Finding Home in the Mist: An English Woman’s Journey in Skagit County
From big trucks to breathtaking mountains, what has surprised—and delighted—me most about life here.
Today, we are 2 degrees below freezing and it is crisp and clear. I’m putting the finishing touches to this post in Pelican Bay Books & Coffee House in Anacortes. One of my favourite places. The intermittent whir of the coffee grinder overlays the music now and then. The rustle of a newspaper in a woman’s hands nearby and the gentle tap tap of fingers typing on laptops. There’s a gentle murmur of voices at the counter. Yesterday, this great country entered a new chapter with the inauguration of its 47th president. While that played out in the media, I played ukulele with my ensemble and after we headed up to the mountains.
Last week
Lunchtime and a bank of cloud sits low on the valley floor rising unevenly with the snowy peaks partially obscured. Above is blue, blue sky. The air is crisp. The first ground frost. Conversation over coffee with a New Englander (on the east coast), one time resident of Chicago. ‘It’s so damp here. For the first few years I was so cold. Everything damp. Chicago was cold, much colder than here, but it was bright and sunny.’
The misty wet climate here in Skagit County draws me in. I feel at home. Twenty years living in south west Wales and that dampness, she talked about is familiar, comfortable even. The charm of such a climate is that when the sun does break through the many greens, yellows and blues of the water and trees are spectacular.
In my twenties, I lived close to the equator in Papua New Guinea with my first husband, where it was dry for 50 weeks of the year. The city was covered in dust. For two weeks each February there was a downpour of rain and lush greenery transformed the urban world. At 6pm or thereabouts, the sun set. The time of sundown varied very little from January to December.
For some here, the endless mist and cloud prove too much and they head south to warmer climes: Florida or Mexico. They are known colloquially as Snow Geese. So far, we feel no pull to migrate but I can understand those who do. When the sun comes out here, I notice I’m anxious to step outside.
Yesterday I attended a Brit Ladies gathering in Anacortes. I was touched to receive an invitation from one of the ladies at the Ukulele Slam I attend intermittently. They are a delightful group of British ladies who meet monthly, rotating around people’s homes.
Thank you to all of you for your warm welcome. Some of you are readers of this publication and I appreciated your comments. It was a hoot. We shared stories of how we came to live in the USA. Many in their eighties, most have been here decades. It was wonderful to hear of their early lives in England and then their big moves across the pond. I was very much the new kid on the block.
One of the ladies asked me what has been most surprising about moving here. That got me pondering and seems a good topic for this week’s post. So in no particular order here are things that have surprised (and often delighted) me:-
Did I mention the huge trucks and huge flags? I’ve almost got used to them.
My visit to the dentist, though eye wateringly expensive, proved to be an interaction with respectful, polite, professional, friendly people from reception through dental assistants, dentist and back to reception. No dental shaming anywhere in sight even though I have very British teeth. A welcome surprise.
There is an upbeat attitude here I enjoy. It is not that people are unaware of the horrors nor that their lives are without challenge, but there is a genuine sharing in others’ joys, successes and good fortune, which I really like. I’m not sure this is so common in the UK. Certainly in the UK media there seems to be tall poppy syndrome. When people succeed there is an initial burst of enthusiasm, admiration and encouragement but that often sours, and suddenly there’s a move to tear those same people down, as if they are getting above themselves. Do those of you in the UK notice this at all?
The landscape here was not exactly a surprise, as I had visited the Pacific Northwest (both Canada and the northern west coast of the US) several times, but the majesty of the landscape really thrills me. I don’t think I would ever tire of it. As the Brit Ladies talked of where they grew up, you realise what a jewel of a place this area is. In the UK, we don’t have anything like the scale of mountains, trees, lakes and waterways that exist all around us here.
Being part of a vibrant community is vital to my sense of wellbeing. A realisation that came later in life, for me. Ferryside in West Wales is an amazing community. (I love you!) Here in Skagit County I have been welcomed into so many overlapping communities, it has been humbling and extraordinary. I’ve been surprised by the warmth of the welcome.
I feel at home here at a deep and unexpected level. I’ve lived many places and loved all of them but I feel a visceral connection with the land here that I have never experienced anywhere else. The first time I came to visit this area, five years ago, the connection was instant. I feel I am meant to be here.
The turbulence here is palpable: fear and jubilation make strange bedfellows. Notwithstanding the uncertainty and chaos, I feel a deep affection for this country. An affection that has taken root and grows week by week. The challenges this country faces have become my concern, as a permanent guest here. As an Englishwoman living in West Wales for over twenty years, I felt that same affection and gratitude for the chance to be a guest in that mighty, small country, similar but so different to neighbouring England. To see the magnificence, beauty and potential of a place while not being blind to its challenges and flaws feels similar to being a loving partner. You champion them, encourage them, bring out the best in them but you aren’t afraid to say, ‘badly done’ when you see them stray from being the fantastic partner you know them to be.
Gratitude
I’m so grateful for awareness of the nudges. Those whispers and inklings that have me show up to a gathering, take a walk, pick up a book or go on a mini adventure. When I follow the breadcrumbs, what happens is often magical. For example, recently I’d delayed heading out for a walk to nearby Kukutali Preserve. When I hit the trail I bumped into someone I hadn’t seen for years. We were both astounded at the seeming randomness of meeting here, far from where we last met and far from the countries we live and lived in.
Threads that Pull me
Substack itself. I am intrigued by the platform, watching and learning. Enjoying friends’ discovery and enjoyment of it. Beyond people who know me, slowly slowly new subscribers are trickling in, beginning to like or comment. I’m enjoying dipping my toe into others’ writing, finding a great spring of creativity here. A sharing of beautiful language, ideas and images. Many kindred spirits.
If life is ultimately created and lived in our minds, which is how it looks to me, then Substack is a place where imagination is honoured and nourished. And surely, it is through our imaginations that we create the world we live in?
There’s a generosity to the platform. It has a different tone and tenor from Facebook and Instagram. I’m drifting away from those.
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Recommendations
I’d love you to check out my friend
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Questions to contemplate
Where or when do you find friendliness and openness come easily (yours or other people’s)? What do you put that down to?
What gets in the way of being happy for others’ success and good fortune?
How does landscape affect your experience of the world?
Do press on the little heart if you like what you read. Message me if you’d like to strike up a conversation (I much prefer one to one interaction) but you’re always welcome to leave a comment too if that’s your way of sharing the love. And comments help others find this publication. Thank you for reading.
Have I noticed the UK media - tall poppy syndrome? Yes indeed, or as I can now say 'Ydw' !
There's something seemingly very important, validating and almost spiritual about being able to move yourself through your landscape without the wheeled box. Whether it's paddling, fell running or even walking though a city. It's an act of connection and recognition, I feel.