye

Published January 15, 2014 by Jourdan

Emily sat on the edge of the chair, picking at the frayed seams in the leather.  She was thinking about the lake house, with its mint green walls, and the way the sun rippled across the surface of the water like tiny pools of glitter. She was remembering the sticky, sweet way the tar in the dock smelled in the midday heat and the delicious feel of the crisp breeze swirling across her sweat pricked skin. She was remembering Alex and the way he would wait perched on a sun warmed rock with his feet rustling the pebbles under the water, waiting for her to come running out the door. She was thinking of racing him to the end of the dock, the splash as he hit the surface and the feel of her toes curled against the edge of the warm, wet wood as she laughed at him for braving the cold water first.

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Our Hearts Beat Like Thunder

Published October 18, 2013 by Jourdan

No one is here but me and the summer thunderstorm raging outside my bedroom window. I touch the silver cross resting against my chest. When I close my eyes I can feel our hearts beat. I recall your laugh, warm like the summer wind, loud as the waves of the ocean. I remember burying my face in your shirt and crying because I was going to turn ten and I was never going to be in the single digits again. I remember when I brought my finger to you, swollen and purple, because I had wrapped the tag of my stuffed orca whale too tight around it. I remember screaming when you told me we had to cut it off. I thought you meant my finger. I remember you pinning me to the floor because you couldn’t reason with me and you needed to cut that tag off. Daughters never thank their mothers as much as they should.

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Jockeys

Published September 30, 2013 by Jourdan

Today is race day. The air is tense. You warm up your steed under the summer sun. Crisp, tight, controlled circles around the practice track.…

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