Becoming Islanders

I live on Vashon now—well, technically, Maury Island, but ever since they built the isthmus in 1913, it’s all kinda one island.

K. M. Alexander, Kari-Lise Alexander, and Ulysses

After a fraught spring, the event we had been building towards finally happened. Kari-Lise and I have a new home—hopefully, our forever home—on the largest island in Puget Sound. (It’s not quite thirty-seven square miles, a little larger than Manhattan.) It feels really good to be here.

When we first moved to the Seattle area in the spring of 2008, we knew nothing about Vashon, but we were eager to explore the surrounding area, including the numerous islands that dotted the waters. That autumn, Kari-Lise read about Vashon in a magazine. That magazine laid out a day trip to the island, which suggested parking near the Faunterlory Ferry in West Seattle, walking onto the ferry, renting bikes at a bike rental on the Vashon side, and biking to all sites around the island. Seemed like a lovely way to spend a Sunday. Before this, we had explored other islands in the Sound: Bainbridge, Whidbey, and a few of the San Juans. All had similar options, so this seemed like a no-brainer. We followed the instructions: Walked onto the ferry. Walked off. Looked for bike rentals. And… there was nothing.

An old restaurant—the only commercial space near the ferry terminal—was boarded up. (Sixteen years later, it’s now a lovely market.) Any bike rental option that might have been near the ferry was long gone. We had walked past a bus. But by the time we realized there were no bike rental options, the bus was long gone, up a hill and around a bend.

Panorama of the less-protected southern portion of Quartermaster Harbor, Puget Sound, looking south from Burton, Vashon Island, Washington (2010, April 28) John Mabel CC-BY-SA-3.0

So, we decided to hoof it; all other islands we visited in the Sound had sizeable towns right by the ferry terminal, so we figured the town of Vashon couldn’t be too far. Just around the bend, right? So we stuck to the shoulder and began to climb up the hill. The town wasn’t around the first bend. Nor the second. Nor the third. After a mile of climbing, we reached the crest of a wooded hill with a few scattered homes and a fire danger sign but no town. Sensible people would have turned around, but we did not. We kept walking.

After another mile or so, we eventually came to a real estate agency tucked into a grove of trees. The person working inside informed us that the town of Vashon was another three miles up the road. Already two miles in and growing hungry, we decided to continue our trip. We passed a sign for a taxi service, thinking it’d be our solution. When we called, we were informed that it wasn’t running that day. Around then, it started to rain.

After a very wet hour’s walk, we finally entered the small town of Vashon, five miles from the ferry landing. Famished from our unexpected journey, we entered the first diner we saw and sat drip-drying and warming ourselves as we ate a (now very) late lunch. We didn’t spend much more time in town. Tired from an unexpected walk and soaked from the rain, we caught the bus as it was heading back to the ferry terminal. It wasn’t an auspicious first visit to the island that would become my future home.

A few weeks ago, as I drove a Uhaul loaded with boxes across the West Seattle Bridge toward the Faunterlory ferry, I reflected on that first visit to Vashon. Even during an unexpected long walk in the rain, something about Vashon had hooked us. Every time we made subsequent crossings and drove off the ferry, something within us eased. Going to Vashon felt a lot like going home.

Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal as seen from Fauntleroy Way SW, Fauntleroy, Seattle. (2023, September 17). In Wikipedia .

We returned, and we did it right. Many subsequent visits followed. Over the years, we found ourselves falling more and more in love with the island and its community. Going to Vashon became a fairly regular weekend activity for us. We made friends on the island. We got to know its backroads. We took visiting guests on day trips. We frequented its stores and restaurants; we attended festivals and events; we shopped at its farm stands and nurseries. Sometime along the way, we began to talk about eventually moving. In 2013, we explored the idea of buying property and building a home. Life intervened, and the idea collapsed, but that didn’t stop our love affair. During the pandemic, we spent a lot of time on the island, working from rented cabins and exploring on our own.

This brings us to 2024, sixteen years after moving to Seattle and almost sixteen years since that first long walk in the rain. Our garden in the Mt. Baker Neighborhood had grown too small, and while we adore Seattle and still do, something in us craved change. So, we decided to take the plunge. We sold our house and began looking for new property on Vashon. As I detailed in my previous post, it’s been an arduous journey. The last few months have felt like years. But the end result has been worth it. As of July 27th, we’ve become islanders.

We wanted a house smaller than our last with a big garden, but we fell in love with a bigger house with an enormous garden filled with berries and fruit trees—well over an acre. We now own a flock of chickens overwhelming us with eggs and a rooster named Ross overwhelming us with crowing. These last few weeks have been fun, and it’s often surreal. We’re all—Uly included—slowly figuring out this new pace of life we’ve chosen. We keep reminding ourselves we’re no longer visitors but residents. We live here now. This is our home.

What will the next adventure in our life bring? Time will tell. We’re just starting down this new trail, and we couldn’t be more excited.

(You still can’t rent bikes at the ferry terminal.)

Boatyard at Dockton, Washington, ca 1918