“And oh the stories we could tell

And if this all blows up and goes to hell

I can still see us sittin on the bed in some motel

Listenin’ to the stories we could tell”

— John Sebastian (notably covered by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers)

2020 is the only year I can recall that tempts me to spit on the ground every time its name gets mentioned. In the interest of good hygiene, however, I’ve taken instead to speaking of it as, “The Year That Must Not Be Named.” 

Indeed, if years could have a dark lord, 2020 was unquestionably Voldemort. To shift literary references, it was the ring of power placed in Sauron’s hand (for those of you Tolkien fans out there). But I must say it was a pretty good year for Meyer Sign stories — and we published a bunch of them. 

We wrote about the challenges our small business customers were facing in the midst of a pandemic, and waxed rhapsodic about the splendors of traveling Chuckanut Drive and camping at Rasar State Park. 

We gave you some insight into what it takes to put on the blue uniform of a Mount Vernon police officer, and celebrated a living link to the Skagit Valley’s pioneer past in the form of a majestic tree. 

We extolled our local fairs, and mourned their absence this past year. We entertained you with stories of local artists and their contributions to our regional identity as Skagitonians, both indigenous and more recently arrived. 

We highlighted some community members, past and present, whose lives have enriched ours through their dedication and professionalism. And we even gave you some glimpses into the hobbies of our very own Meyer Sign team — including building and flying airplanes and racing toy boats on Lake Chelan. 

Like I said, it was a good year for stories — and we have many more to come. But having just published our first for the new year, we’d like to close 2020 by thanking you for taking the time to read them. More important, we thank you for sharing your own connections to them, and thereby enhancing those that we told. 

We learned a lot from you in 2020, and we’d like to share some of your comments from our recent “A Very Meyer Christmas” series. 

Our story about the totem pole sculpture on Mount Vernon’s River Walk — designed by local artist Jay Bowen — drew this lovely remark from follower Lea Von Pressentin:

“Thank you for this share. I have wondered about the story the Totem tells. A powerful story. My paternal ancestors came to the Upper Skagit in the 1860s . I hope they were respectful. My grandfather learned and spoke two native dialects. Lands both my paternal grandfather and grandmothers’ families lived on have been given into public land trusts. A small return on the value they received from the lands and the Peoples of the Upper Skagit Valley.” 

Lea, we have no doubt that your remarks would bring a smile to Jay Bowen’s face.

Doug Faber, local business owner and a mean griller of salmon at the annual Hillcrest Park Salmon BBQ, hosted by our local Kiwanis Club, also had a personal connection to relate regarding the totem pole:

“Jay Bowen designed and created it. I set it with my boom truck on the revetment by The District (newly opened restaurant). Plus my name is on a stone, thanks to Jay!”

Our meditation on life in the Year of Pandemic elicited an inspirational message from follower Kathy Brackett, for which we thank her profusely.

“The virus changed the perspective of my world. It both expanded it and sharpened it. I developed a different kind of relationship by framing my interaction with acquaintances, friends and family through a computer screen. It slanted my vision just enough to see people through new eyes. Oddly, I became closer to people. Shared more. Seeing faces and expressions more clearly. It sharped and honed my vision as I moved out into the wild lands away from others, into the silent places, the lonely places. Where I learned to pay attention to the details. To be quiet. In some ways I became more extraverted. In some ways I became more observant… I hope to carry both into the new normal.”

As a parent, I will tell you what any good parent would — which is that I love my children equally. Which is not, of course, to say that I love them the same way. So it is with the stories we published in 2020. One that I have a particular fondness for was our two-part series on Mount Vernon’s pioneer tulip poplar tree. Apparently, the story also appealed to the “inner tree hugger” among many in our audience. 

Follower Ree Coslor had a particularly poignant connection with the tree in our story, and had this to say:

“I love this tree. In 1974, my mother rented an apartment in the beautiful house next to it. In that year, when I was only 19, I had a big scare- I had a cyst– we thought I was facing breast cancer at a very young age! I had only been on my own a few months, and had my first apt. over on 3rd Street, just blocks from my mom, but oh! the independence I felt!

I had a little surgery, and while we waited terrified for my diagnosis, my mom of course worried for my life- -me, worried only for my feminine appearance. I spent my days waiting under this tree. Yes, we had a few tree and me hugs.I had NO idea it was the oldest rare tree in town, nor did I know it’s type and genus. I just knew it was a big, safe friend. I decided on the second day of waiting that I would leave town for awhile.

I got out a map of Washington, and swore out loud that I would move to whatever town my finger landed on. I closed my eyes, twirled my finger around in the air and planted it on…Puget Sound. So I did it again, and this time landed on Gig Harbor. I moved there the very next day.

As it turned out, my cyst was benign. I couldnt find a job that summer in Gig Harbor, so I moved back home…

I’ll never forget that wonderful tree and the comfort it gave me in a time of great angst.”

Follower Lynn Fouquette expressed her belief, to paraphrase a famous line of verse, that she would likely never see a poem as lovely as a tree, and shared a cool story from The Atlantic with us as well when she wrote:

“People love trees. They don’t make a big thing of it, but we almost all have a favorite tree or trees. I taught at SVC for 36 years and I loved the 2 old redwoods outside of Ford Hall. I (and others) could often be found just looking at them. One was sick and they couldn’t save it when the new Lewis Hall was built. But I cried the day I learned that they were going to use wood from the tree to put on the wall in the west entrance. My office was in that building and I spoke to the tree ever morning.

I’m sure you know the story of the people in Australia who emailed trees. I love that. Thank you for writing about this beautiful tree.”

When it came to an outpouring of personal recollections, however, the 2020 story that took many of our readers for a pleasant stroll down memory lane was our ode to walking the Skagit River dike path. We definitely could have added a few more lyrics to Creedence Clearwater’s “Green River” based on the testimonies we received:

“I took my dad on that drive everyday of his last year on earth. We would go in search of snow geese. He passed March of 2020 at the age of 94!” (Susan Sundin)

“As a kid into my late 20’s I spent a lot of time on this river. I’d go out at sun up and wouldn’t go in until the sun was down. It’s truly a special place where I made a lot of great memories. I still fish a couple of times a year and the peace you have out in the Skagit is like no other. I took this photo is 2003, still one of my favorites.” (our very own sales guy extraordinaire and 20th Century Tom Sawyer, Gregg Collins)

“Admiring the fertile fields of Skagit Valley one might easily overlook the vision and hard work it took to carve those fields out of fetid swamps of skunk cabbage and cedar marsh. The dike itself came later and prevents the river from flooding the bottom lands at regular intervals as it once did.” (Jim Anderpants)

“Wonderful theme. I grew up on west side picking salmon berries, running our German Shepard, and biking through the woods to Youngs Bar then on out past. My father tried to teach me to drive a motorcycle on the dike road behind Washington School where along the river banks we hunted for returnable glass bottles. Thanks for helping me remember.” (Deborah Pate)

As the Meyer Sign story teller, my most bittersweet tale was a testimony to the enduring power of local fairs in connecting us with our community. This resonated with others as well, and when invited to share memorable fair experiences, these were among the comments that were posted.

“My favorite memory of the fair is when Lisa (who now works for Meyer Sign), won the top blue ribbon in art when she was young!!” (Thea Minor)

“My favorite (memory) is getting to know Lori and Tony and the many years that they were instrumental in putting on the fairs and the Haunted Cave. RIP Tony and great jobs thru the years for doing this. I saw lots of changes and really miss the bands…Aaron Tippin, Charlie Daniels, Merle Haggard…those were the ‘good ole days’.” (Shelia Tuff)

“The Stanwood Camano Fair really is the best little fair in the world. Thank you for sharing these articles, they have each been a nice respite from daily news and covid blues.” (Janis Swanson)

That last sentence in Janis’ comment is one that is particularly special to me, and is a sentiment I’m carrying into the new year — a hopefully better one than last year, and one that will be marked by fewer masks, more hugs, and conversing with people face-to-face rather than screen-to-screen. With this in mind, I can tell you that we’ve got a lot of fun new “Tales From the Magic Skagit” to share with you, full of the people, places, things, and history that make our Skagit Valley the place we love. 

In writing these stories, I look forward to your comments and personal connections that will not only enhance them, but guide our editorial agenda in the months to come. One thing for sure about 2021 is that whether or not it all blows up and goes to hell, we’ll still be listening to the stories we could tell. Thanks for the privilege of letting me tell them to you. It’s an honor.