Driving down the bluff above Homer at the end of the road. That long, dark bar jutting into the water is the Homer Spit. That is where I will catch the mail boat to Halibut Cove.
The Stormbird tied up to its home dock in Halibut Cove, taken last summer.
Also on board was the twice-weekly mail, a few passengers, and Clem, the patriarch of the Cove.
With the freight onboard, we left the harbor, passing by the rock breakwater and into open water. The steel-hulled vessel rolled through the swells of Kachemak Bay and almost an hour later, entered the protected waters of Halibut Cove. We slowed and passed the unique Saltry restaurant (closed for the winter when the population of the Cove often drops to less than two dozen, and tied up to Clem’s dock where the passengers and the mail off-loaded. I caught a ride on a skiff to my hosts’ dock. Waiting for me there was the electric golf cart so I could transfer my gear to the home I was house-sitting.
Jim and Jan were already gone when I reached their house. They had gone over to Homer that morning with the Stormbird. So, only Gerri was there to greet me when I arrived. She immediately set out to prove why I was really there, and it didn’t have anything at all to do with sitting a house.
I was there to open the door for Gerri. It didn’t matter what door, I was there to open it at her command. Just to make sure I remembered, she paused for a brief greeting, and then went to the front sliding door. I opened it.
She walked around to the side sliding door and meowed to come in. I opened that door.
Apparently satisfied that I correctly remembered my responsibilities and did not need remedial training, she jumped into her favorite chair, curled up in her bed and slept the rest of the afternoon and evening.
I had passed the acid test.