I live on one of the non-ferry-served islands in the San Juans, off the coast of Washington state. This is the first thing to tell, because my work and my self are both rooted in this place. We are entirely off the grid: there are no stores here, no public utilities, no tourism. Just dirt roads, and beaches where sometimes the only footprints are made by river otters and seagulls.
Our house sits in a clearing full of stillness, and I can lie in bed and watch Orion rise over the crowns of maple and cedar.
I work with my hands, my eyes, my curiosity and joy and outrage. I lived on the island for the entire decade of the nineties, and then returned to Seattle for seven more years so our kids could go to high school. During my various city years, I mostly worked as an advocate for people in poverty and crisis; the ones who are invisible to mainstream society. Bob and I came back to the island for good in Spring 2008, and we’re putting our homestead and our new lives together out here.
I’ve squeezed a lot of living into my five-plus decades, and often there wasn’t much room left for the art and writing that were always at my core. Now there is.
About
I live on one of the non-ferry-served islands in the San Juans, off the coast of Washington state. This is the first thing to tell, because my work and my self are both rooted in this place. We are entirely off the grid: there are no stores here, no public utilities, no tourism. Just dirt roads, and beaches where sometimes the only footprints are made by river otters and seagulls.
Our house sits in a clearing full of stillness, and I can lie in bed and watch Orion rise over the crowns of maple and cedar.
I work with my hands, my eyes, my curiosity and joy and outrage. I lived on the island for the entire decade of the nineties, and then returned to Seattle for seven more years so our kids could go to high school. During my various city years, I mostly worked as an advocate for people in poverty and crisis; the ones who are invisible to mainstream society. Bob and I came back to the island for good in Spring 2008, and we’re putting our homestead and our new lives together out here.
I’ve squeezed a lot of living into my five-plus decades, and often there wasn’t much room left for the art and writing that were always at my core. Now there is.
Betsy Sharp