The sheep have escaped Misty Isle Farms. We can only assume they were protesting the lack of sheepdogs. They returned to their pasture after being reassured that the sheepdog trials will be back this summer, though without spectators.
A helicopter was spotted over various parts of the island, leaving us to wonder what disaster they were responding to. They didn’t look military, which was reassuring, and they weren’t one of those eye witness choppers, which was also reassuring but, let’s be honest, a little disappointing. I was hoping I could lead this week with something like “Federal agents in sixth hour of a stand-off with unlicensed marijuana grower” or “Mysterious slag drops into ocean, injuring a boy and killing a dog. Federal agents swoop in to silence locals.” But no. *sigh*
Turns out it was Airlift Northwest doing training.
We have created a barter-economy and are trading our mattresses for eggs. Some of us have been really careful not to let anything go to waste, and have found a home for all sorts of ephemera. For example, a right-handed gardener had loads of left-handed gloves that were in decent shape. She passed them on to a left-handed gardener who’d worn out all her left-handed gloves. I’m running low on gloves, so I need someone ambidextrous to pass theirs on to me.
And speaking of sharing gardening supplies, someone is looking for worms.
When we first moved in, we ordered worms, but they got shipped to the wrong address. A friend saw someone mention it online and let us know. I later found a note on the fridge that just said “John has worms.”
We retrieved our worms from John, and the worms’ descendants now eat our stale corn chips and coffee grinds. Come to think of it, I have some worms to spare. I could give them to whomever was looking. I’ve already given out my eggs to multiple families to incubate. I hope that millennia from now, when humanity has lost its influence on the world and the flightless and spineless animals reign, the feral creatures of this island will consider me a god.
We’ve been wondering how much fuel the ferries use. According to my cursory research (aka the first link I found on Google), the Issaquah uses roughly 800,000 gallons of diesel per year. WSF have committed to using at least 10% biodiesel.
Someone needs a stackable washer repaired. We’re all concerned that they might asphyxiate. If this makes no sense to you, congratulations. You have a fulfilling life outside of the internet.
Someone shared a picture of a raccoon in a vending machine. I’ve never managed to catch raccoons in the traps I set specifically for them, so if anyone has a spare vending machine lying around, please place it next to my chicken coop. In exchange, I can give you a pair of garden gloves covered in cement, a puzzle missing four pieces, and an old salsa jar full of worms.
The water is discolored again, we all have different ideas about what to do if your neighbor’s dog kills your chickens, and a group member shared a bug that we all mostly agree is a stink bug.
We’ll catch you again next week. Anyone want to place bets on which escaped animal will be the celebrity of the week?
Author: Anna Shomsky
I'm a former teacher and a data engineer living on Vashon Island. My writing has appeared in Five on the Fifth, Women on Writing and on the Post-Culture Podcast. I wrote and produced the radio show Whispers of Vashon for 101.9 KVSH. I’ve had short stories published in the anthologies Island Stories and Chicken Scratchings, as well as through the Open Space Literary Project.
