October 7- The Test of Challenging Weather

"The next weekend we had a terrific storm. The sort of storm where the wind grabbed the cedar tree right outside the kitchen window and bent it over like a croquet wicket."

Onions In The Stew by Betty MacDonald

As news comes in about Hurricane Matthew on the east coast I recall our own challenging island weather. My Canadian daughter-in-law laughed at the island response to snow. She compared the 30 degrees below where she grew up to our balmy 40 degree winters. While it is true that rain is the most common weather condition here, sometimes a convergence zone brings us life stopping SNOW.

    Snow is a test. We have no snow equipment so removal is laborious. My husband worked for hours shoveling the small hill of our driveway only to have the one snowplow come by and fill the path. I watched his crestfallen face. He didn't get to work until 9:00 and work is 10 minutes away. He could have walked in that time.

  
   The big issue is losing power. Branches come careening down to the ground as the heavy snow sits on them like an elephant on a tuffet. As soon as the lights start to flicker we jump into action. Fill the wheelbarrow with wood, find the candles, hang heavy blankets over the doorways to the kitchen and upstairs to make a warm area of the living room and bedroom. Check the pipes outside to make sure the insulation is in tact.

   Locate the kerosene lanterns and fill them because the power is likely to be off for days. The longest power outage we have experienced was four days. It seems small to write this but for those four days everything stopped. No school, no work for me, and my husband needed extra time to get to his job and extra time to get back. At day three we were all are going crazy so we put on layers, boots, hats and scarves and to walked to town. The local grocery store is the hub of the island. Gossip filtered around the store about who went off the road and who got stranded off island. The coffee stand line circled around several times and then spilled out the door.

   Several hours later we trudged home, tired and ready to make dinner on the wood stove. In the evening we played the piano and read by candlelight. It sounds idyllic in words but it is truly exhausting. When the electric truck appeared down the road we whooped and hollered with joy. The test of bad weather is definitely how much resilience we have to sudden change and whether our sense of humor rises to meet the circumstances that are truly extraordinary.

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 6- Island Wildlife

My friend Lesley asked me to share a favorite song on her blog today. She is writing for 31 Days about how music lifts and inspires. Click above and treat yourself.


“And this, our life exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”

- William Shakespeare

The island is largely rural. As a community we try to protect the natural, beautiful world around us. In my own yard I can commune with birds, squirrels, raccoons, and deer, plentiful deer. Right now a family of deer came through under my kitchen window. They are not afraid and I wish they had a little more shyness about humans. Due to the deer population, growing a garden happens only behind six foot tall fences. They eat everything, as they are snackers. If they leave your geranium alone today, they will get it tomorrow. 

  A cougar has taken up residence on the island after swimming from the Kitsap Peninsula during a minus tide. The cougar sightings began about six weeks ago, with close encounters in some cases. 

Recently, The Nature Center has set up wildlife cameras to track the cougar's movement. There are deer and other food sources for the cougar, but it will likely leave the island someday to find a mate. A cougar's range is about 50-150 square miles, and the island is only about 35 square miles. It is extremely rare to see a cougar, much less on the island. Nevertheless, take out a small insurance policy on your chickens and small dogs. 

   With respect and affection, I include in this treatise about wildlife, our more eccentric islanders. This is a safe place for those among us who have challenges. Most newcomers won't remember Gary but he is immortalized as a wood statue along the main highway. Gary hitchhiked to town, about half a mile, everyday. Those who knew him, picked him up. He intimidated me a little because he was often angry. I remember him yelling at cars, chainsaw in his hand, trying to get someone to pick him up. My husband took him to town frequently. One particular day he had a large piece of drywall, stretched over his back. Just before Mark pulled over, a gust of wind created lift beneath the large white board and flipped Gary onto the ground. He was not amused. Gary was hit by a car in 1998, along this main highway because he was recklessly in the road. His friend, and artist, Gene, carved the statue and it reminds me that if we are generous of spirit we can live peacefully together.

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 5- Ferry Adventures

Being on a boat that's moving through the water, it's so clear. Everything falls into place in terms of what's important and what's not. 

James Taylor

Yup, when you're on a ferry boat it is abundantly clear what is important. Some days it is important to get to the other side because much fun is anticipated. Two of my grandchildren are now riding the ferry over to the island on their own. It is a great source of pride for them to be old enough to embark and disembark without an adult. 

  On my first ferry ride I felt anxious. The workers were motioning for me to go this way and that way. Wedging my car in such tight places was like walking through a turnstile. Once in a while I got into the position of nose down on the ramp of the second floor. Pray that the parking brake is not burned out from the times you forgot to release it. 

     Last week I was the last car on the boat. The ferry worker was getting anxious looks. Should he really take me on? He directed me to take a hard left turn and then quickly position myself right so that my car ended up sideways on the very edge. 

   "Set your brake!", he shouted above the noise of the boat engines. 

There are "must haves" on all ferry rides. You must have a good book or magazine. Chances are you could miss the boat or the boat could have technical problems or a ferry worker might get sick. There is a coastguard policy that a boat must have a certain number of crew members to set sail. Going back home is an option but not if you have a pressing appointment and it is most distressing if you are trying to go home. Since I don't commute to the mainland everyday, these mishaps are less likely. My favorite ferry rides are when I'm coming home on a midday boat. Little traffic, a snack, and a favorite read is the ideal.

    You can be a walk on passenger. During commuting hours the upper deck is filled with islanders reading the newspaper, comparing sports stories, and in the bathroom, putting on make-up. A city bus will pick up passengers on island, drive onto the ferry, and take you to the big city on the mainland. Most commuters travel that route. My friend, who commutes by bus, decided to take his car one day. He locked it and went to the passenger deck, where he got sucked into a busy conversation. As the boat docked, he went with the flow of passengers and got on the bus, forgetting his car entirely. His wife received a phone call from ferry officials, who wanted to know where her husband was that morning. She said he was at work.

   "Can you verify that, Ma'am?"

   "Why?" she asked.

   "His car was found abandoned on the car deck of the ferry and we need to investigate the possibility of foul play."

     Did he jump ship in a moment of despair?

    In the last twenty-nine years I have been inconvenienced some, enraged only once or twice, and sailed without cares most of the time. Bon voyage!

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 4-Moving Inland

"Our ugliness is rawboned, useful, natural and honest. Our beauty is accidental, untampered with, often breathtaking."

Betty MacDonald, "Onions In The Stew"

I was disappointed. Rental properties were limited and this was the only home with four bedrooms. My view of the water was gone. Instead I was nestled into the wildness of trees and bushes. Behind me were five acres of untamed woods. We prayed to stay on the island. The answer came through a very kind and humble landlord who felt he wanted children in his home. But, I was disappointed. I needed two bathrooms. I needed a dishwasher. I needed a family room. I needed a white-picket fence. 

Colored pencils by Gabriele 

Needs and wants get confused. Intermarried in these feelings are ego and pride. 

“A Native American wisdom story tells of an old Cherokee who is teaching his grandson about life. 'A fight is going on inside me,' he said to the boy. 'It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.' The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, 'Which wolf will win?' The old Cherokee simply replied, 'The one you feed." 
Kristen Neff



What did I receive from this house? I received location. Location, location,location is what real estate and developers value. I didn't fully appreciate my prime location. 
The benefits of living inland became more apparent as time went on. My business benefited from being accessible to town. When lacking a car, walking was possible. Schools were within walking distance. When electricity was lost we went back on the grid much sooner than out of town areas. I learned to be grateful. I still had to make fires, but they were cozy and we gathered around together talking. My dishwashers were plural, often unwilling. My white picket fence became a ginormous rhododendron tree, blood red, like the driveway to Manderley in the book "Rebecca" by Daphne Du Maurier.
  
We stayed. In fact we are still here today, twenty-nine years later. And that kind landlord is still our landlord. As I type this, I feel the warm wash of shame. Let me explain what I mean. I use the definition of shame by Brené Brown. Shame and guilt are different. Guilt involves wrong doing while shame is the wash of "not good enough" that swirls over us when we catch a glimpse of how others view us in a certain situation. I am a renter. We have never owned a home. Yes, we could have purchased a home and perhaps almost had it paid for by now. Yet, the opportunity was never right. That kind landlord kept our rent below the cost of a mortgage. I have not achieved the "American Dream". Instead we have poured our money, time and energy into our children. 

I don't intend to sound like we made a more noble choice than others. I honestly don't know if all our choices were ideal or easy for our family. But, I do know I consulted a loving Heavenly Father on each fork in the road. I would have followed another road had he prompted us. As I look around at my surroundings I feel we have been good stewards. We cared for this home because we loved here. We loved each other and we loved our island life. 

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 3- You Must Be Independent

Mindful Monday
I am following through in my desire to become more mindful this year. In the month of October I am keen to stay mindful of my relationship to my community.

"People who move to islands do so to be independent of others."

    Before I go on with my story I need to stop and deal with a skewed perception. I was told before moving here that I needed to be prepared to live independently. I heard that more than once so I took it to heart. My first week here I stubbornly refused to call my friend, who invited us to try island living, because I did not want her to think I was going to hang on her. After some days she called to see why I was silent. 
    "Don't be ridiculous", she said. "We rallied to have you here." Life here does have potential for trouble if a catastrophic event cut us off from the mainland. No trucks with food would arrive and we would be the last location to receive assistance. That threat makes people buy boats, generators, and food storage. 

   I prepared to be independent from others but instead, I learned that my island friends would grow to include my church community and for the first time in my life, friends from all faiths and walks of life. This friendship enabled my family to become business owners who would grow our livelihood by word of mouth. 

   When harsh weather isolated us, neighbors appeared with tractors to shovel us out of unexpected snow. 

  When ill health came upon my daughter-in-law neighbors and acquaintances rose to offer assistance.

I knew we needed help and God sent us to our next landlord who chose us from many applicants because his house needed children. Well, by golly, by George, that house did have children in it everyday day.
Island people are independent thinkers but we work together often to achieve goals that benefit the entire island. 
   

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.” 

― John Donne, No Man Is An island

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 2- Gathering Supplies

"Someone asked me, if I were stranded on a desert island what book would I bring... 'How to Build a Boat.' "

Steven Wright

   When you idealistically start a new venture, like moving to an island, there are countless things you don't and can't know. Here are some things of which we didn't have a full grasp.

1. You can leave for free but everyone in the car and the car itself must pay to get back on the island, every time. I mean we knew this but, we didn't know this, if you grasp my meaning.

2. When you live in a house with a wood stove and old, electric base heaters the only economic way to heat is with the wood stove.

3. A woodpile becomes a beautiful and lust-after resource. Four cords of wood, split, delivered and stacked is the same price as your first born child. I am just kidding, but it felt like wood was a major expense. We may have used driftwood from the beach now, and then.

4. Food and other staples are more expensive on the island. Going to the mainland to shop always includes a trip to Target and McDonald's. Added together, the Target run, McDonald's, and the ferry fare is more expensive than paying more, at home.

5. Having less options is a new mindset which resulted in freedom. Less can really become more. This concept was received in the dark, stillness of the night, when I secretly grieved for more options.

6. Amazon and the brown truck from UPS rocked my world. They solved the Christmas shopping dilemma all together. 

7. Leaving the island was optional. The less often I made that voyage the better.  

So, that first year on island was hard. Mark had a commission job. He wasn't really suited to be a salesman. He loved people but talked to them longer than he should. Money was so tight that at Christmas someone delivered a box of gifts to our doorstep which literally felt like a miracle. We all thanked God because he was the only one who could have known what each one of us truly wanted, not needed, but wanted. Every month sweat beads formed when the rent was due. One month, the dear friend who first introduced us to island living, slipped me a check for the rent. I was embarrassed but eternally grateful. Each morning I would gaze over the water at the rising sun, spreading metallic, gold, joy over my porch and feel revived to go on fighting for this life I wanted. Then in May, Mark got a job on the island. I had a husband home by 5:00. My children had a Dad who was home to talk with them instead of getting a ride from the dock at 9:00pm. Hooray! 

Until, ........later that month our landlord announced he was selling the house. Now came the ordeal of finding another home with five children in tow. 

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.

October 1- The Move On

"If you move to an island, I can't visit you."

My Mother

   I watched the moving van in front of me. The sides of the van barely squeezed through the aisle. How could these big trucks and buses navigate across the water without sinking the ferry. It was a Saturday in August of 1987 and we were taking the plunge, hopefully not into the Puget Sound, moving onto an island. I had five rowdy children in the back of my station wagon. Daddy was riding in the cab of the truck with our friend Dale, who was either so glad to get rid of us, as we had been living with him for a while, or he was just a prince among men. The later is more likely the truth.
   I sat in the ferry trying to remember the interior of the house we rented a week before. All that kept coming into my mind was the view out the back. How did we get so lucky to rent a view home for less than mainland rent? The back of the house faced east. Across the water you could practically see where we lived before. I thought of the swing on the back porch. That would be my sanctuary.
   As the volunteers from our church moved our older furniture into the house I marveled at the light filled kitchen, east light streaming through the plentiful windows. The house was certainly not new, but I could only see the light and the view.The small stairway creaked as men laden with mattresses trudged up the stairs. I admired the claw foot bathtub wondering who would take baths in front of the window? The girls wanted the south bedroom with the slanted ceiling and the boys claimed the middle bedroom, two in bunkbeds and one on the side; cramped quarters. 
   

As night reached across the front yard, I lay exhausted on my bed in an unfamiliar room. Would we be happy here? Would my husband do well in his new job? Would we have enough money for September rent? I heard the boys whisper to each other, "It's really dark here." It was so dark I couldn't make out my dresser across the room. On the mainland street lights kept dim light filtering in all the windows. It was so, so, quiet. The kind of quiet that makes the noise of your ears sound deafening. What I did not know then was that the darkness, in which I could hide, would force me to excavate my true nature. And, the silence would allow me to hear my own voice.

I am writing for 31 days this October about Island Life. Click here to see the other days of writing.