Dear Editor,

When Alki was a different place

Where life walked at a slower pace

And didn’t wear designer shoes

Or live in condos that ate views

We knew as children of the beach

As soon as our small feet would reach

The porch of Alki’s old Homestead

Much more than food we’d all be fed

The place was lit by candlelight

Where every table dressed just right

Wore linen napkins, lacy cloth

And even spoons for sipping broth

The old log walls we loved so well

Were steeped in tales they’d never tell

And though despite their silent state

We’d make up stories while we ate

The food did not come all at once

Instead they’d serve us every bunch

In courses separate from the rest

Fried chicken was the very best

The Homestead’s where we always went

For any family tree event

It’s there a menu first I read

And where I saw my sister wed

Despite whatever name they find

To hide their dreary plans behind

No trendy spa or inn I know

Could match the Homestead we loved so