Mount Baker

Mount Shuksan

Finding Home

By Carl Golden

Many people dream of escaping their hometown in order to see the world. They want an adventure elsewhere that will challenge, entertain, and perhaps even educate and transform. I wanted all of that, so I took up such an adventure twenty-seven years ago, leaving my hometown of Clinton, Maryland, in 1980 to travel to and live in Iceland for a year. It was an amazingly challenging and rewarding journey that also lead me to the Faeroe Islands, Scotland, and England. I was away for fourteen months, during which I met many wonderful people who became friends and/or lovers. I worked hard, learning a new language and new ways of thinking and seeing. I overcame personal challenges and the boy I was grew into a man. I returned to Clinton in 1981 to visit my mother, but I didn't stay long to my mother's disappointment. Clinton was no longer my home. Not that Clinton had changed; rather, I had changed, and my hometown just didn't feel like home anymore.

Looking back over the years, it seems that I have been on that journey ever since, and I am tired of it. I have been tired of it for many years now. I want to find my home and rest in it. Finally, I believe that I have found it in Bellingham, WA, after a long sojourn.

I first discovered Bellingham back in 1993, when I moved out here to enroll in a graduate program at Western Washington University. I fell in love with it back then because the town is built upon and between shoulders of the Chuckanut Mountains and the shores of Lake Whatcom, Lake Samish, Lake Padden, and beautiful Bellingham Bay. I love the confluence of mountains and water that characterize the area, and the magnificent Northern Cascade range, where Mount Baker and Mount Shuksan can be found, is approximately thirty miles east of town. This is heaven for an outdoorsman like myself.

Unfortunately, my stay in Bellingham was cut short when I learned that my graduate program was retired along with the retirement of its two head professors. So, I left Bellingham to pursue studies in New Hampshire, but unbeknownst to me, an intention to return had lodged itself deep within my heart and soul.

The influence of that subconscious intention has worked it's way with me through many years of traveling and much heart-ache. I am reminded of the line, "And if you can't be with the one you love, it's alright. Go ahead and love the one, love the one, love the one your with," which were written by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Well, I have never been very good at just settling for the one you're with or for the place you're at for that matter. I have moved around America and the world to accommodate the needs of my educational and vocational interests, and more recently I have lived here and there to accommodate the dreams of some women I have known and loved, believing each time that marriage, home, and family would soon follow. Instead, there was only disappointment for a variety of reasons, but a theme did arise: I could never make my peace with this woman's or that woman's choice of a place to settle down and call home. I kept trying to convince them to move to Bellingham. Well, after the last heartbreak in Decatur, Alabama, of all places, I decided that I needed to make my own home, and I knew exactly where that would be.

I moved back to Bellingham a couple of months ago, and am attempting to settle in for a long while, hopefully the rest of my life with any luck. There are some hurdles, though. The job market here is not robust, and I may end up having to commute to Seattle, which is 85 miles away. (Not a happy prospect.) It is quite gloomy during the winter season and rather soggy, which is a bummer. There have been days when I woke up thinking that I was trapped in a very bad remake of the horror film, Dark Water. Thirty-five days of unceasing rain, with the prospect of five more months of the same, can sour even the cheeriest of dispositions. I look at some of the faces of people walking down the streets and wonder when they last smiled, and then I think, "Am I going to look like that in ten years?" Then, there are the days when I miss my family and friends who are thousands of miles away. What was I thinking? Right?

Well, I love this place enough to do what I must to make a life here. I have faith that love and fulfillment will come in time because my soul is at peace amongst the mountains and the sea. The gloom of winter gray is offset by the evergreen forests that help to keep my spirit bright, and the town folk are warm in Pacific Northerner's sort of way. The locals definitely are not like Southerners with thier effusive, "y' all come back now y' hear" type of friendliness, but they are congenial and good natured nonetheless in a more reserved manner with a sprinkling of the Canadian "ya sure, y' betcha" attitude. Also, when the glum, gray days of winter get me down a little, then I head out for some great skiing at the Mt. Baker ski area. I have always found that adrenaline will counter the winter blues, especially if chased with a cold micro-brewed beer. And if that isn't enough, then Seattle and Vancouver, BC, are near enough for an evening or weekend cultural get-away. Of course, once the winter monsoon season passes, Bellingham and the local region transform into simply one of the most gorgeous places to live in America.

Anyway, I feel like I have come home, and I want to lay down roots -- deep roots. It has been a long time since I planted a garden. I want to plant grapevines and stay around to tend the vines so they grow strong enough to bear great bunches of grapes for the wine barrel. I want to eat vegetables grown in soil that I have tilled and drink my own wine. I want a home with a roaring fireplace, a hearth, and many heartbeats. I want to marry and get tied down with kids. I want moss to grow between my toes. I want a life -- my life. With some luck, effort, and grace, maybe my rambling days are behind me, and the adventure of becoming a householder and homemaker begins. It could happen. Ya know?