The Turning of the Year
January arrives quietly.
The rush of the holidays has passed, the days stretch longer by a breath at a time, and the land itself seems to exhale. This is the season of letting go—of what has been heavy, unfinished, or simply no longer needed—and of making gentle room for what wants to emerge.
As we step into this new year at the Whidbey Institute, it feels important to name something honestly: the past year has carried real weight. We are living in a world marked by division, grief, uncertainty, and rapid change—environmentally, politically, and socially. Many of us arrive here tired, carrying concerns that reach far beyond our own lives. At the same time, within the Institute, we have navigated our own moments of challenge and transition, doing the complex, human work of caring for one another, stewarding this land, and staying true to our mission amid change. Naming this is not about discouragement; it is about honoring reality.
And alongside that truth, there is hope.
Hope does not always arrive with fireworks or clear answers. Often, it comes quietly—through renewed conversation, fresh ideas, unexpected partnerships, and a deeper commitment to listening. We feel it in the way our staff continues to show up with dedication and heart, in the wisdom and steadiness of our board, and in the community that gathers here with
curiosity, courage, and care.
This new year invites us to begin again—not by forgetting what came before, but by learning from it. We are stepping forward with new ideas, thoughtful planning, and a renewed focus on who we are and why this work matters. We remain committed to nurturing leadership, deepening our relationship with the land, and creating spaces where people can pause, reflect, and imagine a more just and flourishing world together.
January reminds us that growth begins beneath the surface. Seeds rest in the dark soil, gathering strength. We, too, are gathering—hopeful, intentional, and ready to tend what comes next.
With gratitude and quiet optimism,
Rose
“Hope is the muscle that keeps singing even when the throat is torn, even when the music is gone.”— Andrea Gibson
