The California ex-pats have settled into the Pacific Northwest just fine. They have a cozy house, interesting friends and a new life in Port Townsend, Wash. They had been living with the rest of us in Sonoma County, the chosen spot on earth, as far as nature is concerned, as stated by no less than Luther Burbank. But was it enough for them? No, they had to go and choose a new paradise.

It’s bittersweet when old friends move away. You get everyone in their places, establish your A-friends list and then somebody breaks up the old gang - goes off on vacation, discovers a dream spot in a charming village, comes back, sells the house and too bad about you.

It’s more disturbing than a colleague suddenly emptying his cubby. How come he’s moving on and you’re not? It makes you question your own contented state.

But you do the going-away parties and wave goodbye with a touch of envy, admiration and crossed fingers that they’ve made the right leap. (If it’s a flop they can always come back.)

The good thing about friends of long-standing is that even when the location changes the people don’t. I’d know their home anywhere. There would be at least two cats hanging around. Family photos of three boys on the wall. There’d be her funky old living room lamp with the thick fringe that looks like a giant Vietnamese sunhat. He’d have his truck and now a tractor. There would be home-made trail mix, Bon Appetit dinners, antique roses and sweet peas which stay lush into the fall without the frying California heat.

It is reassuring to know that people in late middle age can fearlessly pack up and move on to a new adventure.

They have thrived in their corner of the Olympic Peninsula. They have become sailors. She did her first triathlon, urged on by new friends she met at the gym. He became a crabber. She plays her cello in a community orchestra. They did not become survivalists.

Their new home is a Victorian seaport town but it is not a strange, exotic land. The political and art community and strong hippie heritage make it almost a match for what my friends left behind. The Saturday morning Port Townsend farmer’s market feels and looks like the Sunday market in Sebastopol with everything from lavender to tamales and people talking up the joys of slow food.

They didn’t even have to adapt to a new dress code, except to add sturdier rain gear. Casual outdoors trumps high fashion, just like in West Sonoma County. Fleece and jeans are de rigueur. It is said the only person to regularly wear a suit in Port Townsend is her honor, the mayor.

Our former Californians say that every so often they’ll see a familiar scene of the old surroundings and feel a twinge of homesickness. They love their Doug firs and Cedars but miss the redwoods. A movie shot of the Golden Gate Bridge can send a pang.

We brought them two loaves of sourdough. In exchange they provided sightings of bald eagles, a hot tub that looks into a forest, a film festival, a side trip to glaciers, crab cakes and an introduction to Working Girl White, the local wine.

It’s regrettable when good friends move away. But the pain is lessened when they choose well and add on a guest cabin.

Tags: Juicy_Tomatoes, Port_Townsend, Sebastopol, Susan_Swartz

This entry was posted on Friday, October 2nd, 2009 at 9:18 am and is filed under Environment, Healthy Living. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.