Ah, Kitsap County. A land of ferry boats, Puget Sound views, and, as I discovered with my crack marketing team from West Hills Autoplex, a surprising wealth of independent coffee shops. Our recent President's Day Sales Event had been a roaring success. The energy on the sales floor? Electric! So, to celebrate, we embarked on a caffeinated pilgrimage, a sort of moveable feast of java, if you will.
The FJ Cruiser, tangerine, a 2012 vintage, hunkered in the driveway, a squat, almost comical presence against the grey scrim of a Bremerton January. Not my driveway, precisely, but the one appended to the split-level I’ve temporarily colonized. The FJ, though, that’s mine. Acquired, a month back, from West Hills Autoplex, a name that resonates with a certain… optimism, a can-do Americanism that feels both quaint and vaguely cosmopolitan. They had a lot of cars, West Hills.
It's Friday night, cats and kittens, and yours truly is feelin' real gone daddy-o. Tonight's the night – date night! Now, I'm a family man, ya dig?
Ah, the Honda Element. A vehicle so thoughtfully designed for active lifestyles, it should have come with a lifetime supply of hiking boots and granola bars. For more than a decade and over 300,000 miles, my Element served as a trusty steed for countless adventures with my canine companions, Bruno and Matilda. With its boxy build and ingenious "double dutch doors" that opened wide to accommodate even the most enthusiastic doggy leaps, the Element was a masterpiece in ergonomic pet transport.
Let me tell you something, sunshine. This ain't California. Out here in the frozen boonies, winter seizes the land with a grip like a rabid wolverine on a keg of nitroglycerin. When the snow falls, it's not a magical Hallmark card, it's a relentless, white-knuckled throwdown between you and Mother Nature.
The Joys of Winter Frolicking (and Not Freezing My Biscuits Off) in Kitsap County
Now, I ain't one to shirk a little hard work, mind you. But when the wind howls like a banshee and the snow's piled higher than a stack of pancakes at a lumberjack breakfast, my enthusiasm for outdoor recreation tends to wane somethin' fierce. But then I remember the joys of winter frolicking in good ol' Kitsap County, and that roaring beast of a RAM 2500 sittin' proud in my driveway, and suddenly, I'm itching to get outside.
Bartholomew "Bart" Billingsworth, a six-year-old firecracker with a mop of unruly brown hair, marched into the living room. His parents, Susan and Michael, were sprawled on the couch, nursing New Year's hangovers with lukewarm coffee and stale Christmas cookies.
"Not early at all, Mom! I ate too many cookies. I need to get strong!"
Bart marched towards the sleek 2025 Kia Sportage parked in the driveway. "We can go in the car, Dad! It has Smart Coozies that help you drive better ."
The first glimmer of a bruised and bleary New Year's Day sun peeked through the drapes, rousing the young cubs from their slumber. A cacophony of tiny claws erupted against the bedroom door, a battle cry demanding adventure in the name of the nascent year. Angela, my ever-resourceful mate, bore the marks of a skirmish fought well against the encroaching hours. With mugs of steaming black potion brewed by the faithful electric beast in the kitchen and a fistful of that wonder drug called aspirin to soothe the throbbing temples, we prepared to face the day's onslaught.
​Listen. Christmas is supposed to be about peace on Earth, goodwill towards men, and maybe a side of eggnog. But in my family, it's about our annual Christmas Dinner Quest. It's like a choose-your-own-adventure novel, but instead of fighting a dragon, we're fighting over whether or not to eat oysters.
​“Dad, I don’t know why we even have to work on a brand-new truck?” The wind howled like a disgruntled moose outside, rattling the windows of the garage. Inside, a symphony of clanging wrenches and muttered curses filled the air. I was elbow-deep in the engine compartment of my shiny 2024 Ford Maverick, which I’d purchased from West Hills Ford earlier in the year.
