Cloth Diapers and Hitchhikers;

The smoky, peppery smell of bacon fills the air as oil festively crackles underneath the marbled slivers of soon to be crumbled pork rubies. A bowl of freshly shredded smoked cheddar cheese sits next to me, almost as eager as I am to be united with it's salty counterpart in their homemade buttermilk biscuit honeymoon suite. I realize, standing here at our quaint little island, making breakfast for my small and growing family, that this, to me, is happiness.

 We have just under five weeks until Olivia's due date and I couldn't be more excited. It seems that everything is lining up just how it should. It's a gorgeous sunny Saturday, and I am perfectly content in our cozy living room, the dew still shining in my hair from a refreshingly cool shower and the happy jingling sounds of our cats softly dancing around the living room.

I keep waiting for that nesting instinct to kick in, because Olivia's room is splattered with baby shower gifts and random things that I have purchased from babysteals (a wonderfully evil site for moms). I think my first step in cleaning her room will be to wash the cloth diapers I've accumulated. I've been looking at cloth wipes recently, and had no idea how many different kinds were out there. I've settled on using etsy, as the prices are reasonable and I can freely communicate with the woman selling them. It struck me last night, when I was looking at the different patterns, that it really didn't matter if there were large pink flowers or chubby little bumble bees, because I was going to be using them to wipe poop from Olivia's butt. Also, knowing me, I would always try to save my favorite ones for last and they would never get used, which defeats the purpose entirely.

Michael and I had quite an interesting day yesterday. Early in the afternoon, we decided to bring up a map of Alaska and pick a destination for a road trip. We chose Hope, a town with one restaurant and a population of 137. On the drive South to Hope, a man with fiery red hair and a rugged brown leather coat was standing on the side of the road, his thumb strongly in the air. "What do you think?" Michael inquired. "Yeah," I responded, giving my shoulders a little "why not?" shrug. We stopped the car, and the man jogged towards us, his whale tooth beaded necklace bouncing enthusiastically off of his worn clothes. He entered the car and introduced himself as Andrew, a fisherman who was traveling from Canada to somewhere near Homer to visit his two daughters.

I pulled out my phone to take a picture, just in case, but realized that that would probably be a little obvious. Instead, I opted for a voice memo. If anything were to happen, the police would have his voice and the personal details I made sure to ask him. It was a bright day with lots of traffic and I knew nothing bad was going to happen, but I can't help it if I've seen too many episodes of CSI for my own good!

He made friendly conversation for the 40-something miles we rode with him, his life stories full of entertaining holes, as if he wasn't quite sure, himself, what he was really talking about. "What time is it?" he asked. "Just about two o'clock," I replied. He mumbled something about the low tide and four hours. We dropped him off and made our way to Hope. It was a very pretty drive, as this time of the year is the most beautiful with all the changing colors and cool breezes that warrant a light jacket and scarf. Historic Downtown Hope was a small loop that contained a library/gift shop/coffee stand, closed for the season, and an ice cream shop, also closed for the season. We stopped in the only restaurant, Tito's Discovery Cafe, and had a late lunch before venturing off into the wilderness that surrounded this small town.

We drove out to Resurrection Pass, a hiking trail, and walked out a little on that. The path was spotted with horse droppings, but the trail was magically beautiful nonetheless. We turned around, as it was getting late, and made our way back to the car, deciding that next summer would be a good time to come back and enjoy more of the camping/hiking Hope has to offer.

Driving back to Anchorage, Michael laughed and said something about how our guest maybe wasn't completely full of crap after all---the tide was high and it was just turning six o'clock. "What an interesting day," I said aloud. He nodded in agreement and kept singing to the song drifting out of the speakers.