Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Preparation

Grant had never seen Manda, who had turned fourteen, so organized about anything. He was used to having to tell her over and over again to put her dishes in the dishwasher and do her homework. But, now she was presenting him with stacks of color-coded and prioritized real estate listings with the prices highlighted. When she cared about something, she could be very organized.

That summer, they drove all over the area, even out a few hours from Olympia. Cabin shopping was magnificent. Grant and Manda were having a great time, and they were bonding.

They came across some incredible properties. The real estate market was in the tank. Prices had fallen enormously. It was the perfect time to have money to spend on real estate.

The first place they looked at in person was a cabin on Harstine Island. It was an hour and half drive from Olympia, which was longer than they wanted. But it was on Harstine Island, which was just a twenty-minute boat ride from Olympia. They drove out there and the first thing Grant noticed was that Harstine Island had a bridge providing the sole land access to the island. That could be a big plus since it would be easy to defend. But, if it were taken or destroyed, residents of the island would be in bad shape.

Harstine Island had a mix of full-time residents and part-time cabin owners. It was beautiful there. There were lots of water views and the big evergreen trees Washington State was famous for. It was very secluded.

The Harstine cabin was nice. Located on a small hill overlooking the beach, the cabin was modest, but very cozy. It was on two acres with a sturdy out building that would house a boat, truck, and tons of other equipment. It had a huge clearing that would be perfect for gardening. There were a few apple trees; perfect for having food year after year without having to plant anything. The layout was easily defendable because the driveway was rather steep and would require anyone coming up it to expose themselves to the many hiding places along the driveway. It was a perfect bug out location; a comfortable place to live, with plenty of gardening space, an out building for equipment, and defensible.

There was no access to the beach, though. They would need to rely on friendly neighbors. Grant assumed he could find them. Grant and Manda asked Lisa and Cole to come and see if they liked it. Grant assumed Lisa would love it.

She didn’t. “How do we get to the beach?” she asked.

“Friendly neighbors,” Grant answered.

“I don’t want a beach house with no guaranteed beach,” she said.

Grant was furious, although he knew she had a point. Oh well, they would need to find another place. Harstine Island was off the list.

He and Manda went back to the drawing board. Manda found another very promising cabin on the internet. Grant saw the picture of it and knew that this was the one. So did Manda. They drove out to it one gloriously sunny Saturday. There was nothing more beautiful than the Puget Sound on a sunny day. The mountains in the background. The inlets and the sound. Huge evergreen trees everywhere. Beautiful.

This cabin seemed to be perfect on paper. It was about forty minutes from Olympia. It was out in the country, but not so far out that it felt like a park. It didn’t have a ritzy “resort” feel.

The development it was in was Pierce Point, which consisted of a group of about 500 lots. Not all of the lots had anything on them. “Development” wasn’t the best word to describe it because that usually meant a new subdivision.

Pierce Point wasn’t new. It was a combination of middle class homes and cabins that were nice, but not too extravagant. The middle class homes were on the way in to the place. The cabins started popping up closer to the water. Some were very nice; most were small houses on the water. There were some lots with RVs on them. There were a few junky homes, but this was a rural area and not everyone had tons of money. Most of the homes were well kept. They looked like working families lived there. Most driveways had pickups. Quite a few yards had playground equipment for kids. It looked like Forks, but nicer. There was quite a healthy mix of middle income working family homes and nice cabins.

The cabin they were looking at was on the very northern tip of the development. They went down the road towards the water. Big evergreen trees were all over but there were fewer down by the water. It was a rural, forested area down by the sea. It was perfect.

RVs on lots started to be replaced by cabins. Many were more aptly called “beach houses.” The paved road ended with a sign that said “County road ends.” Perfect. That was exactly what Grant wanted. A good paved road leading most of the way there and then a little county gravel road leading to seclusion. Perfect.

The gravel road was only a few hundred feet. The water on the left was beautiful. Grant saw the cabin they were looking for.

It was perfect.

It didn’t look like a regular house. It was more like an A-frame cabin, but not tiny like a cabin. It looked like a typical Washington State beach house. The trees on both sides of the cabin provided a “mountain cabin” feel and then the water view offered a “water cabin” feel.

When they drove up, Grant looked at Manda and said, “This is it. This is the one.” She nodded with a huge smile. Even at age fourteen she knew this was perfect.

They knocked and the owner was there. She was in her forties and looked like the mom of teenagers. Almost instantly, the owner liked the Matsons. She could see that her beloved cabin would be put to good use by a family of people who would have similar good memories made out there. Then she said something unusual to Grant.

“I need to sell this,” she said. “I just got divorced, my job is looking like it’s in trouble, and my ex-husband lost his job last year. We need the money. We’ll sell this for a very fair price.”

Grant couldn’t believe it. The place was perfect and available for a song. He felt bad for the owner, but knew she needed to sell.

She gave him the tour. The outside of the cabin had a huge deck that looked out over the water. The view was amazing. The body of water was Simpson inlet, a finger of salt water about half a mile wide. The land on the other side was forested.

Standing on the deck looking at the water was so peaceful. It was amazing. It was exactly what he had been dreaming about.

They went down to the water. A short trail of about thirty feet led to a bulkhead. The bulkhead had a ten foot or so wide strip with a fire pit. The bulkhead had stairs that led down to the water, and the tide would come in on the lower part of the stairs. They were made of saltwater-resistant wood and looked very solid.

The beach was magnificent; not a sand beach, but a pebble beach. The tide was out about half way. The owner described how she could walk the beach all the way in both directions, north and south. To the south were other cabins.

To the north was nothing but trees and beach. Since the cabin was at the northern end of the development, the beach was uninhabited to the north. It looked and felt like a park or wildlife preserve along the beach. An eagle flew by. It almost seemed like the owner had ordered a show for Grant to convince him to buy the place.

They walked the beach a little way. How many times in one day could Grant use the word “perfect?” This was the place. He felt like he belonged there. There was that weird feeling of the present and future all at once.

Two other parts of the cabin were briefly shown, but not paid much attention. The first was the unfinished basement. It wasn’t really a basement; it was a lower level to the cabin. It had a cement floor (the foundation of the cabin) and insulation on the walls; no drywall. The door going into it was on the ground level, but was lower than the cabin since the cabin was on a slope. The owner said, “You can store things here. Maybe a kayak.” Grant knew what he’d be storing there — a year of supplies for his family. There was a bench in there that would be just right for working on guns.