August has arrived in all of its abundance
The apple trees are heavy with fruit now, branches bending under the weight of what spring quietly promised. The plums are beginning to ripen, offering flashes of deep purple among the leaves. The meadows have turned gold beneath the summer sun, dry and fragrant, while hawks circle overhead and the forest offers its shade and stillness. Everywhere, there is movement: guests arriving with suitcases and hopes, laughter drifting from the Commons, and the steady rhythm of another retreat season in full swing.
It is no secret that my office companions are not limited to staff and guests. Birds perch inside my ever-open door. Chipmunks (I've named them all Puck) dart in my open window. Deer wander quietly past the window, pausing long enough to remind me to look up from my computer. And one squirrel, Denis—bold and utterly unconcerned with titles or deadlines—continues to visit as though he, too, has an office here.
They are a gentle reminder that this place has always belonged to more than us. Even in the height of retreat season, amid the joyful busyness and endless to-do lists, the natural world continues its own rhythms: the fruit ripening, the meadows drying in the sun, and the many creatures with whom we share this beloved land carrying on with their ordinary miracles.
August is, without question, one of our busiest months. Every cabin is filled with stories. Every meal becomes an opportunity for connection. The land itself seems to hum with activity. And yet, beneath all of that beautiful busyness, I find myself returning to a dream I have held since I first arrived at the Whidbey Institute:
How do we bring our community home?
I believe there is something extraordinary waiting to emerge here—a deeper invitation for our neighbors, families, artists, elders, and young people to gather together in this place we love. A chance to create a homecoming of sorts: to the land, to one another, and to the parts of ourselves that are nourished by beauty, creativity, and belonging.
I dream of evenings filled with music and song circles beneath the trees. Documentary screenings and conversations that challenge and inspire us. Authors gathering to share their words and writing workshops that invite us to discover our own. Children's forest camps and explorations where wonder is the curriculum and curiosity is celebrated. I imagine theatre, dance, and art woven into the seasons, and affordable—and whenever possible, free—events that ensure these experiences belong not only to those traveling here from afar, but also to the people who call this island home.
Because this place is for everyone.
For children racing down woodland paths and elders sharing stories over tea. For longtime islanders and first-time visitors. For artists and scientists, seekers and skeptics, dreamers and doers. For those who arrive knowing exactly what they need and for those who simply feel called to wander beneath the cedars and see what they might find.
That vision is already beginning to take shape.
This summer marks the third year of youth theatre on the Story House stage, in partnership with WICA. This year, young artists are bringing A Wrinkle in Time to life, and one of the greatest joys has been watching so many children return year after year. They arrive taller, braver, and more certain of their voices. They build friendships, discover their creativity, and remind us all that art is not an extra—it is essential.
Soon, the Story House stage will also welcome Meander Dance, another year of expression of movement, imagination, and community.
Because I believe the Whidbey Institute can be many things at once: a sanctuary for retreat, a partner to the land, and a gathering place where stories are shared, songs are sung, and generations come together. A place where we can dream together about what is possible—not only for this organization, but for our wider world.
As summer carries us slowly toward autumn, I find myself filled with gratitude—for the staff who make this season possible, for the guests who entrust us with their journeys, and for all of you who continue to imagine alongside us what this place can become.
