The County Cracks Down With New Standards

When Sarah went to the local county building department she was told that before she could obtain a building permit our water district had to install a new system which would cost every homeowner thousands of dollars. This was good news since the septic permit that had already been granted was only good for nine more months before they also upped the requirements for septic systems, and then we'd have to start all over.

Most of the smaller islands around here had been used primarily as summer colonies, so no one had given much thought to water standards. There were separate little groups of houses that together formed their own water districts and pooled the water from one large well, and it was a helter skelter type of organization. But now that people were starting to move onto the islands full time it was becoming obvious that new standards would have to be established and enforced.

We started out by meeting with the residents of our water district, a group of 12 families scattered in the immediate area. But it soon became obvious that it was not in their interest to conform to the new standards. They were getting along fine as it was. I couldn't blame them, really. Here we were, new people and all of a sudden the state decides no one can build a new house without the whole water district being subject to upgrading. We discussed it with Sarah and she suggested we drill our own well, and while this added costs we hadn't anticipated, we had little choice if we wanted everything to go according to schedule.

Some of our neighbors were none too happy with our decision to drill our own well. They felt the water table might be affected. Perhaps they felt if they dragged their feet we'd get fed up and leave. Sort of like "if you don't think about it it'll go away". When we didn't someone filed a complaint with the health department stating our well was too close to our septic drain field. This only caused hard feelings, for Sarah had obtained health department approval before giving the go-ahead to the well driller.

Sarah: She Is Woman, Hear Her Roar!

I couldn't prove it, but I think David's blood pressure went up a bit when I casually mentioned I'd found a builder and "guess what? Her name is Sarah!" But to his credit he recovered quickly and decided to hold off on opinions set in cement until after he'd seen and talked to her.

She was great. She not only saved us money by pointing us in the direction of an outstanding designer who came up with plans for my perfect house, just the way I wanted it, and without judgmental interventions, she cracked the whip on all her subcontractors, and if something wasn't up to snuff or not the way she wanted it it was done over.

Sarah and her husband literally built two houses themselves, for themselves, and once they were finished and other people saw what they'd done, they suddenly realized they were in business. That is, Sarah was in business, because her husband preferred to stay out of the building business, having had enough after their own two houses.

Once the blueprints were finished and we'd discussed exactly how and where we wanted the house sited on our property it was time to get a building permit. But the state had changed the rules and we were about to receive our first lesson in how rural areas function at the local level.

Looking For Property

David hates to look at houses or property, so finding the right place was always left up to me. This arrangement has suited me, however, because I know what I want. The one time David went ahead and bought something I was against I hated it. (He only did it because we had to find some place to live when he was transferred and the town had very few properties for sale.) When I do the searching and finally find something he'll usually agree unless I'm way out of line, and so far I haven't been way out of line. Still, the process can take me a long time.

I'd looked for over a year for the kind of property I wanted. What the heck, we were under no pressure to move. I'd seen some lovely properties--we were looking for bare land so I could have a house built that I designed--but there always seemed to be something wrong with it. It was either too close to neighbors, too expensive, too far away or too small. Then, finally, on the one day David agreed to come along with me, we found the perfect property.

It was almost three acres on the west side of the island, on a bluff overlooking the water, another island and the Olympic Mountains, which even in summer, were topped with snow. Most of the property was heavily wooded, but near the bluff it had been logged to make room for a small manufactured home that served as a weekend house for some city dwellers. We would get the afternoon sun and be able to watch sunsets. It had just come on the market and we grabbed it.

We had the home torn down, found a building contractor and a home designer and, long story short, here we are. The building of the house, however, was a tale in itself, because our general contractor was a seventy year old woman.

When I was driving around the island one day--I would go out occasionally just to sit and look out at the water--I drove by a small, two story cottage style house set back on wooded acreage, surrounded by a split rail fence. It was adorable, so I rang the doorbell and asked the owner who had built it. That's how we found Sarah.

A Couple Of Nomads Settle Down

David and I were raised in the Midwest, went to school there, were married there, had two children there. And then one summer we decided to go west for our two week vacation and fell in love with Wyoming. There was just one problem: there was no easy way to make a living there. So we decided on Portland, Oregon. We sold our house, packed up our things, took the children out of school and left. Just like that. Our families thought we were crazy. My father was convinced the law must be after us, for after all, who would want to live anywhere other than the Chicago area?

We loved it in Portland, but David found work with a company that transferred us all over the west, so from Portland we went to Boise, from Boise to San Jose, from San Jose to Seattle. That part wasn't fun, but we've never regretted leaving the Midwest. I wouldn't go back for anything in the world. Some people are just happier in certain parts of the country, and this is our place.

I was delighted to be back the part of the Northwest that was close to the sea and real mountains. I'd taken it easy in Boise and skied several times a week, but we weren't close to water and mountains like we'd been in Portland, and in Seattle we were back to the land I loved.

In the meantime our son had graduated from college and our daughter was in her last year.

I'd found a house in a golf community, knowing how much David enjoyed golf, my ulterior motive being he wouldn't want to transfer somewhere else again so agreeably. I was right about that. He quit his job and started his own business which he ran out of our home. For awhile I was content with the knowledge we didn't have to move again, but it wasn't long before I realized this wasn't the place for me. I'd made a few friends, but most of the people who lived there quite naturally played golf and I thought the game was stupid. There wasn't anything that bored me more than hearing a bunch of adults enthusing about their latest game or the courses they'd played on.

Finally, one day I'd had it. I told David he'd been able to live in his paradise for quite awhile and now it was my turn. At first he brushed it off, but I kept coming back to it. "Look," I said, "I love the water and mountains and I want to live somewhere where I can see the water, and maybe mountains." Maybe an island.

"Okay," he said, finally, "Go look."