I grew up in Northport, Washington, a little town on the Columbia River. My dad was the town marshal, though he also plowed the roads, fixed broken water pipes, and, for a while, drove a school bus. My mother managed our small family business, Lael’s Motel, baked the best cookies in the world, sewed our costumes for Halloween and my dresses for Easter, took my brother Jerry and I to Sunday school. Our sister, Sally, was born when I was nine and Jerry was seven, and eventually another sister arrived, Pamela Anne.
We were blessed to be brought up in that era.
If my memories weren’t so colorful and vivid, I’d say it was like living in a black-and-white version of “Little Beaver”.
