Lately, I have been deep in “island research mode,” digging down through the layers of accumulated history and lore which, like the ancient glacial deposits of gravel and mud from which the Island is made, are unstable and unreliable, like the land/mud slides that get us occasionally on the news in Seattle … on slow news days.

I have been in pursuit of the origin of that second letter in the VASHON acronym. Yes, that “A.”

I have spent countless hours in our library and in the archives of the Vashon-Maury Island Heritage Museum, but to no avail. In the end, I realized I needn’t have wasted my time: This is one of those things that is so obvious I deserve a “dope slap” from my Burton Coffee Stand friend Bad Michael, who would no doubt be happy to oblige. The answer should have been evident to anyone with half a brain — which, of course, leaves me out. It is so obvious it’s laughable.

The “A” stands for “Alternative.”

How could I have missed it? I, myself, came to this rather lumpy bit of water-girt glacial outwash a few years ago in a semi-conscious search for an alternative to the hustling, traffic clogged, nervy, frantic world of Seattle — which is nuts, seeing that Seattle is like Mayberry compared to my home town, New York.

Alternative? Well, be careful what you wish for.

I’m not sure what the opposite of “alternative” is. Normal, maybe? Conventional? Oh no, we’ll have none of that nonsense on THIS island! I mean, think of any category of activity. Transportation? On a per capita basis, is there anywhere in America with more electric cars? Or Saabs? Or 1960s vintage VW buses and bugs? Or antique Austin and Morris minis from England? The existence of this latter group demonstrates, too, that Vashon is tolerant of masochists. Anyone who’s ever owned a British-made car is automatically enrolled in that group.

How about alternative agriculture? I saw a bumper sticker on a car recently that read, “I farm deer on Vashon.” Like we really need more of them? Vashon seems to have a special attraction to alternative agriculture types, the kind of people who wake up one morning and say, “Hey, I think I’ll raise peacocks!” and move here immediately. Excuse me? I mean, what do you DO with them? They’re noisy and mean-spirited. Are they good spit-roasted on the barby? Who knows? One day a while back, the woman lately known as my wife got a call at the vet clinic where she works that an escaped ostrich was seen running down Bank Road and would they come collect it? This tells you all you need to know about ostriches: Bank Road won’t take you to either of our ferries.

Here’s how extreme alternative agriculture is on Vashon: Late every fall, our medical center is flooded with people needing medication as a result of the closing of the Farmers Market. They’re grief-stricken.

Speaking of medicine, here’s something else where “alternative” rules: Every year, this estimable newspaper publishes a helpful 40-plus page “Health and Wellness Guide.” This is terrific, except for one thing: There is no listing for “Physicians.” Or “Doctors.” There are a few dentists and, if you look closely, there are a bit more than half dozen or so MDs hidden away in clinics. The rest? “Alternative practitioners.” A quick perusal of the guide suggests we are an island of people who are troubled and hurt a lot: There are more than two dozen counselors listed, and roughly the same number of massage therapists. Then there are folks who will teach you how to breathe. I don’t know about you, but I sort of thought that breathing came as standard equipment when you—you know—get born. But that just goes to show how little I know.

The really lovely thing, though, the thing that makes this such a civilized place to live, is that Vashon has a deep tolerance for alternative lifestyles: gay, straight, environmentalist, ruthless capitalist, young, old, rich, poor. For example, as this year’s election drew near, there was a sweet and heartening harmony between Democrats and Republicans, although this may well be because the six Republicans on the Island were smart enough to hold their meetings in secret on moonless nights.

Tolerance of alternatives. And so it goes on “anything goes” Vashon.

— Will North is a Vashon novelist. His next novel, which is set on the island, is taking so long that it has a certain existential kinship with Sartre’s “Waiting for Godot.”