country fever

we spent this past weekend in joseph, oregon, visiting anne's mom, who is sick with cancer. it's a truism that we have a lot to learn from the dying, and betty is an amazing example of that. as a tumor grows steadily in her stomach, she sets goals for living: first it was to stay alive for the huge family reunion last september, then to see her christmas tree decorated with birds and heirlooms. recently she's been waiting for irises. "it's the little things," she says.

i want to live like that. wide-eyed and awake. seriously attentive to the little things.

but houston, we have a problem.

i think it's hard to see small in a city, and i have cemented my life in one. in short, i find it hard, with all the traffic and the noise, to hear the crickets. for years i've known that, despite my undying affection for indian food and OUT queers, that i am not a city girl, but i haven't really found the yellow springs, ohio of the pacific northwest, so where exactly would i go? don't say eugene because that's way too big, and ashland is too california and no, i've never been to port townsend. bainbridge? port angeles?

what i need is a town fairly close to the ocean that has a population no more than 2,000 people, a raging farmers market, progressive thinking people inclusive of the non-white variety, a great restaurant or two, some other visible queer folks. it also would be great if this town was a stop on the underground railroad, had lots of non-gallery arts presence, and a group of counter culture catholics, perhaps. is that too much to ask? i want the slow, sustainable life. the bread baking, year-round-harvesting life, the life with unlocked doors and croaking toad lullabies. also, i want wendell berry-like neighbors. any suggestions?