It's Bad News: A New Septic System

We seem to have had nothing but bad news lately. The latest came from our trusty island septic installer who, in reality is kind of jack of all trades, but I won't go into that now. He lives on the island, has installed hundreds of septic systems here, & is a bit of an island fixture. If he were older I could say he's a legend. He's honest & he's good, so we've stuck with him & had him do a variety of jobs. Sometimes he operates on "island time", but when he knows it's an emergency he's there for you. We got that awful loud buzzer in the middle of the night Saturday, so David called him about 7:30 Sunday & left a message.

Emergencies, even medical emergencies, always seem to happen on weekends, so we didn't hear back until Monday morning; he came Monday afternoon. The immediate problem was a pump wire that had shorted out, but when he opened one of the tanks on our sand filter septic system he gave us the really bad news: the system was failing & needed to be replaced. Why? Naturally we asked. 

Sand filter systems are used only when standard gravity septic systems can't be used, such as, in our case, there is not enough soil to properly install a regular system. Most of the island soil is glacial till & hardpan, so it's practically impossible to install a gravity system., although they were installed years ago before sand filter systems were used. Many have been replaced, however, because they, too, failed.

Donnie, our installer, told us the reason ours was failing was because when we built the house the county required a certain grade of sand be used for installation & now it's proved to be too dense to absorb the effluent properly, so the effluent has backed up into the tanks again. We've had the tanks pumped according to the requirements we were given, but even that wasn't enough.

He's recommending an aerobic system, which is supposed to be fairly new and designed for the same type of problem soil as a sand filter system. I spent yesterday & today researching on the Web & have come away convinced I DON'T want it! It requires frequent maintenance--probably about $500/year--& that's today's cost, which is sure to go up as the years to on--& many, many prohibitions on what NOT to put down your toilets & drains, such as: garbage disposal waste, oil, suds, bleach & the usual no-no's of any kind of paper or cloth except for toilet paper, but what threw me was "medications". Not medications that someone might throw down a toilet, but the residual of a medication that a person excretes. So if we're taking certain medications we can't use the toilets! Who knows what medications we may have to take in future? This just does not seem very practical. And I have to use those Clorox tablets that you put in the toilet tank to keep rust from forming since we have a lot of iron in our water. I couldn't use those, either.  So this is something we have to think over carefully. 

Now It's The Septic System

First the snow cancels the Christmas dinner we had scheduled, then a neighbor trying to help clear a path in our driveway slides into a tree & ruins his car; the car can't be towed because the towing company is swamped with towing other cars disabled by the storm; therefore the driveway is blocked & we can't get out for 5 days, and finally, at about 2:00 am this morning we're awakened by the warning buzzer from our septic system, which glows an ominous red when we open the garage door to see what the racket is.

"Too much water," is David's diagnosis, so we call our septic installer once it gets to a reasonable hour. It's Sunday, of course, so we don't hear back. The last time this happened--probably 10 years ago it was either Saturday or Sunday. Why do these things have to happen on weekends?

David's diagnosis sounds correct. I found an on-line manual for sand filter septic systems which says they are very delicate & need to have special care. Too much water can flood the filter & set off the alarm, & we've had nothing but snow & rain for the past 10 days on top of showers, my doing laundry & dishwashing. So now, in lieu of expert advice on what to do next, we are limiting our use of water, including the flushing of toilets. Dishes will have to be done by hand & we'll have to live with the clothes that are already clean.

This really is some December to remember!

Free At Last

For the first time ever I've been unable to leave the house for one whole week! Every morning I'd wake up to bitter cold--extremely unusual here in the Northwest on the west side of the mountains--with the hope that "today maybe we can get to the market and shop for food", but the snow was too deep to expect any car to plow through, especially since our driveway has a steep incline up to our community road. We've already had one casualty, & that was a 4 wheel drive, so we'd never attempt it with our car. But getting out on the driveway is a moot point anyway since the casualty has been stuck there for 5 days.

But at least the electricity hasn't gone off, so for the time being, anyway, we're warm, & there's stuff in the freezer. Thank goodness for Costco soup! And since I have yeast & flour in the house I baked bread to go with the soup. Wow. How domestic. For someone who hates cooking & hates to think about food, except where, other than here, I'm going to eat it this has been a real hardship! 

The mail, which usually comes anywhere from 12:30-3:00 pm is now coming about 5:00 pm if they come at all. UPS told me one truck has been assigned to the island. My packages have been accumluating there--I must have about 4 somewhere in the UPS system on hold for this are. The propane truck still hasn't come & we're afraid we're going to run out of heating fuel. But at least today the temperature is above 40 F so the snow is finally melting on the streets. There are some good size ruts left on streets that get minimal traffic, but on the whole driving is pretty good if you can ignore the piles of snow--some 10 ft. tall--in parking lots.

I hope never to see another storm like this one, but we are grateful the electricity never went out. It's a first!

How To Cement A Friendship

Being snowed in wasn't enough. Now we've caused a friend to wreck his car! One thing I'm sure he's learned: Being a good Samaritan doesn't always pay off. It's more like the old proverb (or whatever it is) that no good deed goes unpunished.

We asked a friend who has a 4 wheel drive vehicle & was able to get around fairly well if he'd drive up & down our driveway a few times to make a path for the propane truck that was due to come & fill up our propane tank. Like the good friend he is he came right over, but he had some trouble keeping on the graveled driveway once he came down through the woods from our community road into the open. Then, on the second run, going up the incline to the road he stopped, which was a big mistake. Underneath the snow was ice & he started sliding backward, unable stop. The car back ever so slowly into a big Douglas Fir tree off the side of the driveway. You wouldn't think the impact at such a low speed would do much damage but it smashed the whole back end of the car, popping the rear window with a sound like a rifle shot.

He promptly called his insurance company expecting a tow truck to come out shortly, but with storm problems all over the area they told him they didn't know when they'd be able to pick the car up. So now, even if the propane truck comes they have no way of getting close enough to fill the tank. David goes out every day to check on the amount left & luckily it is not going down fast. However, if I had it to do over I don't think we'd ever opt for propane again.

Still Snowed In

The first day it snowed I hooked a ride with a neighbor & went into town on the mainland to do a few errands & see how the roads looked. The neighbor had a 4 wheel drive, so didn't have much of a problem driving the roads, which were packed snow. Even the hills gave him no problem, but even with 4 wheel drive you don't gun it. That's when you get into trouble.

But after they predicted the wind storm, along with more snow, I jumped ship in the afternoon when I still could. David stayed--I think because he's just stubborn. He didn't sleep well because every time the wind gusted dangerously he woke up, but as usual, I slept like a log. Next morning I had to clean off about 6 inches of snow from my car & then I headed home--veeerrry carefully! Saw cars & trucks in ditches all the way home, although the freeway was clear & wet. Even saw a Volvo.

We thought that was the end, but no, last night we got another 4 inches or so. There's no way we can get out, so we asked our 4 wheel drive neighbor to drive up & down our driveway a few times to clear out a path.

Waiting For A Fierce Storm

We still hadn't ventured out in either car (one a Saab & one an Audi) since two days ago when the snow hit. Yesterday David tried to get his car, the Audi, up the incline at the end of our driveway, but ended up backing all the way down, which is about a city block long, through the woods & around a curve. He thinks maybe he didn't go fast enough to get enough momentum to get to the top, but it kind of spooked me & kept me from trying even though my car is heavier & stood a better chance of making it. A friend stopped by to leave a book & after he said he was going into town I decided to go with him just to see how the roads were & pick up a few items for dinner: ingredients for tacos. His car is a 4 wheel drive SUV & he had no trouble at all managing our driveway or the island hills.

Last night it got down to 10 degrees F., the coldest I think it's ever been here, at least since we've lived here. David is fanatical & fears the water pipes will freeze so he leaves all the cabinet doors open at night & the water dripping from all the faucets. Last night, as long as we had electricity (knock on wood!) he brought in a radiant heater from the garden house & put it in the hall near the thermostat hoping the slight rise in temperature that would be radiated would keep the furnace from going on all night. He is a notoriously light sleeper and every time the furnace goes on he wakes. I sleep the sleep of the dead. Usually, during ordinary winter weather around here the temperature doesn't get below freezing so the furnace rarely goes on during the night since we have it set to automatically go down to 66 degrees. The house is well insulated so rarely gets too cold. Even when we were out of electricity for three days one winter the temperature didn't get below 55 degrees inside.

Last night & this morning they've been telling us on the radio & TV that there's a big storm coming in later this afternoon, with high winds & snow, but rising temperatures. Any kind of wind with snow usually takes out the electricity here, so I told David I was leaving this afternoon & made a motel reservation. He wants to stay in the house & was planning to build a fire if the electricity went out, but since all the heat goes up the fireplace flue that kind of precaution will hardly affect the pipes, & since the temperatures are supposed to rise anyway he's debating whether to come with me.

Snowed In

I am sitting here waiting for the electricity to go out. It's almost lunchtime. We woke up to about an inch of snow, but about 10:00 a.m. it started in again. In Seattle this would be nothing to be concerned about. The plows would be making their rounds and once you got out of your driveway you could probably get to where you wanted to go as long as you stayed away from hills. But around here things aren't as easy. 

The biggest problem are the trees, but almost as bad are the hills. We love trees, and for 11.98 months of the year we celebrate all the trees on our island; it's the small fraction of days like this when they're a threat. Douglas firs were not made to support heavy snow. At the very least their branches collapse, at worst the whole tree topples over.

I'll never forget the snowstorm we had two years ago. It started with a windstorm the night before, knocking out our electricity. (This is a common thing around here and the utility company blames it all on trees. But still, other areas seem to cope with wind despite the trees.) In the morning, the dim prospect of no coffee sent us onto the mainland for breakfast, after a neighbor had cleared away a downed tree on the road with his chain saw. We met other neighbors at the restaurant who'd had the same idea and glancing out the window over our second cup of coffee we noticed a blizzard had started outside & was sticking to the pavement at an unbelievable rate. All we needed was to be snowed in with no electricity, so we sped home as fast as we could, grabbed our overnight bags which we kept packed for just such occasions, locked up and managed to get up the steep end of our driveway to the community road, only to discover another tree had come down over it. This time we tried driving around it and got stuck.

The snow was piling up fast, but David went out to the county road and as luck would have it, a county sheriff's deputy was passing. David flagged him down and the two of them managed to rock the car out of the ditch we'd made trying to get out. While I stood there waiting for him to find someone I could hear the cracking of tree branches that sounded like pistol shots in the snow-muffled silence, and every once in awhile, after the crack a swishing thud that meant a tree had come down somewhere in the woods. By this time I was very anxious to get off the island!

We finally made it, but we had to take several detours because of downed trees over the roads, & all the way off the island we could hear trees falling. I must say I was scared to death one would come down on our car. Four wheel drive vehicles were in ditches all over the place because in weather like that, 4 wheel drive is really no help. We did much better in our front wheel drive Saab.

We were one of the last persons to get a room at a motel on the mainland. Then freezing weather set in and made the roads all but impassable--even the freeways. We were three days in the motel so we made a party of it. The same neighbors we'd eaten breakfast with got a room too, so we had a cocktail party every afternoon and ate at nearby restaurants, all short-handed because employees couldn't get to work. 

Grand Theft: Obama Sign Stolen From Front Yard

Sign stealing this election year had been frequent in the big city of Seattle, but here on our little island? 

It was October, some years back, when we moved to another big city on the West Coast and I remember how puzzled I was by the yard signs that announced which houses supported which political candidates. Political signs had never been a tradition in the Midwest--bumper stickers and lapel pins, yes, but not signs. Even though we eventually got accustomed to them we never erected any ourselves, and when we moved to the island it was more like we remembered from the Midwest: no signs.

This year, however, was a landmark year with a very different candidate, and some of Barack Obama's supporters were very assertive about their choice. A few yard signs actually went up in our neighborhood--a first, for as far back as I can remember, for most of us live quietly and don't advertise our politics.

One of the sign erectors had recently moved from the big city, so this ritual was understandable, and once his sign went up his next door neighbor promptly followed suit with a second Obama sign.

They were there, undisturbed and unopposed by rival McCain signs, for about a month when one night they both mysteriously disappeared. Who had done it? Who had stooped to low down thievery and stolen the signs? The big city residents were furious. Although replacement signs soon went up, feelings were raw, and the victim reported that he suspected his neighbor across the road, who had a tendency to stir up trouble if there was trouble he could find to stir up. 

Someone else piped up that it wasn't a good idea to make an accusation if it couldn't be backed up by proof, and this pissed off the big city resident. How dare someone impugn the validity of his accusation? Especially when the accused neighbor was despised by everyone and even suspected of being a Republican?

Funny how bad feelings can be stirred up during an election year. How wonderful it would be if that's all we had to worry about!

We're Still Fighting To Stay Rural

The developers are always on our doorstep, so to speak, drooling over the money that could be made if they could just pave over most of the island with motels, fast food joints and the like. But this has always been a quiet, rural place and most of us would like to keep it that way even if we have to fight continually to do so. We've managed to stave off Walmart (that is, the mainland town has so far kept them at bay, thanks to several hard working business owners that led the fight to keep them out), but others are always lined up behind them to start a new fight.

The developers tried to intimidate the county commissioners at a land use hearing by ranting about how much money they'd invested in their shopping center projects and now the rules had changed and were so stringent, with the objections and appeals process taking so long, that they were losing money. By raising their voices they intimidated our three commissioners--the ones who basically interpreted the county's Master Plan--enough so they relaxed the height and square footage requirement on a building moratorium for a shopping center that had begun. 

The result was two of the commissioners were voted out of office in the November 2008 election. Now we'll see what happens!

A Seattle Times Columnist Describes Our Paradise

Here's what a Seattle newspaper columnist said recently about our island: (And this is why we love it here.)

" You could see the yellow kayak, bobbing through the waves stirred by a stiff breeze, at least a half a mile away.
The sea kayaker was making slow, steady progress against the southerly wind that Puget Sound knows so well, paddle dipping with power and purpose.

Fifteen minutes later, he came ashore at Cama Beach State Park and walked over, shaking saltwater off his waterproof clothing, pulling off his neoprene gloves.

"Is there a phone here?" he asked. "I need to call about where I'm headed tonight. This is the only sign of life I've seen around here."

The guy, traveling north to south down the Sound, had unwittingly capsulized one of the great things about living here.

Few signs of life. Less than an hour away from one of the West Coast's largest population centers.

In the minds of a lot of us natives, that sort of near-solitude is often relegated to the relics-of-the-past department. But it might be misfiled. Because of sheer luck of the environment that surrounds us and a few people wise enough to protect it, we still have access to special natural places decidedly not overrun by people, at least during the "off" months." Ron Judd

Photo:
Our Madrona tree sports its bright orange winter berries

Wild Life Casualties

For the most part we enjoy our wildlife here on the island, but have to be on constant alert lest we add to the unfortunate road kill. Deer appear to be unbelievably stupid, darting out of the woods across the road and right into or in front of cars. It's hard to blame the cars since--driving sensibly--we've had so many close calls ourselves and know there is no way to avoid hitting an animal that runs directly into your path. I'm particularly careful at night, but it happens during the day, too, and I'd never forgive myself if I hit one.

We had a family of wild turkeys that seemed to like our property, perhaps because it had a combination of gardens, open spaces and woods. I kept hoping it was slugs they were eating, for I could see them pecking about in the yard. For a long time we saw what we presumed was a mother with her three chicks, either pecking at something or quite adorably walking up the drive in single file, but as the chicks got older over a period of weeks, they disappeared one by one. We didn't know if they'd gone off by themselves or provided dinner for a coyote, but soon we were down to the one adult. They had become celebrities of a sort with our neighbors who weren't accustomed to looking out their windows and seeing wild turkeys, but for some reason the turkeys preferred our yard to sort of settle into.

Then, one morning David went out to get the morning newspaper and found a pile of large grey feathers on the edge of the driveway. There was only one explanation and we never saw a turkey again. We rarely see coyotes any more--maybe as a learned survival instinct they have become silent and more stealthy. But we know they're there. Every once in awhile the east side of the island, which is more densely populated than the west side, has a rash of disappearing pets and we know it's coyotes. Most people have learned not to let their small pets out alone at night.

Our bald eagles frequently dine on road kill although they prefer salmon or other fish. There is a nest of them somewhere near our property, although we haven't spotted it yet, and it's always a treat to see them soaring above the sound looking for fish, or perched on the top of Douglas firs waiting for other prey. We haven't heard of one taking a dog or cat, but nevertheless we watch our West Highland Terrier if we know they're about.

The Developers Begin Their Onslaught

The watchdog group I'd joined was an irritant to both the developers and the county. The developers were being challenged and the county was being monitored to make sure building codes and zoning laws were adhered to. Life on the island was approaching a never ending battle of wits: developers vs. watchdogs, with one developer in particular as the chief focus.

It won't come as a surprise to some that there are people who emotionally bulldoze their way through life on the assumption they're "entitled". They're entitled to do what they want, and if they screw others or objections are raised there must be something wrong with the other guys or their thinking. Because these people are going to get their way or else! This one was alleged to have built a shoddy housing development elsewhere on the island and now he was moving on to shopping centers, raising all kinds of red flags as he worked through the permit process.

First there was a piece of property he optioned and presented plans to build a motel, gas station, fast food restaurant and what he called a "fine dining" restaurant. The problem was, nobody wanted such things on the island. We were appalled! Please, not in our back yard! There were a few B&Bs but there was nothing in the zoning code that permitted motels so it was puzzling he'd even presented plans for it. He certainly hadn't expected 150 or so people to show up to object when he appeared before the planning board, but like so many others of his ilk he was both clueless and insensitive to what lay ahead and didn't expect what he got. 

When that plan failed he bought acreage further up the road to build an even bigger shopping center, and this time, instead of a "motel" he was calling it "short term rental units", imagining, I guess, that he was pulling the wool over everyone's eyes! Each time he presented his plans to the county there was an appeal by the watchdogs, on legitimate grounds, followed by a hearing at which he was challenged. The watchdogs always came out in force, organized via emails and phone trees. A legal fund was established and every time an attorney was required expenses were minimized by recruiting members as researchers. It was a real grassroots movement.

Hearing after hearing took place as various aspects of the plan were challenged. Besides the short term housing the watchdogs objected to the huge septic system which pumped effluent to a site up a hill several miles distant because the building site itself was not large enough to accommodate a drain field. The pipe carrying it would necessarily be laid on county property, which would make the county liable if the line was damaged in any way, but the hearing examiner granted the permit for it anyway.

Then the density of the project was challenged and it was becoming clear to the county commissioners that there needed to be some clarification and agreement reached as to exactly what would be allowed on the rest of the land bordering this road, some of it designated as Rural Areas of Intensive Development. What exactly would be allowed. They decided to slap a 6 month moratorium on all development in the corridor, but before they they could do it they had to have a public hearing and let the public speak. And man, that's when the ---- hit the fan!

A Watchdog Group Is Formed

We (and a whole lot of others who live here) saw our island as representative of relatively undiscovered pristine beauty and we wanted to keep it that way. Others saw it merely as a way to make an easy buck. When they see "undiscovered pristine beauty" an equation immediately pops up: housing developments + shopping centers = $. Clear cut a hill so you get a water view from most everywhere, throw up mediocre houses and sell them for twice what they're worth and in a few months you've got yourself a fortune! Pretty simple. No rocket science there. So who cares if runoff causes landslides and damage to neighbors' property! It's what property rights are all about! 

I happen to be a believer in property rights, but along with those rights come an individual responsibility not to rape the land, and responsibility is a word some have never heard or think doesn't apply to them. These people are everywhere, but, naively, we had higher expectations for this island when we moved here.  

The county seems to be erratic and ineffective much of the time in enforcing their own rules, so the result finally was that a watchdog group was formed to put pressure on the county to adhere to their own building codes and zoning laws. The group is a thorn in everyone's sides--the county's as well as the violators--but I, for one, don't feel completely helpless when I know, as a cohesive group, we are no longer compelled to just sit and watch as violation after violation make a mockery out of orderly growth.

We are making a difference!

David's New Favorite Word: Natural

David was never a perfectionist when it came to our lawn, but still, he wanted it to look good. (I'm convinced lawns are strictly a male thing, like reading the sports page in the morning paper.) When we were in the planning stages of our house I suggested we do away with a lawn entirely and plant some kind of ground cover, but no, to David there's a house, there's a lawn. I harbor my own opinion that it's just too damn much fun operating a rider mower to give it up for ground cover.

So what it came down to was that I was in charge of the garden in the immediate vicinity of the house (which did not include bushes, only flowers) and he was in charge of the rest of the property. We'd had to clear some of the woods for a new driveway and once the area on either side filled in again David decided that, apart from the lawn and my garden, everything else should remain "natural". It had been my idea to cut through the woods with a few unobtrusive, meandering paths, lay down wood chips and place outdoor wooden chairs a couple of places for just sitting and meditating. 

Then we got down to thinking about it. The regular maintenance it required in a climate where undergrowth takes over like a jungle convinced us it was too much work. And was this the kind of thing we'd really put to regular use? Probably not, but the idea had sounded cool when I'd first thought of it. I settled for a little clearing where I plopped down a hand made chair that seems to fit the flavor of the place--crudely constructed and half covered in moss and lichen, it's barely discernible in the middle of the woods, and occasionally I do go there and just sit and think.

But the "natural" thing started to get to me. Every time I wanted him to cut something down or trim it David would say no, we had to leave it natural. Some of the bushes started to obstruct part of the front window, but David wanted them to look natural, so they remained unpruned. Finally I took matters into my own hands and when he saw that I was prepared to override natural with what he considered inferior pruning he acquiesced and did it himself. 

Native salal covers most of the ground outside the lawn and garden area, and this became David's favorite plant because it looked natural. He would nurse it and prune around it so it could grow unchallenged by anything else to the point where it was covering and taking over not only the ground area in our woods, but creeping out and over the country lane we share with our neighbors. It was tall enough that it formed an obstruction to our view coming out of our driveway, and every time I came up and out onto the lane it was like playing Russian roulette with other cars. Being a country lane it didn't have much traffic, but still, I always inched my way out of our driveway afraid another car would broadside me.

When a neighbor finally took matters into his own hands and paid someone to cut both sides of the lane back so it would be possible to partially pull off to the side when meeting another car (it's only one lane wide) David was apoplectic. It was his property and he wanted it left natural. He was going to call the neighbor and remind him of the fact and that he had no business cutting down someone else's salal. 

I sat him down on the deck with a glass of wine after he got home that evening, told him such talk would accomplish nothing but hard feelings that would probably never go away, and decided there was only one way to handle this: treat him to his favorite dish, caramelized onion. I put it on to simmer and before long, as the fragrance wafted out and engulfed him he calmed like a lion in a catmint patch. It was better than arguing.  

Some Consequences Of Logging

Winter wind storms are just as common here as our glorious summers, and by the end of October each year we start removing deck furniture and anything else that might blow away. The old Adirondack chair that we keep on the edge of the bluff has a rope tied through a hole in one of it's legs which is in turn tied to a large fir tree, but it's far enough away from the house and the rope is short enough that it can't inflict any damage.

Our wind storms generally whip up slowly and come from the south. The islands' banked shorelines serve as a wind tunnel, and as the storms build into a fury we can hear fir branches landing on the roof and hitting the screens on the windows. After the first year we gave up trying to replace screens. Once the wind starts it's just a matter of time before the electricity goes out. It's never "if" the electricity goes out, it's always "when".  

In a wind storm red alders are the biggest danger, and in the Northwest they are known as junk trees because they snap easily in the wind, shatter, and scatter their parts. At least firs, although shedding occasional branches, usually come down in tact, in one direction. The danger from fir trees is that because they have a shallow root system they blow over fairly easily, roots and all, if a gust hits just right, but a forest or heavily wooded acreage of firs gets strength from its sheer numbers and density. When the wind hits the ones in front it breaks the force of it for the weaker ones in back.

Sometimes instead of clear cutting an area a logger will take only the commercially valuable trees, which are the mature Douglas firs. This is sometimes worse than clear cutting, for now the protection the younger trees derived from the mature trees is no longer available and become vulnerable, seldom lasting beyond that first prolonged gust. 

A few years ago some vacant property about a quarter of a mile down the road from us was sold, but before it was put on the market it was logged of all the valuable trees--a common occurrence--leaving nothing but a few junk trees and some very young firs. That year we had a bad wind storm early in November, and David and I were awakened by the increasing hissing intensity of fir branches being whipped in the strong wind. Our wind gage said gusts were up to 60 m.p.h. We're always concerned about the two firs on the edge of our bank overlooking the sound, which are about 50-75 years old, for if they were uprooted the chances were very good they would land directly on our house. But they've been there a long time and have lived through many storm seasons so we always knock on wood and hope for the best. 

As we looked out our bedroom deck doors that night to watch our bank firs bending precariously in the wind, their black branches gesticulating wildly against the dark grey velvet sky, we heard the unmistakable sharp crack that we've come to recognize as a tree snapping off and crashing to the ground. We ducked, reflexively, then ran to a front window and saw what we first thought was a fireworks display, but then realized was a tree that had taken down a power pole, cutting off our own power. We got through to the power company on our cell phones and they came that night to move the live wires off the road. But the next morning we saw it would be some time before anyone could even drive this road again, for it had happened on the newly logged vacant property. One of a couple of mature firs the logger, for some reason, had left standing had been uprooted and taken down the power pole first, then came eight or nine much younger firs. Those trees had lived through storms just as strong, but they'd had the forest of stronger ones in front of them. Now they had no protection and blew over like matchsticks.

Some years later, when the island had gone through an unusually rapid growth, which necessarily means extensive logging, another strong wind storm took down power lines all over. Almost without exception the trees that were blown down that year were the ones left by indiscriminate logging. That time we were out of power for three days. 

The Meaning Of "Island Time"

ABOVE: Dale fixes everything

Once we moved to the island I realized that my entire life up until then had been lived under an erroneous assumption regarding workmen or repairmen. The assumption was that if I called someone to have some kind of service performed and an answering machine or voice mail took the message I could expect a call back to acknowledge that the person had received the call and was or was not able to perform the service.

Well, that's not the way business is conducted on the island. The accepted custom is that you call and leave a message and then maybe two weeks or a month later the person will call you back and say now he is free to consider your request and work you into his schedule. Or, if he was too busy or not interested he would just not return the call at all. At first this infuriated me so I would simply call around to find someone else to do the job, although this was not always easy to do since workers here are at a premium.

Then I decided on another tactic. I would call, leave my message and add an addendum requesting an immediate call back to establish if there was an interest in even doing the job eventually, even though he might be too busy at the moment. Sometimes it actually worked, but they usually acted as though they were doing me some special favor by replying before they were ready to do the job. Commitment was not a highly prized character trait.

I finally hit on a godsend by the name of Dale. I've never known Dale's last name because everyone calls him just Dale and when you write him a check you make it out to "Dale's". Dale fixes everything, which solves a lot of my problems, but regrettably, he doesn't clear away downed trees, trim bushes, remove moss from roofs, pump septic tanks, or deliver gravel or compost. Dale careens around the island in his big red, white and blue panel truck with the word DALE hugely displayed on each side panel in a crosswise slant that takes up the entire space. You can spot it a mile away. It's a very canny move because he gives the impression of being ubiquitous, so when something in your house breaks the vision of his truck immediately comes to mind.

One winter we had suffered through a whole week of furnace failure with the local furnace repair service, and while they ordered wrong parts and acted as though they'd never seen a propane furnace, we froze. Finally, after investing over $400 we called it quits with the company and called Dale. When he took the call he was barreling around the island, as usual, and when I explained the situation he bellowed, "Well why the hell didn't you call me in the first place?!" "Well, geez, Dale," I whined, "I didn't know you fixed furnaces too!" "Well look at my ad in the Yellow Pages," he bellowed again, good naturedly indignant, "that's the first thing that's listed. I can be there in about an hour." He was, and it got fixed that day.

Dale not only fixes things well, he spins wonderful yarns about his life, which keeps David entertained. Watta guy!

Change Happens

Just when you think things are pretty great and you've finally found the place where you know you belong, along comes change. It's inevitable.

First a large supermarket was constructed on the edge of town just east of us on the mainland; the town you had to drive through to get to the island. It had been acres of farmland before, with a small mom and pop hamburger stand on the corner. But the supermarket was a welcome addition for most of us---as long as it wasn't on the island, which we wanted to keep as a rural haven. 

Two smaller markets that had been in town forever were so crowded on weekends the few checkout lines sometimes extended to the back of the store. On the island there were just a few convenience stores, so once we got to the mainland (about 5 miles from our house) we'd had to drive another 12 miles to get to a real supermarket. Now there's a second supermarket in town and the two smaller ones, local merchants who knew everyone by their first names, went out of business. Such is progress. 

There had been no stop lights or stop signs at all when we first drove through the area to look at property. None in the town and none on the island, but after the supermarket went in the first stop light was installed at that corner. Before we knew it there were 5 stop lights in town, another on the island with a second to go in sometime in late 2008. There goes the neighborhood!

We'd seen few cars on our first visit to look at property. Now it's bumper to bumper traffic most of the day. During rush hour it's impossible. Logging trucks became a ubiquitous sight as property was sold and logged off. Builders who bought large tracks of land for spec homes were the biggest offenders since it was cheaper just to make a clean sweep and clear cut everything. 

Soon we began to hear complaints from people who had lived here for years and were now having trouble with slides and drainage problems due to irresponsible new construction.

And two years ago another strip mall type supemarket went in as part of a plaza that contained lots of rental space as well as a gas station and a street was extended to accommodate it. Smaller gas stations in town began to close.

Island Summers Are To Die For!

Nirvana here on the islands is summer. I'd be surprised to learn there was another place in this country (earth?) that has more glorious summers. In spite of the rain that plagues us a good portion of the year our summers are dry. Not the hot dryness of the desert but rather a perfect balance of humidity and warmth. Your skin doesn't itch. Your mucous membranes don't feel as though you've been 10 hours in the air at 30,000 feet. You step outside from a non-airconditioned house--because no one has air conditioning here--and the sun gently warms your skin while a gentle breeze off the water prevents that baked feeling that summers elsewhere seem to bring.

We have an old Adirondack chair near the edge of the bluff that gets a good deal of use during the summer. Sitting in it, where the breeze is a little stronger than it is on our deck, we can look out over the green undergrowth and trees on the bank below and see the sound, its waves gently washing the shore in rhythmic, mesmerizing sighs, sailboats gliding by silently and an occasional power boat cutting a white wake as it buzzes past. If we listen we can hear our resident bald eagles call to each other in their easily recognizable high pitched warbling, and looking up we see them gliding high above the water coasting on thermals and then suddenly diving into a school of fish. The sun turns the water a bright blue and dances diamonds off the surface; we can barely make out beach houses on the next island, and the snow-topped Olympic Mountains are outlined behind. It would be a perfect place to read if one could concentrate, but I can never take my eyes from the scene in front of me.

In late evening the sun is a fiery red ball above the horizon that tints clouds to salmon and then appears to drop quickly into the sea as the air cools. I find myself asking, "How do I deserve all this beauty?"

The Year Of The Land Slides

It was one of those years that the Pacific Northwest dreads. Lots of rain, followed by snow, followed by more rain. Weather like that forebode bad things to come. 

On another island a sleeping couple was killed when their beach home was buried by a slide from the hill above. Some multi-million dollars homes on mainland bluffs in Seattle were lost to land slides too. Expensive real estate ended up in Elliott Bay. The newspaper was full of pictures of slides on our island too. In our neighborhood the one lane road down to the beach--so steep they had posted a sign at the top, now weathered with age, that said "Drive At Your Own Risk"--was washed out by a slide, and like a domino effect that slide triggered more slides that plowed into some houses below. Luckily no one was hurt, but the owners lost electricity for weeks and also lost access to their homes.

Most of the houses on waterfront or bluff property on our island were existing on borrowed time. The large wall map in the county office had most of those areas marked as "unstable". We'd had a geologic study done before we bought the property and the geologist pointed out that our bluff, thankfully, unlike those to the north of us and some to the south, was not prone to wholesale sloughing for two reasons: 1) The property owners before us had left trees and sturdy undergrowth in tact instead of cutting everything down to improve the view, which resulted in the soil being well anchored and able to absorb a good deal of rain water, and 2) Our part of the bluff supported the undergrowth because of its gradual sloping rather than the sheer drop from properties north. It didn't mean we were home free but we were less likely to have a massive slide.

We noticed just about all of our neighbors had better views than did we--that's why they'd bought the property--but they were all adjacent to each other above the same bare, sheer cliff that was slowly sloughing away because there was nothing growing on it to anchor it. That bad "year of the slides" reinforced to us the importance trees play in the ecosystem.

The soil on the bluff north of us had been saturated with rain that winter when about 6" of snow fell on top of it. When it warmed several days later the snow turned into more rain and the weight of the melting snow was all that was needed for the already unstable bluff to give way. Every tree, vine and other undergrowth had been stripped away years earlier, causing continual sloughing until that part of the bluff was now a sheer, steep drop instead of the gradual slope we had. The edge collapsed and slid onto the steep road directly below that led to the houses on the beach; that triggered more slides that washed out the road completely and slid into the backs of several homes.

Aside from the fact that the people on the beach now had no way of reaching their houses, they faced massive expenses getting the road, as well as their houses, repaired. One of the beach residents, an attorney, sent a letter to our association asking if our collective insurance companies would pay for the damage since the real estate that collapsed the road actually belonged to those on the bluff. Understandably, no one was in favor of this since an expensive claim would probably result in the loss of their insurance. 

However, the result of not agreeing to do it was a lawsuit filed against the owners of the property that caused the damage. We were thankful we weren't among those sued but as it turned out the lawsuit managed to extract only a nominal amount from the insurance companies. Since that road is private, rather than being owned by the county, the beach residents had to share monumental expenses having the road reinstalled and a retaining wall erected that would hopefully mitigate future slides.

Needless to say, feeling between the residents of the beach and the bluff has not been warm and fuzzy since! 

Sand In Our Well Water

There are a few disadvantages to living on an island, the major ones being sewage disposal and availability of adequate fresh water. On small islands there is usually no central sewage system so every residence has its own septic system. On our island these range from ordinary single tank septic systems to sophisticated newer sand filter or mound systems, but because so much of the island's soil is hardpan these septic systems need vigilant upkeep or we risk polluting the sea around us. Our county is only now recognizing the need for regular inspections, having faced up to current pollution, and beginning next year we will all be required to have annual inspections.

As for water, there are hundreds of individual and community wells relying on the one island aquifer about which no one knows the capacity or how quickly it recharges. Even the island hydrologist doesn't know. One thing we do know is that our deeply forested topography is advantageous to the aquifer, and as the island is logged off most of the rainwater that would naturally recharge the aquifer runs off into the sea, taking topsoil with it and eventually causing land slides. We know also that the further south you go on the island the more salt water intrusion there is, and once you have salt water mixing with fresh water you're in trouble.

Our property had two sources of water now because, although we'd drilled our own well due to the time constraints relating to improvements the water association was required to make, we still belonged to the association and were entitled to connect to their water. We retained membership primarily because as members we were also entitled to beach rights on the beach front lot the association owned below us.

It wasn't too long after we moved in before we noticed sand in our water. We noticed it in the dishwasher, in the washing machine and in the toilet tanks eventually, where it collected to about 1/4". We called Sarah, our builder, who called the well driller. They came out and suggested we install a water filter, which we did. Then the filter started clogging up and we complained again. Oddly enough, we'd had the same problem with a new house we'd lived in in the Midwest, and the problem was finally solved by drilling the well deeper. Well drillers hate to admit they haven't gone deep enough, for it cuts into their profit. They can't charge extra after they've as much as guaranteed you a pure and adequate water supply for which you've already paid, but we put our collective feet down and they drilled down another 50 or so feet. This appeared to solve the problem, but to be honest, we still have small amounts of sand every once in awhile, but nothing like before. So it's good to know we have another supply of water if it eventually becomes necessary. And so far the community well has no salt water intrusion.

Is David Really Comfortable Here?

I am by nature an introvert and loner. First children frequently are, and for the first four years of my life I lived in an apartment building with just my parents, and because there wasn't an opportunity to play with other children I entertained myself. I never outgrew my introverted independence.

David, on the other hand, was the youngest of 3 children and was brought up in a neighborhood of numerous children. He's never been without the company of others. He is an extrovert, in need of others from whom he can bounce ideas and exchange views. Opposites DO attract, and David and I have been juggling our different needs throughout our life together.

I had foolishly thought that once we were ensconced in our beautiful house on our beautiful property with our beautiful view that's all he would need--besides me, of course. In retrospect, I don't know what I thought he'd do with his time. For 15 years or so he'd been playing golf 3 times a week. He had his own business that he ran out of our home, but he'd planned that so that his business never interfered with his golf.

I really didn't expect him to turn to me for his sole source of company. I knew both of us too well, and I knew having him around all the time, depending on me for conversation would soon drive me up the wall. A friend, who was familiar with my personality, had once given me a decorative pillow with a hanging ribbon attached that I could hang on the doorknob and shut the door to my office. On it was embroidered, "I vant to be alone." Supposedly a famous actress from the twenties, Greta Garbo, who spoke with a Swedish accent, had said this in a movie and it became an "in" thing to say.

I guess I thought he would just sort of putter around, take up painting again or do yard work to take up the slack. But of course he would never be able to tolerate this. He'd moved here to please me and I was grateful for it. But now he drove 120 miles, 3 times a week, to the golf course we had left and that he'd simply had to walk across the fairway in order to meet his friends. Still, I thought this wouldn't last. If he couldn't give up golf he could surely find a golf course closer. But what I failed to fully understand was that it wasn't really the golf course as much as it was the company he kept. If he couldn't play with convivial guys the golf wasn't worth the trouble.

We Really ARE In The Boonies

Picturesque, quiet and peaceful, away from the madness of the big city. These were the things we had looked for and found on this island we now called home. We slept with the windows open and throughout the night we could hear animal noises frequently in the woods around us: owls, cats and other small animals, large animals and sometimes screams that sounded like distress. We read in the local paper about coyotes and disappearing pets and saw the culprits often on the edge of the road and sometimes even in our driveway, peering at us warily. There were also reports in the newspaper of a cougar on the loose, but after a few months the reports ceased.

A mountain beaver regularly ran across the back yard while I was making dinner; a family of raccoons traipsed through, single file, looking for sunflower seeds the birds might have dropped from the feeder (and anything else they might scavenge); small, brown native squirrels, a separate specie from the European grey squirrels on the mainland, were never at a loss when it came to raiding squirrel-proof bird feeders; possums wore a path from our little garden house into the woods, looking for who knows what; salamanders lived in holes at the base of a Douglas Fir in our back yard; whales meandered by in the spring returning from wintering in Mexico; hummingbirds arrived in March and fed voraciously at my feeders until the early part of July. And of course, the deer. People who didn't have gardens were known to coax them into their yards, for they are graceful, non-threatening animals who remember profitable feeding stations and bring back their young the following year.

One day I came to a stop in the middle of the road on my way home from somewhere. A doe was attempting to cross the road with two newborns who were still wobbly on their feet. A couple in a car coming from the opposite direction had stopped too, and the man was on the road taking pictures. Since I didn't have my camera with me I just sat and watched. And hoped they would avoid becoming road kill like so many others.

There is an albino deer on the island--there'd been pictures in the paper, but it frequented another part of the island and we never saw it. People who did see it regularly fretted about hunters getting it during the season.

From the Interstate it was a 20 minute drive to our house, with no stop lights or stop signs. I never knew exactly, but it seemed as though only about half the homes here were occupied year round. Only 20 years ago it was far lower. There were 3 small markets on the island, 1 on the south end and 2 on the north end, but when you're accustomed to a supermarket you frequent the island markets only in emergencies. For everything else it was a 45 minute drive off the island. Well, I didn't mind. This was what I wanted. I just saved up my errands and went to "town" once a week.

Getting To Know Neighbors

We'd met everyone in our immediate "neighborhood", such as it is. Neighborhoods here generally coalesced into water districts, so ours consisted of the 12 homes in our water district. We were the last house on the southern edge, there was another house just north of us within screaming distance through the trees (in summer we couldn't see it when the trees were leafed out) and across a country lane to the north were the other 10 houses. We in the unique position of not being within visual range of anyone else on our almost 3 acres of land. The rest of the houses were close together on long, narrow 50 foot wide lots at the top of the bluff overlooking the sound. On a warm summer day when everyone had their windows open in any of those houses--for in the Northwest central air for homes was almost non-existent--one could easily hear conversations taking place in the house next door. So I particularly appreciated our setting of complete privacy.

For 17 years we had been living in a homogenous neighborhood where everyone was in pretty much the same income bracket and had many of the same interests, i.e., golf: borrrrring! Here, thankfully, everyone was different, including their socioeconomic status, and I began to enjoy getting to know the differences.

There were retired couples, one of whom had lived here, it seemed, forever and who'd owned and operated a tiny grocery store on the island; another couple whom I suspected were on the fringe of the original hippie movement, with a modest house and modest jobs, who grew their own food, bartered for services, and eschewed television; those who held hourly wage labor jobs, a teacher, a salesman, a nurse, in other words, a perfect slice of American life!

Crises Over, We're Done!

STILL some work to be done on the inside, but the outside is finished, except for the shutters. Doesn't the chimney look much better set back on the roof? Grass stays green here in the Northwest, so on January 1 when we moved in it still looked pretty much like this, sans junkpile.

Our first night in the house was a thrill even though we had to spend quite some time moving enough boxes out of the way so we had a path to the bed and bathroom. I'd found the sheets and comforter so at least we had a proper bed. We looked out through the French doors in our bedroom, saw across the water the lights of a neighboring island, looked at each other and giggled. We'd done it. Well, Sarah had done it, but it was done. It was OURS!

Change Order Over A Phallic Symbol

We thought this looked like...well, YOU know!


This looked much better...don't you think?

Like most people who build houses we went wildly over our budget with change orders. I'll admit I was the one responsible most of the time, but not everyone has the ability to look at blueprints and see things that, after all, won't work.

The first one resulted from some computer software designed to help with furniture arrangement. Once I input the dimensions of our bedroom and our king sized bed I could see the room was going to be too small. Luckily I discovered this before the foundation went in so it wasn't a big deal. We just added an extra two feet to the south wall.

Next, when we arrived on one of our weekly visits after the house was being framed I saw two blank walls that definitely needed windows, one in the kitchen and one in my office. That wasn't too bad. All they had to do was cut through the plywood and studs and frame a window. Still, it was extra.

A near catastrophe was the deck. The carpenter happened to be there working on the Sunday we visited, and immediately both of us could see the edge of the deck was too close to the French doors off the family room. If someone were to have just a little too much wine when he/she stepped out onto the deck, well, it wasn't like falling into the sound or anything that drastic, but it wouldn't have been funny. So we told the carpenter how we wanted it changed and brought down Sarah's wrath.

She called, and in no uncertain terms without raising her voice, she told me she was person we'd hired to build our house and that any changes we wanted to make would have to go to her first. She was right, of course, but I felt silly being scolded like a child and insisted "well, we were there, Sarah, and we just didn't want him going any further until the mistake was corrected." She didn't buy it and I learned my lesson.

The really major catastrophe was the chimney in David's den at the front of the house. We drove up the day they had cut through the roof and installed the exhaust from the propane fireplace. We both gasped and said in unison, "Oh, no!" The chimney looked for all the world like a phallic symbol. We called Sarah and she took matters into her own hands and had it moved back where it became less prominent. It didn't matter that no one else saw it that way.

I Rat On A Rat Fink

I have to admit that I'm a stickler for knowing the rules and following them, for it's the best way to avoid conflict with people. For some, it might go against the grain to live by that philosophy, but I loathe conflict and I readily admit it. Still, if I'm accused of something I'm not guilty of, I'll go on the attack with righteous indignation!

That's the way I felt when Sarah told me one of my neighbors had called the health department to complain about the well being too close to our drain field. We'd followed the rules. Instead of merely calling for information--to ask if what we were doing had been approved--the person, whoever he was (and I knew it had to be a man) had simply reported it as a violation of fact. I wasn't about to eat that insult without responding to it, and since I didn't know who it was I figured the best way to "out" the person was at the next meeting of our association.

I usually went to these meetings alone (except for the first one when we explained our situation) for they were held on Saturdays, David's day to play golf. And besides, David wasn't inclined to go to meetings at all, much less ones he had to drive an hour and a half to get to. So I sat quietly throughout, as newcomers usually do who have little knowledge of the subjects.

When the time came, toward the end of the meeting, after all business had been completed, I waited for a second's silence and then piped up, "I just want everyone to know that we are aware that someone here called the Health Department and complained about our well being too close to the drainfield, and I just want to say two things." Everyone got kind of wide-eyed and looked at each other in shock. Someone had said the unexpected! How to deal with that! "First," I went on, "the Health Department approved the location of the well, and second, I want everyone to know we are good citizens and good neighbors and don't intend doing anything illegal." I said it evenly and not belligerently, as though merely dishing out information.

I can't even remember what happened next, only that the guilty person was never revealed that day. (However, as time went on and the workmen reported a certain man came around every day to inspect what they were doing, I eventually was able to deduce who it was.) I'd been so intent on saying my piece that my concentration was on just getting it out and leaving.

After the meeting ended I chatted briefly with a few people, just to show there were no hard feelings, but I never told David what I'd said because I'd never told him what Sarah had told me. He'd have blown his top!