The Mystery of Massacre Bay

I just got back from Orcas Island with three of my closest friends. We had a marvelous time, tide pooling, spotting otters and blue jays, obsessing over the vivid purple and orange starfish we spied everywhere, hot-tubbing, and willingly falling into carb comas. Jared and I rowed across Massacre Bay to a deserted island we dubbed Skull Island. We roamed all over it, and I channeled my inner Nancy Drew when I found a bit of cloth rolled up in a tree with the cryptic message, "Go to the hobo shack." Let me tell you, Jared and I investigated that island and there was no hobo shack. We were duped!

I didn't mind. As soon as Jared rowed me back to our happily situated rental cottage, Sacha and I drove into town for the farmers' market, where I bought a natural headache remedy, a t-shirt, and some strange but delicious-looking vegetables (lemon cucumbers?). We snacked on fried oysters.

I was in heaven. When we got back to Blackberry Cottage, Alison and I jumped in the hot tub, which overlooked the bay. Later, after dinner and a viewing of Heathers, Jared and I stargazed from the dock, our bellies full of grilled salmon.

Bliss.

I love to be a Backcountry Betty and a Prairie Girl every chance I get and this week allowed me to be a bit of both. I eschewed the makeup, embraced fleece and a bare face, built a fire, talked with locals, looked for wildlife, and learned to love the silence. And I completely forgot about Rock of Love, Britney's meltdown, and things that don't matter.

When I got back to the mainland, I was reminded of it all. But I have the memories of peace, laughter, food, and otters to counteract the white noise. Never underestimate the power of an otter.