This season has its own indicators in this time and space of Kitsap County, west of Seattle. I know Independence Day must be approaching when I start to see the firework stands sprouting along the side of the highway between the island and Poulsbo, on the land that belongs to the Suquamish tribe. Fireworks now remind me of the Treaty of 1855, emphasizing the fact that the native peoples were taken off of Bainbridge and moved onto a reservation. I take my children to see an island midden, a buried pile of clamshells left behind from the families who camped on the shores of Eagle Harbor, where we picnic and listen to concerts on summer nights now. My daughters want to know what happened to the people who once lived here.

Strawberry season starts before the Fourth. Island berries appear in the T&C, the local grocery store. I bought a couple boxes this week. They are smaller than the ones often sold at the grocery, red and tender, delicate and fragile and flavorful. Berries have a legacy on Bainbridge. Strawberries remind me of the strawberry farms that were once abundant here, the remains of the canning factory that can be seen, and the families of Japanese descent who owned them and worked them, the people who were taken off of Bainbridge Island due to Executive Order 9066 and sent to internment camps in March of 1942. Flags made of fruits remind me of an American story I wish I didn’t know.

Bainbridge is a place ripe with history, as I discover significance in strawberries and fireworks, as I find the past affecting the present in ways I can see, taste and touch. It’s a history that’s alive. It’s a history that doesn’t make me proud of America. Why are the Suquamish living near Indianola and not on the island? Why did the Japanese farmers and others have to suffer and lose their land?As a child, at least as I grew older, I didn’t dress myself in red white and blue. I remember feeling frustrated with President Rambo and the various invasions our country seemed to sponsor. Being American meant covert operations, bombs and desire for domination. Or so it seemed to teenage me.

Even as an adult, I’ve had doubts. Reading books last summer, I began to question what I had been taught. Was Columbus corrupt? Did Lincoln care about racism? What is this land I know as my own? What is the identity of America, both here and abroad? What does Old Glory mean to me and to others?

Yet at the same time, other changes have happened in my life since I’ve lived on the island. We moved here as a very young family with our one year old daughter. Two more children have been born as we lived on Bainbridge. Most of our years as parents – five of seven – have been spent in this community. We’re now a family of five, homeschooling and exploring this place we have been given in time and space.

I’m grateful for our girls. They are growing up, becoming more like Ted and me, and also less like us every day. We see pieces of ourselves reflected in their faces and physique, in their psychology and personalities. They are a combination of their parents. Yet they are themselves, individuals the world has not yet seen, as all children are. Each one is different. Each one is her own.

The three individuals share a common heritage. Earlier this week, while trying to explain aunts, uncles and cousins, Ted and I started drawing the family tree, using the triangles and circles I learned for diagrams in school. I’m amazed to look at the history and to remember the stories represented through the geometry and lines scribbled on a piece of paper. The culture Ted and I have for our family is a combination a diverse past across three continents and our own ideas from this time and place. His family came to America to escape Communist China, with different tales of adventures and providence from each of his parents. One side of my heritage came to this country from a nation devastated by World War I, a nation that would next become Nazi Germany. The other side of my family traces its roots to New England settlers and French-Canadian pioneers centuries ago. Our daughters can claim their heritage across Europe, Asia and North America, across multiple languages and cultures, times and places.

It is here in America where Ted and I met. Here where our families came to find hope, shelter and freedom. And it is here, in this mix of peoples and nationalities, in this individuality and diversity of our family that I find what America means to me.

Since moving to Bainbridge Island, the Fourth of July has also meant more to me due to the community celebrations. Later this morning we’ll take the bus to watch the parade. The small town holiday traditions are treasures. Anyone can participate. Basset hounds and baseball players, neighborhoods and nonprofits, stores and students, environmentalists and corporations all are represented. We’ll see hip hop and hula hoops. Tribes dance down Winslow Way in their regalia and the Munro family bagpipe band march along in their kilts – both also reminding us of our history, of the island’s nobility, power, present and past. Maybe the kids will catch candy or other treats tossed from floats. I’m sure we’ll see people we know passing by in the parade. Fancy cars, fire trucks and politicians bring out the noise. It’s a snapshot – or rather a photo album – of who we are in this moment of time.

Puppets on Parade will be joining the celebration. For this group, the parade will be the final fun day of many spent creating aquatic creatures from paint and paper mache. Visiting Puppets on Parade earlier this week, I was amazed by the fun and freedom. Paint, pipes and paper mache turned into faces and fish. Old umbrellas and a backpack were transformed into a forest of jelly fish and a hermit crab. It’s a celebration of community and creativity.

What I saw at Puppets on Parade and the parade itself epitomize what America means to me. We can be ourselves. We can make what has never been seen before in the world, using our imagination and freedom for innovation. Liberty and generosity give us grace. We come from many nations and groups, bringing with us the treasures of history and stories to share with each other, unique and precious, contributing character and culture to our sense of unity. Together we can redeem the past and turn it into something beautiful in the present. Each of us has a part to play, a song to sing, a creation to share, a voice to be revealed. We have one history and many. We celebrate each individuality and our common group identity. We are America.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. – The Declaration of Independence

in a few hours, we’ll get dressed and out the door. This year, to my own surprise, I bought festive shirts for the girls to wear to the parade, ones decorated with stars and sequined flags. Why? I think as I watch my girls grow and watch our community grow, I’ve become more enthusiastic about what America means to me. As I watch the parade each year, I am also grateful for our country. I know that we are who we are because of the land where we live. I know this in a personal sense, as a mother of children who have a rich heritage, as a wife happy her husband’s family made it here, as a woman enjoying the opportunities and freedom she would not have in other nations. And I also know this in a larger sense, for the island, for this piece of land in the Pacific Ocean with its tragic past and transforming present. We are who we are because of the land where we live. We are who we are on Bainbridge because we are Americans. Because we are part of the United States, with its history and legacy, with its innovation and creation, with its future and freedom. We can have hope. We can speak. We can agree and disagree. And we can have fun coming together one morning each July, celebrating the diversity of our voices and visions.

Happy Birthday America!

I love you.

A picture of my daughter’s desk this morning showing her collection of dolls, some with blue eyes and red hair and others with black hair and brown eyes, her clothes to wear to the parade, a flag (inaccurate number of stars though) we made after 9/11 (when we couldn’t find a flag to buy), and her Bible.

KiDiMu is already a rich and rare resource on the island, by the simple fact that it is a place parents and children can go on rainy days. The exhibits provide opportunity for creativity, exploration and fun. I’ve learned about tree frogs and helped to make simple animations for the girls. My daughters enjoy wearing the costumes and crawling through the enormous snake. Puppets, puzzles and art projects abound. It’s a great place to go and sure to become an island destination.

The children’s museum opened after years of work, fundraising and organization accomplished by parents I’ve met through library story times, gym class and other connections. Starting a nonprofit can be difficult. KiDiMu has done a great job getting off the ground, raising funds and community support in short time, and I hope they continue in their success.

Butterfly and other creature costumes offer pretend play.

Monsters by Moira: my friend illustrated these for the museum’s celebration

Into the cobra’s mouth…

A year ago, I could count the number of island bloggers I knew on one hand. Now, thanks in part to the Technorati feed Mike Houser created, I have a list of two dozen, posted in the side bar of this blog and below in this post. Like rabbits, blogs seem to be reproducing rapidly on the island. So far this spring, I’ve learned of new ones each month.

Included in this bunch of bloggers are two I’m mentioning for the first time:

Beth Freeman has moved back to Bainbridge Island, after a year away. She also writes at Creating Passionate Users. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.

Krista’s glimpses of Meadowbrook Farm include beautiful photographs. She’s done a great job in her first month of posting daily and educating readers on a variety of plants. I learned a lot!

Congratulations to Adrian and Sarah who graduate today from Bainbridge High School! Yesterday’s Bainbridge Islander featured six graduates, including these two.

I’ll be sending out via email some ideas for plans for blogger get-togethers this summer…in the meantime, we can read and try to keep up with each other…enjoy!

Bainbridge Blogs

Bainbridge Beat (anonymous)

Bainbridge Book Moms (group blog)

Bill Knobloch:The Blog (Philippe Boucher and Bill Knobloch)

blogvert (Philippe Boucher)

Busking the Cost (Chris Holmes)

Capra hircus (Adrian Sampson)

Casdra Blog (Mike Houser)

Consciousness Conspiracy

Delivering Hope (Walker Willingham)

Elisabeth Freeman.com (Elisabeth Freeman)

Grotto of Procrastination (Emily Julia)

I Love Bainbridge Island (ILBI)

Imagine Bainbridge

In Other News (Emily Groff)

Le blog d’Anne (Anne Boucher)

Meadowhawk Farm Web Log (Krista)

Mixerguy’s Blog (Christian Heilman)

Peggy Finds a Friend (Bill Branley)

Peter’s Mostly Food Blog (Peter MacLeod)

Real Lawyers Have Blogs(Kevin O’Keefe)

Rowdy Rover (Ed Hager and family)

Sarako Corner(Sarah Gould)

Sarah van Gelder of Yes! magazine

Ted Leung on the Air (Ted Leung)

The Binary Circumstance (Chip Gibbons)

Unchained Melody (Maureen)

Voice of Bainbridge: The Blog (Philippe Boucher)

Winslow Tomorrow: The Community Blog (Philippe Boucher)

One morning last week we took a break from our books and walked outside. In a patch of woods, we sampled salmon berries the color of sunrise and listened to the tree frogs sing.

Tuesday night as I looked on-line to discover whether the controversial $8.9 million levy had passed, I noticed that neither of the local papers, The Sun’s Islander or The Bainbridge Review had posted results yet, but Cathy had already linked to the county election results site predicting the loss. When I was seeking to determine which way to vote, I discovered that the pieces Cathy and others had written on the Buzz describing the tech levy issues were more helpful to me than the ones in the printed media.

Sure, the newspapers interviewed school board members and the opposition leaders. Perhaps that’s why they were slower to publish on their respective sites last night. But I already know what the two sides are going to say: their polarized positions are predictable. Instead I want to hear from the thousands of other islanders who put their ballot in the box. I want to know why they voted the way they did. What helps me most is the comment section on the Buzz posts. The dialogue encourages others to share, revealing contrasting perspectives and new points of view from the rest of Bainbridge Island.

Like others who commented, I appreciated Cathy’s willingness to ask questions and to reveal her own uncertainty for the levy vote. She’s written about citizen journalism. Now she’s demonstrated its effectiveness.

While it’s not the best picture of Bainbridge Island, I thought the sunny day was a good opportunity to test the landscape mode on the camera and get a shot of the Olympic Mountains over Eagle Harbor as the ferry pulled toward Seattle.

I Love Bainbridge Island has been posting some beautiful pictures of this place we call home.

In a post on Bainbridge Buzz titled Thoughts on Prom Night, island counselor Michael Dorsey listed facts and statistics, legal and biological, concerning drugs, alcohol and sex. Continuing the conversation in the comments section, he suggested that perhaps we as parents encourage quick fixes to problems: our attitudes and practices with legal substances may promote the idea that drugs can solve our situations. While he is quick to mention that the roots of addictions are complex, his comments and specific mention of cough syrup, an over-the-counter-found-in-the-medicine-cabinet-standard caught me by surprise and got me thinking.

I don’t think we have cough syrup in the house. Oh, maybe we do. We have other bottles too on the cabinet shelf. From my family history and our desire to avoid extraneous substances or chemicals, I didn’t grow up taking medicine except occasional aspirin. But I do give my kids Motrin or Tylenol when they have a fever above 101. I don’t think I’m training them to take drugs to solve problems. Medicine can lower a fever and help a sick child feel more comfortable. I shouldn’t let them suffer. Michael Dorsey’s piece reminds me to continue in my caution, and to give out dosages only when necessary.

But I’m seeing a bigger application for me as a parent. Let’s face it: am I providing a good example? When I’m in a dilemma, feeling tired or exhausted, sure, I want a quick fix. Who doesn’t? Fortunately I’ve trained myself to turn to caffeine rather than other possibilities. But is that any better? I am in the middle of teaching myself new habits. I’m taking naps instead of pushing myself and trying to say “no” and “stop” when I feel life is going too far off course. Is drinking coffee and chomping chocolate any better than relying on a smoke of something or a gulp of liquor to get by? Even practices and attitudes that seem to be good can become dangerous. Exercise can be helpful and healthy but one can also become addicted and anorexic. Anxiety is anxiety, regardless of disguise.

I’m grateful to Michael Dorsey for the whack on the side of the head. What may matter more than my specific reaction to my stress – choosing to drink a latte instead of liquor, for example – is my stress itself. There’s nothing I can “take” to get a quick fix. Okay, maybe a nap. Taking a nap does help solve some problems, like my cranky attitude, headache or lack of energy.

But the danger may not be as much in what I do but in why I am doing it. Why do I want a quick fix? What’s hurting or frightening me? What is the truth of the situation? How does love fit into the picture, love of myself, love of others, love of God? Patience and grace may be better answers than any cup of coffee. Instead of grabbing something to satisfy the stressful emotions, I should instead open my hands and let go of what has grabbed me.

The only thing I can take to fix it is to take action in my own life. And I can take time to relax and unwind, time to reflect and seek spiritual and emotional refreshment, to get my mind and priorities realigned again. The dilemma won’t disappear, but I can strengthen myself enough to help me wait and wade through the mess, guided by God. I can take a step into freedom instead of fear, and teach my children to do the same.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about race. As a Northwest-born white middle-class American, the issue is all tangled up in political correctness, liberal guilt, and the fact that my hometown (Bainbridge Island) is notorious for being almost completely homogeneous.

According to this link the U.S. 2000 Census found that Bainbridge Island was 93% white. (2% were Asian and 3% more than one race, the rest were less than 1%). It is probably the least diverse place we have lived, from a statistics perspective. 93% is nearly homogeneity defined. It is far from ideal, perhaps dangerous. But what can be done to change it? The statistics, I suspect, reflect the economics, and also the fact that communities tend to reinforce themselves, attracting more of their own kind rather than diversity and variety.

I’m grateful we live close to Seattle and other cities with more diversity and cultural opportunities. At the same time, I am aware that I am more sensitive in a sense to this issue than my husband who has spent his life from childhood in the statistical minority. He grew up on the East Coast in an area that was probably also highly homogeneous.

Mama Junk Yard described what it means to be Kenyan. Her ideas of cultural identity encouraged me.

Having spent so long in England I have become accustomed to racism. I don’t mean this in a general “all whites hate us black folk” way. I am talking about real racism…

[snip].

What is important, to me at least, is the fact that my parents were strong enough to raise me into the person I am. I know their strength stems from the fact they knew where they were from. They were and still are rooted in their Kenyan identity. By default this identity was passed on to me.

[snip]

My point is simple. I have given up on clinging on those outward signifiers that are supposed to symbolise my Kenyaness. I have decided to be honest with myself…

[snip]

I shall no longer be silenced because I am not Kenyan enough. Phrases such as “Wow you are more Kenyan than I thought” shall cease to be considered a compliment.

If the rest of Kenya can base their Kenyaness on a gut feeling, than that too shall be my basis.

I am what I am because I have chosen to be what I am.