If I could give you one perfect reason why we live where we do, I’d say it’s the fog.

I fell in love with flying airplanes on the day we climbed out of the Oregon stratus aboard a Boeing 707 bound for Chicago.  Below an oppressive grey that washed away the lush northwest color, and above a bright clean world of high contrast.  Flying was more than a ticket to a destination, it was a ticket to another world and I was at the controls.

These days it’s easy to climb through the fog and there’s no engine required.  Just a quick bike ride or hike and a few calories spent and we’re smiling at the tourist as we bask in the sun.  I love this place.

We’ve lived in places where temperatures don’t go above zero for weeks at a time, and we’ve lived where it never goes below 70. We’ve lived with seasons and without, but I’ll take this climate over any other.

It isn’t really the sun that I love, but the fog instead.  The beauty is in the contrast, and the it’s the ease with which we can move between the light and the dark, the soft and the hard, the cold and the warm that I really appreciate.