Namesake Next Door

There's nothing like the aroma of warm chocolate chip cookies mingling with the smell of box-fresh IKEA furniture to make a house feel like home. Our first Saturday night in Seattle was spent creating this unmistakable sense of comfort.














The place we’re calling home is a sweet little two-bedroom duplex in Ballard. Just fifteen minutes northwest of downtown and situated right on Puget Sound, Ballard was a free-standing milling and fishing town until Seattle annexed it in 1906.

The neighborhood clings to its Scandinavian identity: Olsen’s Gift Shop on main street sells lefse, lingonberries and the works, the annual Syttende Mai celebration draws Seattlites from far and wide, and I got a hearty “Um Ya Ya!” on the bike trail in response to my St. Olaf t-shirt. So, I think I’m gonna like it here.

Back at the duplex, Peter and I had a chance to meet Frank, neighbor and namesake of the blog. Picture this: a vision of denim, plaid flannel, and the frizziest, bushiest, biggest red beard you’ve ever seen. That’s Frank. Lovely guy. Been in the front half of the duplex for eight years. Nice and quiet. Perfect neighbor? I’ll keep you posted.