Orcas, Orcas, Orcas. Where to start? Over the years you've been witness to so many adventures and
too many tears and much much joy. One hundred and twenty-four years is a long
time to know somebody, and you've known seven generations of us now. All
the way from Otis down to the newest little miracle. When our Vermont
grandparents stepped onto your land and built their white farmhouse, I
wonder if they ever dreamed it would still be standing over a century
later? That it would still hear the scurry of children's feet and the
laughter of cousins growing up and memories shared with friends and vows
exchanged at weddings, those vows to stand as firm in love as the
beloved house has stood on its hill.
To say there is a lot
of family history in those walls, well, that's the sweet undeniable truth. Some stories
told and retold, some stories never talked about, some stories
forgotten.
My grandmother tells us tales of going down to Doe Bay to meet the
mail boat, of sleeping in the "Sisters' Room" with her cousins when they
came to the island to escape the polio epidemics, of dances in
Eastsound. Doe Bay is a resort now, but we still find ourselves walking
the few miles for a cup of real coffee or for open mic on Thursday
nights or perusing the gift shop. My sister and I still bed down in the
Sisters' Room, with our cousin or whichever one of our friends is with
us. We don't go to Eastsound anymore to dance in the dance hall, but the
park next to the museum and whichever up and coming band is playing on
the stage is a happy replacement.
My story
and my grandmother's story and my great-great-great grandparents' story
all take place in different centuries, but they all revolve around the
same things: family, love, friendship, tears, heartbreak, work, joy,
laughter. That will never change. And I hope that someday, my children
will write their own stories there. I hope that they will know the same
woods I did and that summers will mean Orcas and stargazing and swimming
in Cascade Lake. Lord willing, our beloved farmhouse will last another
hundred and twenty-four years, nails and planks kept together by the
hard work and love of our extended family. Hopefully, it will be a place
for making memories for many more years to come, and not become a thing
only remembered in stories.
Comments
Post a Comment