Jim's House

We know we have arrived when we see the bumper sticker on the car in front of us on the ferry line that says, 'keep Vashon weird'. We are making one of our several trips this year to visit our Washington family members who live on this island in Puget Sound. Vashon is about ten miles long and a few miles wide. Going there is a step back in time. There are maybe three traffic lights on the whole island.

For the last several years, when we have visited, we have stayed in Jim's house. We know where the key is stashed and we know that the hot tub will be up and running. Jim is married to my sister. He's wonderfully handsome in a craggy sort of way with a dour sense of humor you have to get used to. Jim married my sister, the stellar and famous tile artist, thirteen years ago. He took on my sister's two youngest kids as his own and became a partner not only in raising the kids but also in my sister's tile business.

My sister met Jim as he was working as a master carpenter on her dream house. Jim had a house of his own. As a very young man, he'd had the vision of building a wonderful house in the woods. I can only imagine the incredible energy and drive he must have had as he built it. This house was never finished and now it stands proud in a glade surrounded with evergreen trees. It is an idiosyncratic mix of height and wood and peaks and gables. Everyone who sets foot in this house immediately is charmed and then embarks on a 'what if' odyssey. It has such style and potential. The bedroom where we sleep looks out on fir trees, full moons, rainbows at 5 a.m., deer browsing on the ornamental shrubs, swallows coming and going to the boxes Jim has installed on the sides of his house.

But the house still needs drywall, trim, some plumbing and a lot of everything else to be anything more than a lovely place to 'camp out'

Jim and my sister, Irene, live in their 'real' house a few miles away where they raise the kids, have the business, keep the dogs, and where Jim has created the most beautiful gardens I have ever seen in the whole world. But for all these years Jim has kept his own house as a place of refuge. Until very lately, Jim and Irene and the kids would retreat to Jim's house on some weekends. There is no phone, t.v. washer and dryer or internet there. It was a chance to connect with family.

For years, no one except the immediate family was even allowed to see Jim's house. And then it became sort of a family guest house. Jim could see how much we all loved being there instead of hanging out in one of the island's bed and breakfasts.

Just the odor of it makes me happy! It smells like old wood, a bit of mold, the tangy odor of the plants ringing the outside. The kitchen is basic and one must rummage around to find anything. The furniture from the local thrift store is rump sprung and oddly decorative.

But I look up at the amazingly constructed walls (still devoid of the drywall covering), and I marvel at the workmanship that has gone into this house. This was something quite like a master's thesis, or a PhD unfinished.

I do not know what will happen with Jim's house. He may sell it. Obviously it is very valuable (and there are his two soon to be college age kids). In my own life I have sold property I have loved, and breathed a sigh of relief and never looked back. Whatever Jim decides to do with his house is far from mine to say.

I have loved being a short time lodger in Jim's house. I have loved the enveloping warm light from the big windows overlooking the meadow, the space, the smell of raw wood, all the stairs beckoning me to fascinating small high spaces. Most of all I have loved the sense of youthful creativity and possibilities. And I understand that Jim has moved on as we all do.