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“Even on that first, clear afternoon, the dark earth between the gravel paths and the deep green of towering pine, fir, and spruce trees contained the memory of recent snow and rain. The ocean at the far end of the camp was the color of slate.

Everything Siobhan was wearing was brand new: a black fleece she’d chosen for its silver heart-shaped zipper pull, her first pair of hiking boots, even her underwear. She felt a thrilling, terrifying dissolution of self. She was far from her parents, her classmates, anyone who had ever known here. She was curious to find out who she would be.”
― Kim Fu, The Lost Girls of Camp Forevermore

“Tomorrow," she said, "is the first of March, the month the sound is at its best, dear. It's absolutely alive."
I knew what she meant when she said it. The churning gray water. The kelp and the seaweed and the barnacles. I could almost the salty air. Bee believed that the Puget Sound was the great healer.”
― Sarah Jio, The Violets of March

“From north to south, the island is just ten miles long, but it feels like a continent in its own right. There are bays and inlets, coves and mudflats, a winery, a berry farm, a llama farm, sixteen restaurants, a café that makes homemade cinnamon rolls and the best coffee I've ever tasted, and a market whose wares include locally produced raspberry wine and organic Swiss chard picked just hours before making its appearance in the produce section.”
― Sarah Jio, The Violets of March

“I love the beach after a storm. When I was thirteen, a banker's bag washed up on this same beach with exactly $319 inside--- I know because I counted out every bill--- along with a waterlogged handgun. Bee called the police, who traced the remnants to a bank robbery gone wrong seventeen years prior. Seventeen years. The Puget Sound is like a time machine, hiding things and then spewing them back onto its shores at the time and place of its choosing.”
― Sarah Jio, The Violets of March