Shane Harms

Sunsets at Golden Gardens Park

The recent clear skies have left the Olympic Mountains and the wide expanse of Puget Sound totally exposed to the brilliant light of the sun at dusk. Here are a few photographs of the scene. Tonight's sunset is sure to produce more.

Care to share your own photos? Please send them to Shane Harms at

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At Large in Ballard: Homesteading

By Peggy Sturdivant

Last spring a local writer asked if there was a space in Ballard similar to Hugo House; a writer’s center on Capitol Hill that provides classes, workshops and overall support for writers. She also said, “If nothing exists, then maybe we can talk about creating such a thing?”

She has powerful ideas. A few months ago I saw a notice about a Hugo House writing class being offered by Ross McMeekin, a writer who happens to live in Ballard. The venue was listed as Ballard Homestead. Clever, I thought, assuming he was teaching in his home.

It was after I saw a second reference to Ballard Homestead that I realized it might not be McMeekin’s house. Then I progressed from research to shock in learning that a community venue curated by Abbey Arts was about to launch practically underneath my nose. The building belongs to the Church of Nazarene and it’s located on Jones Ave. NW just one block north of NW 65th. When I found it I just stood in front and gaped.

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Pat's View: “Walking the Walk”

By Pat Cashman

I was walking around a couple of days ago when someone shouted from over a block away. I turned and saw a distant figure waving wildly and running my way. It was an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. “Cashman!” he yelled, as he got closer. “I knew it was you! I’d recognize that dumb walk of yours anywhere!”

I too recognized him immediately. I’d know that tactless, insulting boor anywhere.
But he was right. I do have a bit of a dumb gait. It’s not quite similar to a chicken, but rather more like a duck.
My feet tend to flare out at slight angles when I stroll. If they were hands on a clock (or, in this case, feet on a clock) they’d point at ten o’clock and two o’clock. So I’m about twenty minutes short of a normal stride.

Worst of all, I’m also somewhat knock-kneed---which also affects my sauntering. As a kid, I didn’t know what ‘knock-kneed’ meant. Then I heard a comedian tell a joke on a TV show: “Yesterday I saw a knock-kneed woman telling a bow-legged man to go straight home.” The audience guffawed---but I didn’t get it.

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