Bellingham fell short in restaurant choices. This especially for Joan because she didn’t share my love for seafood. We found a decent Chinese place; we found a pretty good Mexican food place run by two charming Anglo ladies (who did better with tamales than with Manhattan cocktails). We found a red-sauce Italian place that wasn’t bad. We ate often at A&W Root Beer.

For me, with the fishing fleet at our doorstep, there was no shortage of culinary delights. I discovered the Dungeness crab. Some claim it to be the best in the world. As a lover of Chesapeake Bay Blue crab, I was ready to dispute this but, over time, came to accept that they may be right. During our second winter, knowing that we would move on, I vowed to eat 50 Dungeness crabs by springtime. It was not a good year for the crabbers; I only consumed 35.

At the marina I could get steamers (steamed clams), one of my favorite dishes. Joan would not eat clams; distained even looking at clams. She called them “boogers on the half-shell.”