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Morris Graves introduced Xenia and me to a
miniature island in Puget Sound at Deception
Pass. To get there we traveled from
Seattle about seventy-five miles north and west
to Anacortes Island, then south to the
Pass, where we parked. We walked
along a rocky beach and then across a sandy
stretch that was passable only at low tide to
another island, continuing through some
luxuriant woods up a hill where now and
then we had views of the surrounding waters and
distant islands, until finally we came to
a small footbridge that led to our destination
— an island no larger than, say, a
modest home. This island was carpeted
with flowers and was so situated that all of
Deception Pass was visible from it, just
as though we were in the best seats of an
intimate theatre. While we were
lying there on that bed of flowers,
some other people came across the footbridge.
One of them said to another,
“You come all this way and then
when you get here there’s nothing to see.”
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