By Seán Malone and John Sweetman “Hey Mike, he’s hiding under that patch of seaweed.” We were hunting crab with a pitchfork down at Manzanita on the south end of Maury Island. Crabs can move as fast as a person walks on dry land. Mike poked the pitchfork into the seaweed and scared the ten-inch…
By Seán Malone and John Sweetman As Seán remembers, Mom formed hats out of buckram, using the forms to glue Chinese pheasant feathers in, making a unique women’s hat. A full-grown male Chinese pheasant has a chest of iridescent, electric blue and brown feathers. Mom loved the colors, and would badger Dad and I to…
By Seán Malone and John Sweetman As John remembers: “He hit me!” “She was making faces at me!” “I was not!” “He was making fart noises with his armpit!” And so convened the daily district court of summary justice where the prosecutor, defense council, and detective agency was all in one. MOM! Mom interrupted her…
By Seán Malone and John Sweetman As kids, we attended schools that were a quagmire of communicable diseases, where various ailments were freely communicated, just like today. Pink eye … ringworm … head lice … measles, and so on, including various rashes, itches, and the common issues of sniveling, coughs, and sometimes more serious issues of croup…
By Seán Malone and John Sweetman We never actually set out to do wrong, but occasionally small, impulsive actions led to doing the wrong thing, and for small lads this outcome was as natural as paint on a fence. Gene Amondson and I were wandering around a construction site, and as young boys do, we picked…
Gene Amundson and I came up with the first rendition of “concealed carry” long before the National Rifle Association had it as a policy. We found we could make a “zip” gun out of a clothespin, using just a pocket knife and something to bend the spring. We used these at first to shoot spitwads at…
Seán and I were sitting out on his deck a few years back, looking out at our crab traps set in our secret spot, the Trench, just offshore. We noticed a boat approaching and suspected it was a “crab pot poacher.” Waving the boat off seemed to get no answer, so Seán, after a false…
This story began on Seán’s fireplace mantel. There is an old Plymouth master brake cylinder filled with either a mouse nest or some of Seán’s cigar ashes. Some years back, after Seán returned to Vashon, he told me that his first car had been sold to an Island friend, and that somehow it had come…
Last month’s issue of The Loop described Sean’s early experiences at earning money as a youngster by rubbing finish onto Skippercraft boats. Even though Sean is a few years older than I, our early experiences had a certain parallel. We had some good laughs together as we compared our young entry into the world of…
I hired a crew to reroof the cabin. After 60 years, the leaks and weight of the moss had compromised the roof. There are just some things that have to be done, whether you need to or not. John and I were watching the workmen, and were grateful we were not up on the…