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When my sons suggested we have our family reunion on the West Coast and much of it on Whidbey Island, I reached for a map.

Whidbey Island? I'd never heard of the place. I'm an East Coaster who's fairly familiar with barrier islands off the Atlantic coast, but I know little about islands off the Pacific coast.

So here's a brief geography lesson before we move on to the story's plot: namely, my family reunion and its cast of characters.

Whidbey Island is a two-hour car and ferry ride north of Seattle. It is the largest island in Puget Sound, that vast inlet flowing into the Pacific.

Nature endowed Whidbey with spectacular scenery. It is an island of soaring cliffs jutting high above the sea, craggy beaches, bird sanctuaries, marshlands, farms, vacation houses, lighthouses, a half-dozen picturesque seaports and towns.

Our beach house was near Coupeville, a charming little seaport where I watched 40 or 50 sailboats race one gloriously sunny afternoon. Down the road was a ferry dock and beyond that, atop a cliff overlooking the sea, was an abandoned fort with bunkers and cannon emplacements, some dating back to the 1880s. Presumably they were guarding the entrance to Puget Sound.

Most mornings we were awakened by fog horns from nearby ferries. But Whidbey is a mix of sounds. At the north end of the island is Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, home of bat-winged supersonic fighter jets. They gave us a window-rattling air show one night as they flew low and practiced night maneuvers. If it were a nightly occurrence, you'd have to wear ear plugs to sleep. On another day, we looked above and spotted a rare bald eagle, its wings spread wide, soaring silently in the wind.

The cast of characters at the family gathering included my two sons, their wives and my six grandchildren, ranging in age from 10 to 4.

I'm envious of you who have children and grandchildren nearby and see them frequently. Distance is our big obstacle. My older son and his family live in Asia; my younger son and his family live in Seattle. This was the first time in several years that we'd all been together at the same time, making it exceptionally special.

You'll be spared a moment-by-moment recitation of our comings and goings except to say we walked the beach, hiked up the hillside to the cliffs, rode the ferry across Puget Sound to historic Port Townsend, roasted marshmallows around a bonfire one night, grocery shopped -- and grocery shopped some more.

Feeding a dozen people takes bushels of food, especially if you're used to shopping for only two -- my husband and me.

And the beach? Swimming in the icy waters of the Pacific Northwest is more suitable for polar bears than people. But intrepid Louisa, age 8, proudly took the plunge and emerged laughing -- and shivering. I stuck one toe in the water and retreated. A heated swimming pool was nearby but we were too busy to use it.

Besides, the beach was never idle. The kids spent endless hours building magnificent forts out of gray driftwood washed ashore by storms at sea. One fort grew into a five-foot structure of undefined architecture that could best be described as a shack.

Meanwhile, Clara and Olivia, who are both 10, are interested in clothes and makeup (they're not allowed to wear it). One morning the girls announced they'd opened a beauty parlor at the dining room table and were "giving facials." I was the customer -- with Louisa, 8, Jack Dee, 6, and Eddie, 4, observing my beautification.

The girls had probably raided their mothers' cosmetics and were applying gobs of the stuff to my face. When they finally finished my "facial," I profusely praised them "for removing all my wrinkles and blemishes." But blunt-spoken George, age 6, took one look at my face and said, "I think they made 'em worse."

It's time to end this column because I've exceeded my allotted space. But if you're interested, I've got 543 pictures of my six grandchildren that I'll happily show you anytime.

Rosemary Roberts writes a column on alternate Fridays for the News & Record. E-mail: Rmroberts@triad.rr.com