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.