Whidbey is a long zig zag of an island in Washington State. From end to end it’s about 55 miles in length and narrow. Rooted in the Salish Sea, it sprawls between Seattle and Canada.
Some 80,000 people live here. Deeply rooted residents and newcomers alike are thankful for their island lives. What seems like simple country living, a collection of small communities, beaches, bluffs, forests, and fields is much more. Residents come here from all over the world. We bring skills, and abilities and dreams. That means groups sprout up everywhere like mushrooms. Artists, academics, athletes, writers, readers, teachers, students, cooks, bakers, builders. The island is bee-hive busy, diverse, satisfying, and unhurried.
It’s natural settings, sea air and country roads slow those who live here. Limited access to the mainland, connecting by ferry and bridge to nearby urban centers, makes locals less reliant on urban resources and more involved with each other.
This is an island of stories. Historic tales of ice ages and mammoths, tribal settlements and foreign exploration, farming and industry, protective forts and navy bases describe the past. New stories of migration, relationships, exploration, and modern society roll in with the tides.
Whidbey is the kind of place where the wind talks, artists gather, families grow, and everyone is enriched by community. (Even the introspective who are allowed the space they require.)