WHIDBEY ISLAND, WASHINGTON

For two idyllic weeks in June of 2007, I stayed with friends on Whidbey, an island in Puget Sound, about twenty-five miles north of Seattle, reachable by ferry or by the Deception Pass Bridge.

Our northeastern landscape is, for the most part, small in scale. Except for the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the mountains of Maine, we are used to ancient, well-rounded hills, lots of eastern white pines, and hardwoods that, in autumn, blaze bright in reds, yellows, and oranges.

By contrast, the landscape of the northwest is on a grand scale, with big trees (Sitka spruce, Douglas firs, grand firs). On the mainland there are the Cascade Mountains (including Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Rainier), and then, on the Olympic Peninsula, the rain forest and the jagged Olympic Mountains.

Where my friends live on Whidbey, the land slopes gently to bluffs at water’s edge, and the view is all pastures, the wide sound, and in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Olympics.

It is a dreamy, tranquil place. Mule deer roam unafraid, coming for apples in the orchard. Songbirds trill from thickets and hedgerows, and bald eagles nest in the trees on the high point of the land. And always, sweet earthy smells perfume the air.

Day and night, giant cargo ships drift back and forth far out on the water, their low droning barely audible. Now and then, a gleaming cruise ship glides in and out of the sound. Through binoculars, you can pick out passengers on the decks, staring at the sights on the shore, perhaps wondering who lives on the island, and what life there must be like. My first night on Whidbey, waking in the light of a full moon streaming in the windows, I got out of bed to look out, just in time to see—and to shoot—a cruise ship floating by, ghostlike, on the moonlit water.

It rains a lot on Whidbey; moisture from the Pacific rolls over the island much the way the Atlantic Ocean moisture rolls in over the British Isles.

But the rain makes for the riot of flowers and other vegetation on the island. One day my friend took me to Meerkerk Garden. In the garden are beds of poppies and other flowers, trails through moist woods tangled with dense vegetation, and best of all, winding, grassy paths among tree-size rhododendrons. (The photos taken in Meerkerk Garden are in Whidbey Gallery 3, starting with #1210597. Also in Gallery 3, be sure to catch the prayer-flag tribute to Virginia, starting with #1210496.)

Another day, my friend’s husband dragged me along to Island Recycling (see Whidbey Gallery 4), a well-run place where islanders can haul their cans and bottles, old tires, scrap iron, and other used-up stuff. While he waited patiently, I scrambled, shooting bales of smashed cans and plastics, the old bus where they gather books, and other things gathered around the grounds. There is also a store of sorts (Laura’s New and Experienced Goods ), full of other quirky items, including amusing signs and photos scattered here and there. The place is a good example of recycling at its most efficient.

Weekends on Whidbey are market days, which offer good food, garden produce and bunches of flowers, arts and crafts, and even, on one day we went, a group of island musicians livening up the scene. On market days, you see what a friendly, close-knit community Whidbey is.

From the time you get off the ferry on the island, till you return to the mainland, you are in a quieter, more serene world—a balm for body and soul.