The school district’s realization that it now makes more sense to tear down Building A — Vashon High School’s main classroom and administrative building — rather than renovate it raises a few questions.
It’s hard to know which side to take in the national fight between the banking industry and the retail industry over so-called “swipe fees,” the amount banks charge retailers for letting consumers use a debit card.
Does Vashon really have a drug problem? This is a question I have wondered for the past 17 years of raising kids on this island. I know from research that there is a higher level of experimentation with drugs among Vashon teens when compared to the state averages, but does this constitute a problem? The article, “Teen substance use still above average on Vashon” in the May 17 issue of The Beachcomber indicates that perhaps it does not.
My wife Sheila belongs to a group called Transition Vashon. The purpose of Transition Vashon is to prepare us for the day we run out of oil and can no longer drive everywhere we want to go. Transition Vashon meets twice a month in our living room. The Transition members drive to the meeting, each in his or her own car, which is OK since we haven’t run out of fuel yet, but it seemed to us somewhat contradictory, like flying to a conference on global warming and depleting the ozone with carbon emissions to get there.
In about five weeks, Vashon will celebrate its 102nd annual Strawberry Festival, a tradition celebrated by generations of Islanders.
The sun was shining on a recent weekday — and apparently, it made drivers on Vashon think the speed limit had doubled. As I walked to work, fully three-quarters of the drivers were clearly driving over the speed limit. Not 5 mph over the limit, but more like they thought they were driving on the freeway. This makes walking difficult on Vashon, where the county seems more concerned with the drainage of rainwater off the road than the safety of pedestrians. The only “shoulder” is at best a slope steep enough to shorten one leg of anyone walking regularly, and often marginal enough to be dangerous. Three times in the last few years I have literally had to dive into the ditch to avoid being hit.
Vashon Island School District is facing yet another financial crisis — but not one of its own making. Due to a sad confluence of factors in the state Legislature, those lawmakers who believe in a basic principle of democracy — that it takes a shared responsibility called taxation to ensure equal access to decent, publicly financed schools — were outnumbered in the legislative session that just ended.
One of the latest joys of living in this largely rural island paradise is that my house smells like a barn. A barn full of sheep. I don’t even know if sheep actually spend time in barns. Do they? Aren’t they supposed to be out grazing the meadows and hillsides in all kinds of weather, rounded up seasonally by border collies way smarter than I’ll ever be?
I was at a friend’s house in the city recently. A teenager in attendance, learning I was from Vashon, asked, with a teenager look on her face, “What is there to do out there?”
Destination Vashon, delivered to subscribers this week, could be dismissed as a publication only for tourists. We hope Islanders won’t do that.
hank you to the PTSA for Raising the Paddle this year for language and literacy in our schools. The circus-themed PTSA auction was filled to the brim with atmosphere, positive energy, countless friends and too many auction items to take in, and the organizers of the event deserve endless kudos for their efforts in creating a wonderful night in which education and kids were held up on a pedestal.
Now that spring has finally sprung on our little Island, the Vashon Beach Naturalists have been active with a new season of volunteer training and beach events. Recently, the group took a trip out to KVI Beach to learn about the varied habitats there. As familiar as KVI is to many Islanders, it is in fact quite special
So I’m out walking the woman-lately-known-as-my-wife’s dog on Burton beach a week or so ago when two exceptionally nasty shore birds start dive-bombing us, and making a terrific racket. They don’t sing, they don’t call, they don’t cry. No, instead they make this crazed croaking sound, like they’d just come from screaming their little lungs out at a Seattle Sounders soccer match.
