I wrote this for a newsletter sent out by the Quilcene Community Center. I think it's mostly on Facebook, but, in case you missed it, here's my September post.

A contractor I’ve worked with for years, pretty proud of his Uptown Port Townsend address and relying somewhat on whatever status assumptions one automatically makes merely by knowing where someone lives (ie; compare Irondale with Hadlock with Kala Point), told me he had moved to Lake Leland. “Sorry, Pete, if you have a 98376 Zip Code, you’re, now, one of us.” Wait a second for his reaction. “Yeah, I guess so.” “Welcome to Quilcene.” I didn’t add ‘Brother.’ Could have.

A man I first met as a client when he lived in Port Ludlow, but not, he pointed out, in “Port Ludlow Port  Ludlow;” shortly after making his first trip to Quil from his remodeled lakefront house north on Highway 101, told me he was put off by my town’s brand of friendliness.

Unable to not chuckle, I had to say, “It’s not, strictly, “my town; but I have lived here a while.”

“Oh,” I said as he listed the various places he visited, easily imagining who he may have run into at each location, “They’re all really nice folks,” I said, “I mean, once you…” He interrupted with, “I’m seriously considering breaking off the right-hand turn signal on my car.” “No. Wait. You mean you have more than one turn signal?”

This was a few years ago, and the same man is now, somewhat assimilated, quite an important person in Quilcene’s diverse mix of colorful characters.

Okay; think of some locals you would fit into the ‘character’ category: Go.

I’ve got my list, and it’s only a partial; every name I think of leads to another name. Some are still around, others have passed on or moved on. Not all are remembered for being saintly. Another list. I would love to drop some names of individuals who were wonderful, though often outwardly surly, even rude. Outwardly. Still, a greeting at Henery’s or at the bank might include, “Hey, you old _____; how’s it going?” “Good. Boy, you got old.”   

One thing I’ve noticed since Trish and I moved here (okay, Tarboo Valley, but, still, 98376) in 1978, is that the best way to fit in with the locals is to not try too hard; to accept that if people don’t know you, they won’t instantly embrace you. Not worrying too much about what others think also helps. That’s not the same as not caring.

It takes a certain stubbornness to make a life here; and, even among people with left-leaning political views, there’s a bit of a libertarian, ‘leave me alone’ streak among most of us.

Oh, I said ‘us.’ A little presumptuous. 

Here is a small hint on how to survive in Quilcene. Accept others. But, if there’s someone you really don’t want to run into, say, at the Post Office, possibly because you didn’t/couldn’t get to his project, and he won’t listen to your reason/excuse, keep your head up as you pass him (rather than drive around until he leaves). Maybe he’ll look away. Maybe he’ll look through you. Maybe he’ll forgive you. Eventually.

Meanwhile, I’ll check my list of colorful local characters to see if you’re on it. If I’m not on yours, well, I do care, but I’m not worried.

I do have a Facebook page that I don't really check out too often; it's linked to my surf-centric blog, realsurfers.net, which I appreciate folks checking out. Often.