Bainbridge Island is someplace I never thought I'd visit. Until we met our friends, Vicky and Dave, (also Loreto Bay homeowners) I'd never even heard of it. Now I'm marking it on our list of favorite places I'd like to live. This little island directly west of Seattle is just adorable with it's cape cod cottages and cute main street near the ferry landing. Even with the rain and clouds, the island seems cheery. Vicky tells me the schools are in the top ranking for Washington. Horseback riding is popular, so Allison would be thumbs-up about it. And, of course, boating is part of the culture, so Robert would be happy. I liked the overall picture: cafes, shops, adorable houses surrounded in lush vegetation and tall cedars on skinny dead end paths, and the delicious feeling that all this good stuff is practically inaccessible to the rest of the crazy, bustling world. People who live on Bainbridge Island must feel pretty satisfied.
To get to Seattle you must take a ferry. Or if you're Dave, you walk down your private dock and take your own boat. This morning I watched as Dave, suitcase in hand, kissed Vicky goodbye and walked through the back door, and down the long skinny pier to his aluminum-clad Safeboat. He had a plane to catch in Seattle. I went with Vicky to her yoga class while Robert readied us for our departure via the ferry to Seattle. Yesterday, she insisted I tag along with her to aerobic class. I think I declined her invitation four times before giving in. We ended up having a great time together watching each other karate kick across the studio floor. I'd forgotten what silly fun hopping and lifting three pound weights to music can be.
Now that we were fast friends, she guided me through her town, eyeing real estate. Too bad that my favorite pick was a 1906 cottage on the bluff looking toward Seattle for a mere $1.5 million. Really, I think I could be happy living in Vicky's garage apartment overlooking the vegetable garden and the water on Port Madison. I could come to the main house for dinner and a stroll through her wine cellar and then disappear to the guest house till she calls me for aerobics in the morning. Life with Vicky would be so heavenly. Not only is she super smart and interesting, she cans her own preserves and makes pies. And she sculpts in stone. She's a good mom who drives her kids to the bus stop in her bathrobe so they don't have to get wet in the eternal Washington mist. And she doesn't care if you have to step over dirty laundry in the hallway or a pile of shoes in the mudroom to get to the door. And if she added too much salt to the pie dough, oh well--we're just friends, not company.
I may never live in Bainbridge Island, but if I did I'd have a great friend already lined up.
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