Dangerous Compassions

small craft advisory


“Hey, it’s supposed to rain all day!  There’s a small craft advisory!” I told Ming.  “It’s supposed to rain till 7!”

We are house sitting on the coast for a Quaker we previously didn’t know.  We’re caring for her gardens.

It’s so quiet and amazing here.  I slept great–I love it.

But I’m afraid Ming is going to get restless and depressed, living with just me for even ten days.  I’d love to be wrong about that.

“Seven pm?” Ming asked

“Yeah!” I said.  The rain prediction was making me happy.


“What does small craft advisory mean?” Ming asked.

“It means we’re advised to make small crafts!” I said.

He was in the kitchen, and I was back in the bedroom.  That was part of my enthusiastic yelling too.

Ming and I laughed.

“Yeah, you can make large crafts if you want,” I said.  “But small crafts are what they advise.”

Sounds like a good rainy day activity.  I’m thinking bridges made of popsicle sticks, bunnies made of cotton balls glued to paper, a tiny boat in a bottle.


Then I realized that my homeland includes a lot of shore.  Yes, I heard small craft advisories all my life, like when I went to school at UC Santa Barbara.  All my life until I moved inland to the Owens Valley.

Then in Las Vegas, I didn’t hear small craft advisories either.  So it’s sweet to be on the coast in Oregon, subject to that weather report portion again.


Game for quiet time away, I’ve been putting fliers around town offering house sitting, chicken sitting, cat sitting.  But this job I got more directly, through the Quaker email newsletter.

I read some newsletters almost compulsively.  This one’s weekly–not sure why I need to keep up with that one, but I’m glad I do.

This housesitting job is sort of like a free airbnb, but we get to care for their garden.  Win win!  Today it’s raining, so Parent Earth is watering itself.  But Ming will check the greenhouse.


Today we saw Thor’s Well.  I learned the plant salal.  The berries are edible.

We went to Yachats for the first time.  We saw a big, yellow banana slug.  I peed in a weird forest that Ming said looked wicked and inescapable.

“I escaped,” I said.

We tried to save some barnacles by putting them in a tidepool.  We talked about stuff that matters to us, and we got fries at a restaurant in Waldport.

I cooked government white beans in the crockpot.  We ate duck eggs from the farmstand Morning Glory.  We kissed and cuddled.  Ming blessed my tattoo with sea water.

I’m thinking about what we were doing this time last year, on our quest for home.  Feels healing or at least emotional.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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