home.
The fire burns, embers flutter and dance like naked island ladies and the air smells like the 3 weeks of camping I just did, except now I am surrounded by old walls. I sit on my couch, just retrieved from storage, my kids climbing on me, poking me, prodding me, reaching up and down my shirt trying to tickle me, wanting my attention as I write these words. Some things never change.
Filled with warmth from the hearth, I am thankful. I look out the French doors of my new home to a grassy front yard, sprinkled with leaves in shades of orange and red and purple and brown and yellow. Beyond are hills covered in trees and dotted with lights from houses that line the winding elevated neighborhoods overlooking the bay. A giant and naked Birch tree hangs over the front porch, its branches almost haunting, like roots reaching for a home space. The porch is a place for potted plants, wind-chimes, witches balls and wabi-sabi finds I hope to collect. My back yard is surrounded by cedars, furs and spruce and backs the arboretum which is mapped with walking trails. The neighbor’s children run and play in the yard of their pumpkin and brick-colored restored craftsmen, rich colors and perfect lines, a home I love to just walk by and look at. I haven’t met the mother yet, but as I peeked and stole a glance in their window I saw a belly cast hanging on a wall, her round cast was decorated with hues of blues and green. Last night we walked home from the closest coffee joint to find 3 deer poking around in our yard. They stayed and posed for us while we stared at them in awe. I went to the farmer’s market today in a drizzle, the first wet one in five days. Nobody seemed to really notice the steady stream of water and soon I ignored my moist cheeks and wet jeans and bought 3 bars of hand-made soap, fresh goat milk and cheese, a few pounds of apples to make a pie and a squash to make some soup. Soup and pie in my kitchen, in my house, tonight. I can smell it already.
This journey here has not been easy. That is why I chose to fill in the blanks this past week with writings from the road, wonderful memories and visual stews to celebrate my movement to here, reminding me how wonderful is has been, this adventure so relaxing and inspiration, the movement my life so craved. But arriving to be “homeless” with 3 children (one in utero) and two dogs it is not fun and things got stressful for the mama and mama-to-be in me. I wanted my space. I wanted to nest. I was sick of being patient and waiting for the right home. Although we stayed with our wonderful friends, there is something unsettling about not having a home for your own children to run and scream and mess up without guilt (our friends are kind but childless and live quiet lives with precious pieces from their worldly travels that my girls like to play with). As much as I adored this city instantly, we had to work hard to find housing, shedding many tears, enduring meaningless stressful fights with B, and learning to surrender to the process all the same. The housing market, as far as rentals go, sucks this time of year (and we are committed to rent until we feel grounded in this area and then we will buy). We found leftovers and rejects that the Western Washington University kids didn’t want; slumlord specials backed against the freeways with insides dirty and dark. We spent hours and hours driving and walking around, scouring the streets, squinting eyes to see if it was a For Rent or For Sale or another sign for a candidate. Could it be a jewel? The home we have been waiting for? We slow down. No, just a family supporting Pike For Mayor. I almost gave up. I almost rented a place 10 minutes from town, only 2 bedrooms and 1 closet.
And finally on one especially sunny day, we found this place. Despite the Absolutely No Dogs note on Craig’s List, I called anyway. Money talks and it did when we said our one old dog was a good girl (we figured since they are basically twins, they can pass for one) and all she did was lay around and sleep. And so tonight I spend my third night in this remodeled 1920’s craftsmen plus a glorious addition so it has lots light and space. It sits on a tree lined street, tucked in the hills, almost a secret little neighborhood that gives a rural allure yet minutes from downtown. It has fir floors and fun tiles. New windows to keep the cold out and pocket doors to pull. There are also loads of built-ins and three cozy bedrooms and it offers a big, huge, massive sigh of relief. It’s not the falling apart Victorian I originally imagined living in. This place is fresh and modernized with the essence of yesteryear, but perhaps that’s where my heart really is. Maybe creaky floors and scattering mice, water-stained ceilings and drafty historic stained glass windows was not part of my destiny. We can save that place to buy and restore. I am kind of prissy at heart, after all. I can pretend I’m not, but those who know me can point out that I can be somewhere in between a ragamuffin and primadonna. So this house gives good balance.
My kids are finally relaxed and mellow. I lift up my feet on the couch and type this to the crackle of fire and the yelps of the girls. I am home. Can I say it again? I am home. And although I have been working feeling at home in my own skin foe a while now, I have never felt this ‘at home’ in a space, a place, and area. I never thought I would.
I get a quivering kind of feeling when I think about trying to explain what kind of city this is. I guess I had been living in the exact opposite kind of community. Besides the obvious weather differences between here and Scottsdale/Phoenix, this city is based on conservation and sustainability, not mindless development and expansion. One does not have to look for it or crave it or work to create it. It just is. There is no fight (granted I am sure there are many politic situations with developing scenic Chuckanaut Drive. Every place has growing pains). There is no wondering what kind of food restaurants serve or where it comes from. I have not yet went anywhere to eat that did not announce that uses local and organic dairy, meat and produce. Most restaurants have a small little kid play area so the girls can be girls while we wait for food. My favorite place so far, Public Market, which houses a few different counter-service restaurants (sort of like a food court but all independent) and a grocery store which carries only organic food. Back in the corner by the bathroom and pizza place (which serves homemade whole wheat crust) is the area for kids with Waldorf-y toys and good books and a sign (next to the Breastfeeding Friendly Logo) that says: Every Space is a Child’s Place.
And more than anything this is what this city has offered to me. Comfort with my children. I feel a sense of honor for youth that I haven’t felt anywhere else. I feel wherever we step, as a family we are respected and welcomed. I have not yet felt the need to hush or ask my children not to act like children. I think that most of this community gets that we must pass-on the legacy of sustainability by just living it. We are holding up our future by holding our children close to our hearts. By holding them close to our hearts, letting them explore and experience themselves and their world in a healthy way, we enable sustainability. As adults care for this space while caring for the children that are welcome in it, the children watch and learn, as easily as they learn to brush their teeth or make their food, they are learning to conserve and take care of this green little city which can only expand beyond local. By creating spaces for mothers/fathers/care providers and children to be comfortable in public helps the community to grow even stronger; information gets passed, ideas get spread, and action takes place. Between parks and museums and bike paths and places to play on the shore in the sand, everywhere is a blast for kids. I already feel less of a struggle to exist as a mother (as a woman and artist, as well). And every space should be a child’s place because a child has to take care of this place when we are gone.
I am most definitely home. For now. And I love it. It fits me like the best pair of jeans money can buy (which by the way, there is great shopping here, not L.A, but not bad for what its worth. As soon as this baby is wrapped to me and some flesh melts away, I will be partaking in some serious boutique hopping.)
