What Ten Years on This Land Have Taught Me

There's a particular kind of magic that comes with watching leaves fall — the shift in the air, the silvery webs strung between branches, the dappled light sparkling through the branches one last time before autumn lets them go. It has me feeling reminiscent and resilient, the way this place always does when the seasons turn.

This is my tenth year working at the Whidbey Institute, and that anniversary has had me sitting with what keeps me here — and what this land has taught me along the way. I've seen it move through some of its best days and some of its hardest, through the pandemic, and despite it all, it has held every season, every transition, with such grace. That's the lesson I keep coming back to: that steadiness isn't the absence of hard seasons, it's what carries you through them. This land as sanctuary, as teacher, as something rooted enough to hold the rest of us while we figure out how to do the same.

It feels fitting, then, that we're gathering this weekend to celebrate — our annual Gala is this Saturday, Sept 26th, in Thomas Berry Hall. We've been working hard to bring a little autumnal magic into the space, and we'd love nothing more than to share it with you.
If you'd like to be there but need a sponsored ticket, just email us at info@whidbeyinstitute.org and tell us why — we'd be so happy to have you join us.

We're honored to welcome Chiyokten of the Saanich Nation, founder of Protectors of the Salish Sea, as a guest speaker during the gala to honor and acknowledge this land, cared for by the Coast Salish peoples since time immemorial. I'm so grateful to have recently joined Protectors of the Salish Sea on their prayer walk on STOLȻEȽ (San Juan Island) — see photo below — a beautiful, grounding reminder of what is important and meaningful in this world. If it moves you the way it moved me, follow along and support their work on Instagram or Facebook.

If ten years has taught me anything else, it's this: none of this belongs to any of us alone — not the land, not the care for it, not the moments we get to share here together. We're just lucky enough to be part of it for a while.

Until we gather — cheers, darlings.