TheBanyanTree: Mercer Island

[Monique Colver]

	We found the park on Mercer Island, a postage sized park on the
lake, with its own dock, sandwiched between two massive estates, and we
parked the car, the old beat up Honda with which we snuck onto Mercer Island
in the first place. Old beat up Hondas are frowned upon on Mercer Island, or
so I imagine. And why not? They might ruin the look of the place. 
	Mercer Island floats on Lake Washington between Seattle and the
eastside, closer to the eastside than Seattle, and the only way to get there
is by I-90, which cuts through the island and over the lake like a dull
knife. Mercerarians (a term I just made up, in case that wasn't obvious)
insisted that their portion of I-90 be designed to be aesthetically pleasing
and interfere with their environs as little as possible, and so it is. It is
also an enormous expensive piece of highway, very well camouflaged from the
island, and from the highway it is like driving through a well landscaped
concrete tunnel, open in places, with greenery floating over the sides. The
only indication that one is actually driving over/through the island are a
couple of exit signs to the island. I-90 is the only way to reach Mercer
Island, if one is in a car. If one is in a boat, one can approach it from
any side and lay siege. Most of the lakefront property is private, of
course, because who doesn't want lakefront property?
	We were returning from Seattle, from a celebration dinner of nothing
in particular, and it was still early, still light outside, and while
driving over Mercer Island we decided to exit and see what all the fuss was
about. I'd been there years earlier, to the Mercer Island Community Center,
but normally we just drive over it. 
	Like everything in Seattle, there is much growth. The downtown area
was pretty well deserted, this being a Sunday evening, and we ended up, at
first, driving around in a circle around downtown before we found the road
that encircles the lakefront. Of course, it doesn't really encircle the
lakefront, it encircles the houses and estates that encircle the lakefront,
but same thing. Occasionally we could see, between houses or over houses,
the lake. Since we're both interested in architecture, seeing the houses was
also good, though for many the most that could be seen was a gate, foliage,
and a fence. Interesting gates, I suppose, and beautiful foliage, it being
spring in the northwest, so it was still a pleasant drive. A couple of times
we found ourselves at the wrong end of dead ends, narrow little roads that
would end at driveways for houses one could or could not see, and we'd turn
around, knowing that if the people in the houses were watching they were
most likely cursing us. "Look, Martha! It's a HONDA! An OLD HONDA! How'd
they get on our island? How'd they find our street? Next thing you know
we'll be overrun with people like that! There ought to be a law."
	Maybe there is a law. I don't know.
	We found a park that was labeled as such from a distance, and we
parked in the parking lot and went for a look. There were many other cars
parked there. We discovered that getting to the park itself would be a long
walk down a steep road, and I opted to stay at the top and play on a tire
swing while Andrew went down for a look. I wasn't concerned about going down
the steep road to the beach, but I wasn't in any sort of mood to contemplate
hiking back up. I'm like that some days, when things ache for no discernible
reason. He came back up and said there wasn't much there, just a smallish
bit of waterfront, so we continued on our way.
	We came upon another park, the one with its own dock, a tiny bit of
green sandwiched between two huge pieces of property, and we parked in the
empty parking lot which could hold more cars than the park could hold
people. The sky had turned cloudy, gray and silver clouds lining the sky. We
walked out on the dock that jutted from the park. It was the west side of
the island, so from there we could see Seattle. The water was turning
choppy, and the wind had picked up a bit. From the dock we could see into
the lakeside portion of the heavily fortified estates on either side. They
were heavily fenced, of course, but the fences ended at the water. I'm sure
if the owners could figure out how to extend their privacy fencing into the
lake to keep the riff raff (us) away, they would. The one on our left had
green rolling lawns and beautiful grounds, with a still and silent house (or
mansion, depending on one's perspective) lurking in the background. There
was a boat tied up at their dock, a big thing, which is about as extensive
as my knowledge of these types of boats gets. Growing up, we had a speedboat
we used for skiing, and that is the extent of my experience. 
	It was pretty, in its ostentatious and elaborate way. It looked to
be something that was erected in order to keep the world and people at a
distance. I wonder if it worked. Did it keep the unpleasant things away, or
did it just mask them temporarily? Did the people who reside there feel
safer than I feel in my rented townhouse? Did they experience more joy
because they had more room to experience it in? Were they happier? Did they
believe that they were special because they had a special house? Or were
they under no illusions? Did they envy the guy down the street with the
bigger estate? Did they worry about losing their status, their money, their
respectability? There's really no way of knowing. We can't judge people by
the houses they keep, or the toys that they have. At least I can't. 
	We turned back to the view of Seattle, and we thought of how lucky
we are to have this to ourselves right now.
	As we left the park another couple was parking. A sleek black
convertible sports car driven by a sleek well coiffed couple. We left them
to their park, and we continued our drive. The slight raindrops we'd felt
while standing on the dock turned into a downpour, as if the lake itself
were coming at us from above. That was our cue to go home. 
	We're always so happy to get back to our home. It needs some work,
especially the parts Ash has chosen to consume, and it's horribly cluttered
these days, and it's usually in need of a cleaning. We only rent it, and we
have no equity, and it's becoming too small, with all the work we do at home
anymore. But the sense of relief we feel when we come home, the joy at being
back in our own space, is palpable. It is, in fact, huge, and I'm often
heard to say, when we're out, "Can't we just go home now?"