Blue Country

My days have become a little too much Retirementville. Because of my knees, I go to physical therapy several times a week. My therapist is a pretty young woman who moved here from Alaska. She says it is wilder and prettier than the Olympic Peninsula, and her clients were mainly injured athletes. Now in Sequim we’re old people. It doesn’t make me feel better that so many people I see in the office are on a walker or in a wheelchair. They just show me my future! But not yet. I’m walking again, and driving myself.

Then I visit Sequim Wal-Mart, which  is filled with retirees. It’s a Northwest Florida.

It‘s more expensive than in Missouri. What isn’t more expensive out here? They have a fabric department—Jackson, eat your heart out. We old people complained, apparently, and we got the fabric back.

While I am rummaging through the five-dollar DVD bin at Wal-Mart, the lady across from me says, "Are you finding anything in there that's not trash?" She is a non-descript middle-aged white woman, probably about 60, with an old-lady hairstyle, that I would have a hard time picking out in a lineup. A lot like me.

I smile at her. “I’m looking for a kid video I can watch with my grandkids this weekend.”

“Oh! I see.”

Culture war alert! When I was in Missouri, I was (usually) in Red Country. But Sequim, Washington, is a battleground of blue and red. You must constantly show your red (or blue) flag. It’s in Clallam County, which votes pretty red; next to it, Jefferson County is blue. The county seat of Jefferson is Port Townsend, which has wonderful Victorian houses that sell for millions. In Clallam County, they say Port Townsend is filled with old hippies. We live almost on the border of the two.

A large percentage of the customers at Sequim Wal-Mart are white senior citizens. A large percentage of the clerks are Hispanic or Asian—or young.

Convinced that I am safely red, the lady starts telling me her life story. She came from Long Island. The property she used to own there is now underwater from Sandy. God took care of her, she tells me. She is delighted to learn I am from upstate New York. She tells me about how her daughter got pregnant as a teenager, how she raised her grandson to be a fine young man, but that his mother is still living a troubled life. Since she has already mentioned God several times, I ask her if she has found a church. She has; she goes to a charismatic church in Port Angeles. Okay, so she won’t be interested in Sequim Bible Church—though she has heard of it, and she expresses to me her approval of my choice.

Sequim Bible Church has a good pastor with a strong evangelical message. Its main problem is that too much of the congregation looks like Sequim—a lot of retired people. Ministry to cancer patients is very big in this church. They are good Christians, but many are getting too old for active leadership.

So, less than sixth months after we came here, Mike has been asked to go up for elder. There will be a vote, but that is almost a formality. They want him. He will be the first elder to be chosen from the contemporary service, which most of the younger people attend.

Now that I’m mobile again, I’ll be attending a women’s Bible study at the church. No Bible Study Fellowship on the Olympic Peninsula (the closest is in Bremerton, on the Kitsap). I’ll look into their AWANA program. It meets at a public school—I want to see how that works!—and involves several other churches. That would be a good way to meet people outside SBC…

Christmas 2012

Mike retired last August, and we decided to move from Missouri to be near our daughter Caitlin, in Edmonds, Washington—where our two grandchildren live, too!

We have enjoyed many events with them, including going to the Pumpkin Patch. Lucy is now three and a half, and Freddie is 14 months. When we came in July, the sun rose before 6 a.m., and set after 9 p.m. The weather was glorious.

Our house, built by our son-in-law Layne Beller, is built to maximize the view of Discovery Bay. We ate lunch on the deck until the end of October, and were treated to a view of whales several times.

Chris, our son, and his wife LaChanda, were on furlough from the mission in Laos, and we spent most of the summer together as a family.

The first snowfall came last week. Mike and I were coming home from returning our grandchildren to their parents via the ferry. Mike drove 20 miles an hour on a slippery road, and we passed almost a dozen cars that had slid off the pavement. It was the breathtaking experience of wondering if we would make it home safely, while seeing all around us a winter wonderland of snow-covered evergreens. By the next day, the snow had melted.

Mike and I have become members of Sequim Bible Church, and are beginning to make friends. The church met Chris and LaChanda, and our Sunday School sent a package to them in Laos. Chris and LaChanda lost their first baby this fall, very early in the pregnancy, and we all felt such an outpouring of concern from people we had just met.

Because of Chanda’s health problems, they are moving to Chiang Mai, Thailand, where Chris will continue to teach English in a similar ministry to the one in Laos, and where Chanda can receive better health care.

I was having problems with my knees before we moved, and the problem got continually worse, until my daughter talked me into going to a doctor. With a muscle relaxant and physical therapy, I’m getting back to normal.

We built a guest cabin. Layne and Caitlin will make use of it often, Layne especially, since he and Mike are in business together, and Layne will be building houses on properties that Mike has already bought on this side of the sound—property being so much cheaper over here. But we already have “reservations” for friends and relatives this summer!

Mike has also opened a booth in an antique store in Port Townsend. He always said that when he retired he would start to sell the antiques he had collected.

I put out a bird feeder, and the first week we were visited by a whole flock of goldfinches. They were attracted to the thistles on the hill, and soon decided they liked my sunflower seeds even better. Near us is a tourist store which sells bird items, and the lady told me I should be feeding the birds thistle seeds in the summer for the protein, and sunflowers only in the winter, for the fat. But like us humans, I guess they like the fattening stuff. There are no cardinals in the west, but I am learning to appreciate a whole new group of colorful birds—the varied thrush, the spotted towhee, Stellar’s jay, and the Oregon junco, much more colorful than the eastern variety, and, at least at our feeder, much more tame.

We are about to have our first Christmas here. We put up a real tree, for the first time in our married life—because we were always gone to family on Christmas. Now family is coming to us. We bought the tree at Home Depot, but Mike cut branches of fir from our own property to decorate our windows.

We wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!

Mike and Ginny Roark

A Rainbow Over the Gray

Now that fall is coming, I can see that there really are a lot of deciduous trees here. They are turning yellow—not the glorious reds of the east, but it is still very pretty.

Mike has been very busy planting. He has turned a barren, sandy hill into a beautiful garden in a little over a month. The soil is glacial till—a strange mixture of sand and clay that is absolutely worthless to grow anything in except thistles. I have lost track of how much top soil he has bought at Wal-Mart--I really don't want to know!  The effect is glorious, though. When we eat breakfast, we see a visual kaleidoscope of  colors and textures: heathers, hibiscus, Japanese maples, fuchsias--tubular flowers that the hummingbirds love-- and a few palm trees, one of those tropical plants he is so excited to be able to grow here.

A FedEx lady came to the door. "I've been watching this landscaping change. It's amazing!" She is disappointed when I tell her that my husband is the gardener, and I can't tell her the names of all the plants. So we talk about birds instead.

 The thistles brought us a wonderful gift in July, the first month we were here. I put a bird feeder at the edge of the cleared area, at the top of the hill, and on the uncleared slope below it were thistles, just going to seed. Goldfinches, Washington's state bird, flocked to the thistle seeds, and one male found my bird feeder filled with sunflower seeds the first day I put it up. For the rest of the summer, we watched several dozen goldfinches patronize the feeder. They love sunflower seeds. 

At the local bird store, the clerk told me that I should be feeding them thistle seeds in the summer, for the protein. Sunflower seeds are for winter, because they provide the fat they need for the winter.  I didn't buy any seeds there, because they were a bit pricey. "Of course," she said with a laugh, "the birds will always eat sunflower seeds!"

With fresh thistle seeds just below the feeder, that they should have been eating for their health, they still preferred my fattening seeds. Libertarian finches, I guess.

We watched them from the second-story deck. It disturbed the birds to see us on the same level as they were, in the tall western red cedars a few hundred yards away. It bothered them even more when our Siamese Jubilee joined us on the deck. The birds would sound the alarm: “Cat! Cat!” It took them a while to learn that the cat was no threat to them. They learned that even when Jubilee was on her leash, level with the feeder, they didn’t have to worry. The squirrel learned that, too, which was why he was shocked to find kitty in full attack mode when he sneaked into our kitchen!

The squirrel ran around the kitchen, jumping up on the table, trying to get out the window. The door was open, but it couldn't find it. I stood in the middle of the room, wanting to prevent it from running down the hall into the bedrooms or up the stairs. Finally, I opened the kitchen window, and he escaped. Jubilee stared out the window, and cried. It was the most fun she'd had since her arrival in Washington.

Another summer bird is the tanager, a red and yellow bird which is the West’s substitute for the cardinal— thought to be related to the cardinal, but a poor substitute for someone who is used to seeing dozens of redbirds. Stellar’s Jays are pretty, though. They are larger than the Blue Jay, and have no white. They have a raucous voice, like the Blue Jay, and are quite shy birds despite their size. I am happy that they have become less skittish as they get used to our presence

.

When the big birds leave, familiar little sparrows, nuthatches, and chickadees come to the feeder, while we stand only a few feet away.We are less threatening than the big birds!

In September, a new bird came—the banded pigeon. These 15” birds dwarfed the Stellar’s Jays, and scared everything else away (except the squirrel, who is afraid of nothing). They are a native bird that eats fruit and seeds. An abundance of wild blackberries grew among the thistles, and probably attracted the birds to our lot. By October, they were gone, probably headed south for the winter. Seasoned bird watchers here tell us they have never seen the pigeon. We were honored with beginner’s luck, I guess.

The winter birds are juncos and white-crowned sparrows, familiar names but unfamiliar birds of western races. The Pacific race of sparrow has a tan-striped head instead of white stripes, looking something like a large song sparrow. The junco is the Oregon race, with a gray head and rose flanks. A Canadian Rocky Mountains variant, with a black head and slate-colored sides, drops in occasionally.

The gray and rain of winter is here to stay. I'm glad I can see some color and life outside the window. And then--over the bay, the largest rainbow I've ever seen.

October: No longer Indian summer

October 4, 2012: A strange, sad sign that we have become residents of a new place: I opened up my email this morning to read that a member of Sequim Bible Church has died of a heart attack. Less than two months ago, I had never met him. Now I am grieving the loss.

The Indian Summer of September is gone, and it is chilly.  But it can still get hot in the sun. I may start out in the morning in a medium-weight jacket, and then take it off, go to a sweater as the sun comes out, and if the sun stays out, I'm in short sleeves by afternoon. This is so different from the maritime climate I experienced in London. Flowers bloom lushly, like they did in England, but in gray, sandy soil of the American West.

Mike planted some tubular flowers, and a little hummingbird found them. I expect that soon the hummingbirds will fly south. The coming of the juncos, what we used to call "snow birds" in Missouri signal winter is approaching. They are the Oregon race--more colorful than the Missouri juncos. Stellar’s jays and mourning doves will stay all winter; they are the most abundant birds at the feeder. A few chickadees and nuthatches, and a sparrow or two I can’t identify.

Red squirrels are also frequent visitors, especially one. I have watched him chase away birds—even the jays that are bigger than he is—and the little Townsend chipmunks. Another squirrel came last week, and the first squirrel sat under the feeder screaming at the intruder, until it finally left. He isn’t afraid of human, either, or of the cat we let out on a leash. (Outside cats become coyote food.) The birds and squirrels used to let out a warning when they saw her, but they learned she is no more of a threat than we are.

“Our” squirrel thinks our feeder is his winter stash, and he buries seed all over the yard. The seeds germinate and sprout, so we have a crop of sunflower seedlings among Mike’s plantings. The brazen little rodent soon figured out that we kept the sunflower seed bag in a bin on our kitchen porch. He ran up the steps to look for spilled seed, and tried to chew a hole in the plastic bin. So we moved the seed off the porch and put it in a more secure container.

Hope springs eternal. The squirrel kept coming to the porch, and when I left the door open for a minute, he scurried into the kitchen. Jubilee, our inside cat, immediately took chase. They dashed around the living room, and I tried to guide the squirrel back to the door, making sure he didn’t run up the stairs. He couldn’t find it, jumping into mirrors and windows instead. He climbed onto the kitchen table and ran along the window sill. I figured the only way to get him out was to open that window. Window now open; the squirrel had disappeared. I searched around the room. No squirrel. He must have exited unnoticed. Jubilee searched the room, crying.

It has been quieter at the feeder. “The squirrel was taken down a peg by our attack cat,” I said to my husband. Notice he’s not bothering the others any more.” He laughed as Brazen Rodent suddenly lit into a jay. Well, not reformed, but a little more scared. Kitty is a threat after all!

My Love-Hate Relationship with Ferries

Sometimes I find myself looking out my kitchen window and just staring. I know how tall the evergreens are, but they still astonish me.

There aren't many bridges between the Olympic Peninsula and the greater Seattle-Tacoma area. We take the ferry a lot. We carry around the ferry schedule, make lunch plans with Caitlin or DON'T make lunch plans based on whether we can make the ferry schedule work around doctor's appointments, kids' naps, and everything else that goes into a normal day. It took me only about two weeks to hate the ferry.

It took only a little longer to start falling in love with the peninsula. When I want to see Caitlin, I hate the ferry. but I love the distance that the ferries put between this wild place and civilization.

I've never gotten so close to birds and squirrels before. They seem to think I'm just another animal that belongs here. Mike tried to chase away a young deer standing about ten feet away, and it finally sauntered away, with the insolence of a teenager being ordered out of the mall. People talk about black bears, cougars, and coyotes, but I haven't seen any. I haven't even seen a raccoon.

Downtown Seattle is a little over an hour away, but here it is wild.


        

Gray Sunday

It rained this morning. A faithful walker went by, wearing a rain poncho, with her two Golden Retrievers, who were NOT wearing ponchos. After the rain, the bay was the color of obsidian, under a fluffy gray sky. That may sound like a silly description, but there is a texture to the cloud cover I don't remember seeing in Missouri.

We went to Sequim Bible Church for the third time. We went two weeks ago, but missed last week because we were with Chris and Caitlin at Caitlin's church in Edmonds. Chris and LaChanda have returned safely to Luang Prabang, Laos.

Sequim Bible Church has a traditional service at 9:15 and contemporary service at 10:30--same preaching, but they sing a few hymns in the earlier one, using guitars. We tried both; the music didn't seem that different between the two, but in the first service we were the youngest people, and in the second we are among the oldest. We also met a number of new people in that group. We'll stick to the contemporary service. I love the old hymns, but I like to hear them accompanied by a pipe organ, or at least a piano.

An insert in the bulletin talked about the church around the world. There was a report on Christians in southern Laos. In the village of Khamnonsung, a church of some 700 believers was shut down on Good Friday of this year. They were told they could no longer meet in the church building that had been erected in 1963. I've never been worried for Chris and Chanda before, but now I'm wondering if I should be. Some Christians that they work with were arrested this summer while trekking in a rural area, and detained until they signed a false statement that they were traveling without their passports.

   I'm still surrounded by piles still needing to be sorted and put away, but it's starting to feel like home.