||| SUN DAYS ON ORCAS by EDEE KULPER |||

Want to be thankful for living on Orcas Island? Visit a place like Dallas for Thanksgiving. No offense Texans, it isn’t you. It’s the visual and psychological boredom of concrete laid out as far as the eye can see, peppered with fast-food joints, shopping malls, vape stores, churches, and newly built elementary schools keeping up with neighborhoods expanding their boundaries into ever-narrowing spreads of dry grass, oak trees, and ant hills.

I grew up in a suburb of Dallas called Richardson. There wasn’t a whole lot to do but meet up with other elementary-age kids in the alleys to look for earthworms in puddles, baby Blue Jays in hidden nests, and camouflaged cicadas buzzing on tree branches.
Thankfully, I had a big family – four older brothers and sisters – a house of adults, high schoolers, and me. My young life was spent watching them, absorbing all of their activity, taking in their conversations, laughter, nonverbal communication, and nuances.
Life was full and interesting thanks to the six big people around me. When it wasn’t, I’d walk down the street to the only place I could be immersed in nature – the park. There was a thin creek with a pool the crawdads liked, and an interesting section that felt like quicksand. Aside from that, each day wasn’t that much different from the one before it.
Near the end of fifth grade, my parents made a life-altering decision – to move to California. My dad retired early, and my mom’s dream of living in a beautiful forest hovering over the sea became a reality she never knew was possible. My siblings, who were married, engaged, or in college, stayed back in Texas. Their lives were there.
When I think back about my young life in Richardson, I have few memories. I can’t even remember one meal around the table with my big family of seven. And we were there every night together. I think my brain awakened to life the minute we arrived in California – the scenery, the vast beauty, the mountains, the verdant hills, the rich colors, the ocean, the waves, the tidepools, the sunsets, the quail, the deer, the crabs, the community, the fresh foods, the cool breeze – there was so much magnanimity to take in, none of it man-made. Cambria was a fairytale.
When my husband and I were contemplating moving after living for decades on the California coast, we thought of Orcas as our new Cambria.
Every now and then, I go back to Texas and visit everyone. My mom is there now, after a six-year stint on Orcas. Our boys and I were just there for six days, staying with her in her little senior-living apartment. I wanted us to have a chance to just be, to allow time to stand still in order to enjoy the simple pleasure of wallowing in the presence of our mother and grandmother. She’s 88 years old, and our older son is a senior. His life will soon take its own trajectory.
Walking those suburban streets each morning, I felt what I always feel when I visit Dallas – thankful I don’t live there. There’s nothing there for me. What if I had never been removed from that place? Would I even know I was half-dead inside? Is everyone there half-dead without knowing it? Who would I be today? Would I still be there? Would I have somehow gotten out, despite the pull of staying near family? Would I have known deep-down that there’s a bigger world out there that I needed? A world of stunning beauty and loving community?
After ten hours of flying, driving, and ferrying, we drove back into our driveway here on Orcas Island on Thanksgiving evening. The sun, low in the sky, beamed golden light that bathed our acre of forest like a dreamy illustration in a storybook. Giant yellow maple leaves spread across the ground as beams of misty sunshine filtered through green boughs of Douglas firs and lit bright-red holly berries. My CD of dreamy music from the latest Orcas Center KANU concert filled the setting with even more magic, like being in a movie. I didn’t even realize coming back home would feel so deeply fulfilling.
We sit by the fire now, reading our books and watching the rain as eagles soar by and trees sway in the cold wind. Warm blankets cover us, our cozy dog sleeps across our legs on the couch, and we rest in the wonder of it all.

I am so thankful for our life here.

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