Northwest is growing smarter
Toolbox
Published: June 21, 2009
OLYMPIA, Wash. – This place, as Shakespeare would remark if he could see it, has a pleasant seat. Mount Rainier dominates the horizon to the east on clear days, and the city slopes downhill to a waterfront on West Bay at the very head of Puget Sound. The Deschutes River (once famous as the site of the Olympia Beer brewery and the inspiration for its slogan, "It's the Water") flows into tidewater here.
The grand bulk and 29,000-ton dome of the granite-faced state capitol rise above the east shore, glorious to behold. It's also fascinating to contemplate that when a heavy earthquake struck the area in 2001, that dome and its columnar supports shifted on the barrel vault beneath (they were connected by only gravity).
They've since been fastened solidly; but I think I'd rate legislative activity in Washington a hazardous occupation – particularly when you consider that, although visitors to the building are not permitted to carry pocket knives past security, concealed handguns are allowed. Classes of schoolchildren and volunteer docents marched noisily through the Alaska granite halls and sat on the rotunda steps to listen to lectures.
The Capitol was the scene of a bit of a kerfuffle last Christmas when the Freedom From Religion Foundation installed a sign next to the traditional Nativity scene, proclaiming, among other things, that "religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds."
Somebody stole the sign; somebody brought it back; then everybody wanted in, including our old friends from the Westboro Baptist Church, who wanted to put up a sign saying, "Santa Claus will take you to hell!" The Catholic League weighed in, and finally all vestiges of religion and its alternatives were removed. So it goes …
Boats line the piers along the rustic waterfront boardwalk, some of them obviously lived in.
Only about 25 miles north lies Tacoma Narrows, where a brand-new suspension bridge nicknamed Galloping Gertie, for its oscillations in a breeze, collapsed spectacularly on a brisk November day in 1940. If you aren't familiar with that engineering calamity, you owe it to yourself to look it up on the Internet.
Mother and I are here for the high school graduation of our oldest grandchild, Mack. Only such a signal event could induce us to leave upper New England in June, cram our aging bodies into economy-class seats for several hours, thread the maze of elevators, sky bridges and rental car lots, and pretend to know where we're going and what we're doing as we join the herds of metal elephants thundering nose-to-tail down unfamiliar interstate highways.
We're doing all right. I've been lost only twice so far, and our little white Chevy Cobalt has no more scratches on it than when we first picked it up.
I suppose it's good to get out of the Northeast now and then; to realize that although we live at the center of the civilized world, there may be cultured life elsewhere, as well. So far I've marveled at the public transportation system. The articulated double bus we took from our airport motel dove deep beneath the streets of Seattle and switched to electric power to avoid polluting the cavernous tunnel beneath the business district.
People were friendly – even the bus drivers – and the few panhandlers who knew us for out-of-towners seemed to expect to be turned down. Bicyclists whizzed everywhere, and many roads had designated bicycle lanes.
The Seattle-Tacoma-Olympia region is experiencing population growth on an unprecedented scale, which has led to environmental problems. A map of Puget Sound and its many bays and arms, surrounded as they are by millions of people, shows clearly how vulnerable they are to pollution. So at the same time that government must provide infrastructure to handle a burgeoning population, it must also mitigate its downstream effects.
One thing they do right out here is restaurants. A short, steep walk downhill from the bus station is a funky little side street called Pike Place Market. Neither Mother nor I was interested in a tattoo (well, OK, interested, but that's all) or a tarot card reading or a Zen massage, but the fresh flower stalls were spectacular, and we had a wonderful breakfast in a second-floor restaurant overlooking the docks, the harbor and the ferry landings.
Lunch was at Ivar's Acres of Clams – more ferryboats, a view of the Port of Seattle fireboats, and dozens of herring gulls perched along the rail of the deck, gazing lustfully at our lunch. Mother saved some of her rolls for them. For my part, I was delighted to discover that the hostess knew the words and tune to "Acres of Clams," one of my favorite songs from younger days.
Olympia shows the effects of explosive growth in its downtown, from which essentials like pharmacies and hardware stores have migrated to the outskirts. Rather like a red giant star, losing its gravitational strength and expanding, but hollow at the core.
But when we had a few hours to spend in Seattle, the lure of the shops was too much for Mother. We both knew that my following her around was a recipe for mutual disaster, and I didn't feel like sitting in the sun on the waterfront while she browsed. Then, suddenly, there was the aquarium!
So while she shopped, I wandered among the groupers, sturgeons, ratfish, oystercatchers and guillemots. I watched one of the keepers feed a pretty good-sized octopus, and spent perhaps an hour watching the sea otters and the river otters in their pools, playing tag, wrestling underwater and sliding gleefully down their rocks.
It was hot and humid, so I wandered around looking for the coolest place in the aquarium, preferably with a bench with a back. I found it at last and enjoyed my last hours in the Northwest watching little kids watching a large halibut taking slow laps around and around a sunlit tank.
Willem Lange is a writer, storyteller and retired contractor who lives in East Montpelier. His column appears each week in the Sunday Rutland Herald and Times Argus. He can be reached through his Web site, willemlange.com.
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