My husband, Doc, and I moved to Bainbridge Island two years ago after four months in Seattle. We actually credit the ferry and the Fourth of July parade for the introduction to this beautiful place we now call home. That scorcher-of-a-day from Paradise, probably in the 80s, made a great impression on us to say the least.
Our opportunity to move to the Great Pacific Northwest came as a complete, unexpected surprise. A shock. Untimely and unwanted to be quite blunt and totally honest. But then so was the bankruptcy of my husband’s employer in Denver; however, the survival instinct of liking to eat (and the fact that it takes money to do so), prompted us to say yes when the job presented itself in Seattle. We made our way up here with our teeth chattering at what lay ahead (it had nothing to do with temperature).
Doc and I love a great adventure but Seattle, WA was a long, long way from home. Factored in were our kids scattered across the U.S. (none anywhere near here), and the fact that my 88-year-old mother was very sick and close to death.
But it was the stories we were told about Seattle that caused the tipping point of apprehension. Fear, trepidation, shaking in our proverbial soon-to-be rainboots…
People, some who have never even laid eyes on the beauty of this gorgeous place, told us every bad tale imaginable about living in this neck of the United States evergreen woods. Looking back, it was reminiscent of being great-with-my-first-child and hearing horrific stories of days-long labors or babies-born-sideways from people who had never even been pregnant much less given birth!
And we heard all about, of course, the rain. 365-bleak-days-a-year, 24-long-hours-a-day, 60-dismal-minutes-an-hour of constant, mostly dark, torrential downpours of rain. “They” said Seattle has the greatest depression rate in the world. That the sun never, ever shines. Gosh, the nightmares made it sound like there actually wasn’t a sun in this part of the world.
Then there were the stories of the Seattle “ice”. That folks never speak nor smile. That non-natives don’t survive here very long and, with Seattle being in the Ring of Fire, the next earthquake (aka The Big One) is sure to happen at any moment.
Good sense took over and I reasoned, of course, that there’s a sun (how else could there be the incredible flowers and food?). That surely I could make somebody smile at least every once in a while. And having lived with tornadoes for most of my life as a girl from Georgia, I figured I could deal with some rain and, gulp, a possible earthquake.
And lest I leave out another huge move incentive for me – every bit as big as the tornadoes and earthquakes -- we were leaving behind that awful four-letter-phenomena called snow. Feet upon feet upon deep feet in Colorado, the snow lasted for months. There were literally14 inches in our front yard our entire last winter there. Those locals love to talk about the year it snowed on July 4th! I remember only too well picking up our daughter from school with snow on her flip flops as we got a little “surprise” one Spring day. 80s in the morning, snowing by the afternoon. What good is the so-called sunshine if it’s too cold to get outside and enjoy it? I do love and miss our precious “framily” there (the nickname for our dear friends who are much more like family) but no thanks to the claustrophobic snow there (or anywhere).
Most importantly for the Maranville family there was, however, once again, that nagging little habit of us liking to eat. You know, Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs stuff.
So we packed it all up and made our way to the Evergreen State.
As I mentioned earlier, the first time we road “the boat” to Bainbridge Island was July 4th two-and-a-half years ago. As we watched the parade, I felt like we’d been sent back to some better, more peaceful place in time. And for little sojourners like Doc and me, p, e, a, c, and e are the top letters of the alphabet.
If you’ve been around me much since I’ve moved here, you’ve probably heard me rave over the Farmer’s Market, toast and jam, roasted bone marrow, sorrel, and cantaloupe ice cream. In my travels hither and yon in our great nation, I’ve yet to find another place brave enough to attempt such things much less do them well.
If you pass me talking to a tourist on the ferry or downtown, you’re likely to hear me brag about our seastars and the delicious, mammoth blackberries; about our bookstore and the knitting/tea shop and the shoe store like I have stock in them or work for the Chamber of Commerce.
I’ve posted pictures on Facebook ad nauseam of sailboats and crew teams, and rainbows and full moons over Eagle Harbor. I know, I know. I’m supposed to perpetuate the myth that it really does rain here all the time and the people are miserable. But I just can’t.
When we made the decision to move “across the water”, my mother had only been gone a few months. My heart was broken. And in the last 14 months we’ve also lost my sister, our young son-in-law, our nephew and my favorite cousin. You’ve rallied around us and checked on us and hugged my neck when I was too sad to talk.
Acknowledging that sometimes it’s easy for us to get caught up in our differences in politics and the pressure of job losses and just life itself, I have something to say: I love this place. I love it that the Maranville’s have been loved on and cared about by you folks, many times without you even knowing you’re doing so.
It can be a challenge to move to a different house much less a different city or state. A different part of the country is a whole new ballgame altogether. I’m Southern. I’m from that part of the world where we say “might could” and “supper” and “y’all” and we like to bless your heart…but I want to take this opportunity before I pen another “ferry tale” to say “thanks, y’all”. Don’t ever take for granted this great place we live or that your smiles matter and do lift heavy burdens.
Yes, by March I’m right there with everybody else, ready for the stunning summer sun and island strawberries. I imagine “orkses” hiding in the Grand Forest take leave. And I long to put my toes in the sand without them freezing off.
But for now, I’m doing just fine. I’ve got new green rain boots and a warm coat with a hood and yes, an umbrella. Seriously, how can we complain about this spectacular winter (even if it brings a little bit of snow)?
I know Bainbridge Island isn’t perfect in the eyes of some folks but for me and mine, it’s a wonderful, healing place to call home and we’re grateful to be here.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul.”
Bless your heart, Y’all.
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