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It’s time to share your story

September 30 is the deadline for submitting materials for our community project: Heart of Vashon: telling our story. We are gathering material for an archive of contemporary material for the Heritage Museum. We also hope for material from which to craft a script for a performance reading in January to celebrate VAA’s 50th anniversary. Michael Barker will direct.

We’re looking for YOUR story. We’re looking for what matters to you NOW. Whether you think of yourself as a writer, whether you are old or young, whether you were born on Vashon or arrived last month, your voice is important.

Doesn’t have to be a long story; doesn’t even have to be a “story” at all. An anecdote, perhaps a couple of sentences, three paragraphs, a poem. It can be the quintessential something that happened to you recently; or just the words that speak your heart when you think about what Vashon means to you.

The success of our project depends entirely on widespread participation. That means you. Now. Pick up your pen. Send us your submissions! Please.

Here’s what some of your neighbors say – just to get you in the mood:
It was the day of the annual artist tour and I was out shopping. As I was getting out of my car to enter yet another creative “cave”,  two young boys and a man in his 50’s who had to be there Dad came down the driveway each carrying a large fishing net. “Have you seen a loose goose?” one of the boys shouted. The man said they were looking for the family pet…only on Vashon.  -- Anonymous

I feel like I am part of Vashon and Vashon is part of me. My wife and kids feel the same so we all got Vashon tattoos. Mine has the Norwegian word for home, Hjem, in a nod to the Brenno’s that came from Norway. What Vashon means to me is roots, to me it’s not just a nice place to live, it goes much deeper. I have a connection of a lifetime of shared experiences with other Islanders, a sense of community, place and history. I have a place in this big crazy world where I truly feel Hjem.  – Brian Brenno

As I cross the water, my body relaxes and my mind drifts, aware that I am loosely held by many tendrils reaching out to people and places I know; giving form and substance to my life, anchoring me and my work. I see places that remind me – of a beautiful moment straining on the pedals after a long day of bicycle touring – or where my son would go off to do his work in the world each day – of sweat dripping from my brow as a path emerges from the brambles – of a difficult conversation and the resulting sense of ease and connection. I wave for Folk who know me, who claim me as their own. – Tim Baer