Living in the Ecotone

My colleague and friend, Jon Magnuson (www.cedartreeinstitute.com), called the other night and asked if I’d write down some thoughts about the transition my wife and I are currently experiencing. In the past six months, both Nancy and I have taken on new jobs. That means selling our home in Vancouver, Washington, where our family has lived for the past sixteen years and moving to a new place. Since August, Nancy’s been the principal of a large high school in Olympia, Washington, about a hundred miles north of here. Beginning in December, I will begin my work as the pastor of the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd, also in Olympia. “You’re living in the ecotone, brother,” said Jon. “Tell us what it’s like.”

Biologists know the transitional zone between two or more distinct habitats as the ecotone. William deBuys notes that “because it is a border zone where multiple sets of resources and opportunities become available, an ecotone tends to support greater biological diversity than either of the systems it mediates between.” Jon’s contention that there’s always action in the ecotone is correct. But as with any encounter with diversity, the challenge lies in trying to sort it all out. In thinking about what this transition has been like, several things come to mind: home, a sense of place, and pilgrimage.

Home: The most difficult thing about this move for me both spiritually and literally has been the effort to sell our home in Vancouver in a very difficult real estate market. Nancy spends her weeks in Olympia while I stay in Vancouver, commute twice a week to teach a class in Tacoma, and try to keep the house in presentable shape by “staging” it for potential buyers. If a sacred place is defined as a geographical location to which stories are attached, then this house has surely been that for our family. This is where our daughters grew up and where we’ve entertained our friends. In our circle, it’s always been known as “a great party house.” Now that everyone has left except for me and El Cid, the cat (our daughter, Britt, moved out in July), I sometimes feel like I’m keeping vigil with a dying friend. One irony is that we’re moving back to Nancy’s home town; a place where I was ordained and where we spent the early years of our marriage. Home is an elusive but important concept that has taken on new meaning for me during this time.

Sense of place: Like many westerners, I’ve learned to define my sense of place by the watershed where I’m currently dwelling. We’ve been living in the drainage of the Columbia River for the past 25 years. Since we came here in 1982, I’ve tried to learn everything I could about the history and geography of this region. It’s shaped the way I think and even the way I preach. Now I’m in the process of moving to a new place and a new watershed, Puget Sound, and I find myself beginning to pay more attention to the patterns of weather, time and tide that are characteristic of that part of “Salmon Nation” – the bio-region defined as “anywhere the Pacific Salmon have ever run.”

Pilgrimage: During another time of transition, I made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Along the way I learned some things about journeys and destinations. I used to think that life was about content and outcomes, traditional ways our culture measures success and failure. What I learned on the road to Santiago is that the quality of the journey is just as important as the destination. Life is about process and most of all, it’s about relationships. We’re all pilgrims whether we care to admit it or not if only because our life is one long transition. The salmon, those intrepid travelers who always find their way home to complete the cycle of death and resurrection, can be our teachers. Pack light, pay attention to where you are, and stay in touch with your friends. Those are some things I’ve learned here in the ecotone.