For our last two days on the Wildcoast, we stayed put by the beach in a remote house, an old timber-frame building with hand hewn beams in the middle of nowhere with a small lawn and a bay all to ourselves.
We cooked (luckily, no grabby odors this time), ate, drank wine, read, explored, sketched, studied, and rested by the thundering waves crashing on black rocks, the sound of the ocean, and the rise and fall of the tides. I could have stayed here for a week or a month.
Notes from Dad 