A small group of young men brought instruments, and suddenly live music erupted. The tunes were spontaneous, joyful, and infectious. Everyone swayed, clapped, or danced along.

I asked a few locals about the scene. Each told me the same thing. This was no festival or planned event. It was simply the first warm sunny day of the season. Spring had arrived, and Galway celebrated in its own way. Jackets, shoes, and socks were peeled off as the day warmed up. Music soared, and laughter echoed across the waterfront.

My brother, Mark, is not a backpacker or a tourist.

He is 58 years old. He lives with congestive heart failure and COPD. He walks with a walker. He wears heavy braces that run from his feet to just below his knees. When he stands too long, his legs swell and darken.

He has struggled with addiction. He has made mistakes. He is an imperfect man.

He is also gentle. And trusting. And far more hopeful than the world has often deserved.

And he believed he was loved.

The first thing that completely captured my heart was the wildflowers. They bloom everywhere. Along the roads. Across open fields. Tucked into hillsides you might have ignored in winter. Some of my favorite floral photos were taken this time of year.

I first noticed them while taking Jax to Fiesta Island Dog Park. The fields erupt with color. It is one giant natural photo backdrop. The trails are clear and easy to follow, so walking with your unleashed furry sidekick is not just good exercise, it is genuinely awe-inspiring.

Yes, there is the familiar Caribbean image. Turquoise water that almost looks edited. Palms bending toward the shoreline. Sun that kisses your shoulders whether you asked for it or not. That atmosphere lingers whether the sky is brilliant blue or briefly washed in tropical rain.

But beneath that beauty are distinct identities.

Amber Cove showed us how tourism can reshape a community and spark renewal beyond the dock. St. Kitts carried its history along steel rails once used for sugar cane, now repurposed to tell a different story. In Puerto Rico, we saw residents rally to protect their island’s feral cats. In Martinique, we stepped into the historic Bibliothèque Schoelcher, whose ornate details reminded us that Caribbean culture is layered and complex.

Both Mr. Whaldo and I were lucky enough to handle a large female who felt safe with us and rested easily on our arms. We held one together and also separately. The ray I held on my own seemed especially comfortable and lifted her beak onto my chest, as if to get a better look at me. She allowed me to gently boop her before calmly swimming back to her favorite wrangler.

We also had the opportunity to feed them squid, which they happily sucked from our hands. This was another carefully taught lesson, designed to keep us from earning any stingray hickies on our fingers, hands, or arms.

Jim kept driving, then suddenly swept us up a hillside and pulled over. He jumped out of the car and motioned for us to follow. We stepped out and walked to a railing overlooking the loch.

“This is the best view of the fort since it’s falling down and you can’t get into it anymore,” he said. “Plus, you get a good look at the view. You have a feckin’ better chance to see Nessie.”

The bus stop was nothing more than a sign on a pole, which should have been our first clue that public transit in Vancouver comes with a side of improvisation. When the bus arrived, we asked how to pay. “Swipe your credit card,” said the driver. I swiped once. When I tried for my husband, it wouldn’t take it. We needed a second card. I had only brought one. Cue the awkward shuffle in a bus packed like sardines and a driver clearly on a tight schedule. He rolled his eyes, handed us tickets, mumbled instructions, and we stood, smiling nervously at strangers as the bus lurched forward.

So I opened a small savings account just for this goal. I tucked away a few dollars from each paycheck for more than six months. When Christmas rolled around, it was time to start the hunt.

I already knew it would be hard to find one, that I couldn’t be picky, and that if I shopped wisely, I might even afford an extra doll dress or maybe a play stroller.

I’m dating myself here, but back then, Black Friday was truly Black Friday. No online shopping. You watched the ads and hoped the big newspaper stuffed with them landed on your doorstep on Thanksgiving morning.

Alaska’s glaciers are where I first learned to appreciate the beauty in shades of blue, white, and grey ice. It is where I learned to stand quietly and listen to the soft popping deep inside the ice. It is also where I discovered how thrilling it is to witness a glacier calve. There is nothing like watching a massive chunk of ancient, layered ice crack, roar, and break free before splashing into the sea and drifting away as a newborn iceberg. It never stops feeling awe-inspiring.

Ralph showed up at the airport with an extra parka, scarf, waterproof winter boots, and lined mittens. I changed into the boots, and then he quickly got to work. He layered the gear on me, pulled the scarf over most of my face, and cinched the fuzzy-lined hood down tight. The last piece was a pair of sunglasses to shield my eyes. We walked toward the door, both of us giggling.

It was gray outside, and I felt a jolt of excitement at finally experiencing Alaska. As we approached the door, I caught my reflection in the glass. I looked like the kid from A Christmas Story, stiff and awkward under all the winter gear. Right before the door opened, Ralph told me to blink often to protect my eyeballs.

I’ve made five trips to Alaska so far, three by air and two by sea. I genuinely believe everyone should cruise Alaska at least once. Still, my favorite way to visit is to fly in, rent a car, take a few train rides, or even take a floatplane excursion to visit remote, smaller towns.

Some places shine from the water. Glacier Bay is unforgettable, and many of the cruise stops sit on Alaska’s islands. The train ride from Fairbanks down to Seward is one of my favorite trips in the entire state. The stretch between Anchorage and Seward is the standout. Then again, nothing compares to flying over Denali National Park. Alaska is full of impossible choices like that.

On cruise ship days (typically Saturdays and Sundays, with Saturday being the busiest), vendors line the Embarcadero all the way from the cruise terminal south to Seaport Village and north past Waterfront Park.  The foot traffic can be enormous, depending on how many ships are in port that day.  With Norwegian Cruise Line adding San Diego as a start-and-stop port, there is rarely only one ship in port at a time.  

Gatun Lake, covering 166 square miles and sitting 82 to 87 feet above sea level, is alive with wildlife. Its forested islands and surrounding rainforest shelter over 100 species of mammals, more than 100 species of reptiles and amphibians, and over 500 species of birds. Cruising slowly through this diverse ecosystem, we even spotted alligators gliding past.  It was a reminder that, even amid such an immense feat of engineering, nature persists vibrant and alive.

When I reached the pen, he stood on his hind legs to meet my hand halfway. His tail wagged so fast I thought he might take flight. I bent down to talk to him, and he looked straight at me with those trusting eyes. In that instant, I knew.

I was nervous. I wanted this, but I had no idea how much it would hurt. The artist worked quickly. I sweated like I was in a triathlon. When it was done, I was thrilled. Instructions in hand, I headed home feeling like I had just claimed a little piece of independence.

Suddenly, a couple of young men started singing Rolling Stones songs.  

“I can’t get no Satisfaction…”

One by one, people joined in, and soon, the entire train car was filled with people singing along.

Boats jammed together, bounced off one another, and veered sideways. Instead of frustration, the whole thing dissolved into laughter—from us on shore and from most of the boaters themselves. It was slapstick comedy on water, and absolutely priceless.

We walked a lot that first evening, but the following day, we jumped on trains and buses to get around. Crossing the Rhine River, we made our way to the highly anticipated Paper Museum.

Yes, I get it; you’re probably wondering, "Why would anyone in their right mind want to visit a paper museum on vacation?" That sounds like the kind of place you only go to as a chaperone on a child’s field trip, just because it’s your turn to wrangle the kids.

You would be wrong.

The change is subtle, but the days already hint that fall is arriving.

Today is the Equinox, officially ending summer and marking the beginning of fall. The rest of our summer staycation was filled with night concerts at the Rady Shell, plenty of paddleboarding, playing with Jax at the beach, relaxing in our backyard, watching the H-1 Hydroplane Unlimited finals, and trying a few new restaurants.

My husband and I love little surprises like that, so we happily set out. The day was warming up, and we shed our jackets as we climbed. We went up, then down, and around through the rocks. Just as we were working up a sweat, we turned a corner and the spray from the waterfall hit our skin, instantly cooling us.