Simply Begin Again

With snow behind us, there is so much more than spring in the air. Our fields are filled with huge flocks of robins turning up all the leaves I never raked. But I have yet to hear the classic clarion wakeup call of a Swainson’s thrush at first light.

My routine has changed, and not for the better, as I spend more time reading awful news and less time walking with my dog. If I wake up to read yet another article about “culture change,” I may well lose my mind. I am not ready to give up on the power of active listening and the practice of civility to achieve together what we cannot alone. Wishing for it won’t make it so.

We all believe what we believe passionately. I miss the America I thought I knew, the one that valued the rights of all — the very rights that made us the envy of people around the world. The right to free speech and freedom of the press, the right to possess and lawfully use firearms, the right to worship and practice religion, the right to vote in free and fair elections, and equal justice under law. It’s inconceivable that any of us would willingly give up any of them.

I don’t want anyone to sacrifice any one of those rights, no matter their political persuasion.

Lately, I’ve noticed more people becoming withdrawn, keeping their heads down, avoiding eye contact, going about their business in common spaces without engaging anyone. This is a theme I hear loud and clear from all corners: Whatever you do out there, try to avoid conflict. We have no idea how others are coping with their feelings.

Even in the company of close friends, it can be challenging to tamp down the anxieties fueled by ongoing uncertainty and downright fear for a future bearing down hard and fast.

Practicing restraint of pen and tongue are useful strategy to a point, but we live in a world with others. The next thing you know, you find yourself confessing your deepest, darkest fears to the barista at the drive-thru who knows your face and drink but not your name. Sometimes we need perfect strangers. We need each other.

Before September 11, 2001, the idea that anyone would dare attack the  United States on our own turf was unthinkable. There was no declaration of war; it was a straight-up terrorist attack that at the time seemed to come out of nowhere. And what did I do aside from nonstop involuntary shaking that fateful morning? I vomited. I remember trying to sleep that first night and gently rocking myself for comfort. Discovering our own blind spots was a sobering awakening to dangers unconsidered.

Within six months, we sold our house and moved to the rural Key Peninsula. At the time, it felt far away, like moving to a magical land that time had forgotten to ruin. I remember saying to my husband on hearing the Longbranch church bells ring on our first glorious sunny Sunday morning, “This is it. Just bury me at the cemetery down the road. I love it here, and I’m not leaving.” Little did I know how much richer our lives would become, being welcomed and embraced by the surprising community of characters at the end of the road.

As a small community, the violent crimes that have shaken us these last few months are hard to fathom even from a distance. This last time, I was not familiar with any of the victims. I’ve been there before and wish that agonizing pain on no one. It takes time to recover one’s bearings after repeated shocks. Nine horrific, violent deaths on the Key Peninsula occurred within three months, and the common factor was undeniably mental illness, leaving countless families, friends, and neighbors grieving.

Mental health treatment, woefully underfunded and hugely dependent on Medicaid for long-term care, is poised for more reductions in federal funding that will further damage a system already in crisis.

As a community, we are witnessing and living with a painful fallout that threatens everyone.

Be safe, exercise patience on the roadways, find some compassion, and let kindness become your go-to superpower. Take inspiration where you can and run with it.

Personally, I was never into athletics, played on no school teams, and generally loathed physical education except for distance running, where we were allowed to run trails off campus.

Thanks to KP News sportswriter Eddie Macsalka, my eyes have been opened to appreciate the tenacity and perseverance of individual athletes beyond the scoreboards and the meaningful life lessons learned from good coaching and team play while pursuing personal excellence.

In February, the Peninsula High School girls wrestling team had another stellar performance at the Tacoma Mat Classic, where senior Bailey Parker became the most decorated wrestler in PHS history, earning her third championship after pinning four opponents. I recalled speaking with Parker’s grandma last year, who had called looking for extra copies of the print edition after her granddaughter’s win in 2025. After her win this year, I phoned to see if they had photos from the match we might use.

This time, I reached her grandfather, who was as proud as could be. I asked how Bailey, who also competes as an equestrian, was feeling after such an incredible wrestling feat. “Well,” he said, “her wrestling season is over — so she went out to the barn first thing this morning, saddled up and began practicing her roping skills atop her horse.”

This is what champions do. Win, lose, or draw, they get back in the saddle and begin again.