Richard Olmer

Unlike most of you, I moved to Sequim to escape the hot, damp, miserable summers along the Atlantic Coast. Even in rural Maine, you can encounter temperatures well into the 90s and sauna-like humidity.

I know that they call a sauna dry heat, but they lie. And, let's not even speak of Georgia or Florida.

Since I've moved into God's backyard, I've thrown away all but two pairs of shorts that I own ... and I've worn my bathing suit maybe twice. I've actually fallen asleep in the wildflowers beside the trail in July.

In July in Maryland, you know first hand what hell feels like ... especially when I worked in a steel mill during the summers. That is why I love this photo.



FYI: You're alive

This is just before the parking lot at the lodge on Hurricane Ridge; isn't it wonderful? These trees coated with ice and snow in this pristine wilderness; they've got it right.

This is the place where I want to be. The air is crisp and you can feel it against your skin. You are reminded that you are alive. In the soggy, dampness and heat of a Maryland summer, all I felt was wet and miserable. All I wanted was the feel of cold.

I admit, I may be a little strange but I could never escape the all-encompassing misery of an East Coast summer. I could strip off all of my clothing and jump into the ocean ... and I still would be wet and hot.

Last summer here when it got hot, Candy and I went to the bluffs just west of Dungeness Spit and jumped in the water. The heat was suddenly and immediately gone. At its highest, the water temperature here might reach 58 degrees; in the winter it's probably 54 degrees. Still, there is relief and escape from the heat in this heaven on earth.

And, those beautiful trees are kept warm and toasty by their wonderful blanket of snow and ice. Hey, I'm a poet, not a scientist.



It's what's left

This place, where my friends ask, "How did you ever choose this place?" Well, duh, it's not hot. It's got real mountains, not just the bottoms of worn-away mountains, and it's got an ocean that does not feel like a bathtub.

And they call it the "left" coast. Which contrary to what you've heard, is not about politics; it's about there being trees left here, clean water left here and fresh, tingly air left here.

The real irony is that some folks who live here go south for the winter. Why in the world would anyone do that? You always can get warm around here; just jump in the shower and pray for hot water.

You can have it both ways here. There are beautiful snow-capped mountains on the horizon and there's frost on the highway and this is a bad day in paradise.

OK, we do get some rain here ... about a third of what you get in Maryland. Yes, there are some gray, ugly days, but typically spring arrives in February and the rain disappears between the Fourth of July and October. In a bad year we may have two measurable snowfalls.

But, you never have to live in damp sweaty clothing day after day after day. And for those days when it does rain ... buy yourself a cat and maybe even a bottle of Washington-made wine.

Life is good here on the edge of civilization ... only 7,000 miles to Siberia.



Richard Olmer can be reached at

columnists@sequimgazette.com.