Shortly after 2 AM on 29 April 1944, my mother gave birth in a blacked-out Davidson-Hay Hospital in Port Angeles, Washington, on the waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca separating the USA from Vancouver Island, Canada. The black-out was due to fear of attack by a Japanese submarine allegedly sighted the previous day.
One of my father's favorite (and unappreciated) jokes was that I had been born in a barn (get it, "Hay Hospital", ouch). Anyway, he had missed the event, being on a horse patrol as a National Park Ranger in the Olympic National Park.
My mother had been brought by packhorse from their log cabin high up the mountain (food was stored in a lean-to outside the cabin due to grizzly bears) down to the nearest road and then driven to the hospital.
Dad would largely be out of touch when on patrol for a week or two at a time.
