While the plane gets worked on by Ephraim, I am staying at my Dad’s. He lives on a “gentleman” farm that borders Canada. It is stunningly beautiful here. His back porch looks straight at Mount Baker and his front porch overlooks the Nooksak valley.

Living with Dad has been quite easy. He has his daily routine that gives him comfort, and, I would argue, joy. His day starts with a coffee session with a group of men at a gas station. He then, a couple of days per week, plays pool with a different group of guys. He attends to chores almost every day – mowing hay for a neighbor or mowing his own grass. He spends an hour a day reading, (a routine I admire and want to adopt), then he has dinner, watches some TV (mostly PBS) and then turns in early.

Work is part of who he is. Although he retired from building homes more than 35 years ago, he has had several “retirement” careers since. He owned a number of mini-storage properties for many years, and now he funds and builds homes in the local vicinity. For the home building he just writes checks. Seems like the perfect way to make some extra cash.

Dad let’s me store my stuff in his big “pole building” garage, and I have the upstairs of his house to myself. He cleared out a cabinet and a drawer in the kitchen for my stuff. It’s quite comfy.

I try to stay out of his way and also provide some company to him. He has lived alone a long time and when I first arrived he asked that I “not try to change” him. No problem. I am the guest, it’s his space and his life. I am grateful to him for allowing me to stay.

We ususally connect first thing in the morning before he goes to coffee. We talk about what happened yesterday and what is planned for tomorrow. I try to keep him posted on my comings and goings.

Living with my Dad is a gift. I have not lived with, or even near him, since I was 18 years old. He is now 85, I am now 60. I know I will treasure our time together for many years to come. Another special part of my journey.