Tiny Timber

I'm not talking about sticks. But I could. Sticks are interesting. But thats a story for another day. After our ramble through the town of Vernonia, the place I wanted to live forever and ever, I found a speck on the map not far off that I just had to see. A speck called Timber. And we would have missed Timber entirely when after climbing a few switchbacks we breezed past the towns only business, the U.S. Post office.

We turned around and soon found ourselves peering through the windows at probably not more than 50 or so brass boxes that represented the little over 100 inhabitants of the town of Timber. I admired the utility of the hand picked narrow tree that was the flag pole, painted white, the worn red benches and blue trim of the solid wood framed building.

And that was ALL of Timber that we could see, except for this humble abode in the woods.

There's a myriad of paint colors one can choose from, but none can compare with the variegated shades of natural weathered shingles.

And one chilly autumn morning coming soon, the view from the narrow window of this humble home will be spectacular.

But now we're home and I'm ruminating on happenings in my own neck of the woods. And hopefully I'll share about things a little more interesting than sticks. Maybe.