On top of the mountain

When I turned 40, I started a section in my journal I called "On top of the mountain, not over the hill." God's joke on me: Here I am, over the hill and going to live on a mountain. Here's another joke: We have never set foot on the land we now own. When we visited our daughter and her family in Mountlake Terrace, Washington, we toured the Olympic Peninsula and fell in love with the area. We have only seen the lot online. We looked at lots on line and then our son-in-law Layne checked them out for us. Layne will also be building the house. My husband Mike, who is a geographer, got a satellite picture of the lot, and meticulously studies the videos has taken. He argues with Layne about the surveyor stakes he can see in the video. Laugh if you will, but as Mike has so often told me, "Don't argue with a geographer." Ninety-nine percent of the time, he's right. That other one percent, that is another blog and it's not pretty.