Coming Back

Right now I'm sitting at my friends' computer at her house in Port Townsend. I haven't been back to PT in two years and I have mixed emotions about it. We drove in yesterday and were happy to see the skies clearing and the sun trying to make an appearance. It was good to leave the rain of Seattle behind, but there is so much more to a place than the weather.

I lived in PT for 17 years. 8 years ago I left and moved to Seattle. Those are the surface facts. The deeper details are a tangled web much of which I can't and maybe don't want to recall. But when I return here, especially after a significant absence, I am overwhelmed by the subdivision of my feelings. That's the best way I can describe it -- distinct plots of emotions and memories as neatly laid out as a housing project.

In one plot is the history of my relationships here. I had many friends in PT, but now it's winnowed down to just two with whom I stay in contact. Ironically, those are two people I met right before I left PT and while they keep me informed about all my other friends, I find it odd that when I come back to visit, I end up visiting them and not everyone else.

In another plot is my life on the farm -- the long-term relationship that held me here for longer than I should have stayed. I am reluctant to explore this acreage in any depth because it all seems so long ago and while important in the development of who I am now, I don't want to expend the energy. So when we drove by the road that lead to the old house yesterday, I glanced but had no desire to take a look. Some plots are best left unattended.

Then there's the plot of my teaching career that includes the students I worked with as well as all the teachers I've known. Last night some of those teachers were here and it was good to catch up -- to survey that plot again -- and realize I am still remembered. We also ran into a couple of former students, which is always a little awkward because I can't always remember their names or their personalities. Still they smile, we exchange a bit of history, and then I can move on holding a bit of that past in my back pocket.

There is the plot of new friends some of whom were here last night as well. I like the merging of those boundaries -- old friends introducing me to new people and then establishing my own relationship with people I didn't know while I lived here. And then there are the acquaintances who I sort of knew many years ago, who are friends with some of my older friends. They are like a web of connection through which I can pass on well wishes to those people I don't see anymore.

Of course there is the plot of gossip and after a late night of dinner and visiting, to settle down with the three last remaining friends to talk about who is dating whom, where so and so is working, and how much weight everyone has gained or lost is a nice indulgence. I feel as if I don't really have to put forth the energy to visit those plots because I catch up through the eyes of others.

The most significant plot to me, though, is not the people or the memories or the stories. It's the place. I miss many things about PT -- the food for one -- but what I miss most of all are the tall trees, the musty forest smell, the open pastures, and the beaches. We're going to go for a long walk on the beach this morning and though the rain has finally found us, I'm still looking forward to the salty air, the sandy walk, and that view across the water to the straight line of the horizon.

When I lived here, it was those long walks in the woods or along the beach that gave me peace. They were also the medicine that made me realize how much of my life I'd lived in fear. I suppose it's not ironic that now I've made a job out of walking dogs in the city since walking here in PT (usually with dogs) was the way I grounded myself, the way I found sanity at a time when I thought sanity was lost. Still, if I could take one thing back to Seattle with me, it would be the nature of this place -- the smells and sights and the long, long walks where I never see another soul.

Everyone is still asleep from last night's party. While I want more sleep, I found myself lying awake and listening to the morning chorus of birds calling me to go outside. I took the dogs out in the backyard and while they were eating their breakfast on the porch, three adult deer silently leapt over the fence and sauntered across the lawn. Luckily the city dogs didn't see them, but I watched and smiled, realizing I need to come back every now and again just to remind myself of the acreage on my past.