The day the Summer Solstice arrives, our corner of the universe seems to hold its breath. Then it lets go with one long, smooth sigh that gives way to sprinklers chugging, swing sets creaking, and the endless whispering of the fir branches. All this we expect. Year after year. What we didn’t expect was the arrival of the Boar.
I live in a neighborhood perched in the treetops above a small city, a capital city, Olympia. Our houses are comfortable—some charming, some bleak. Most were built between the two World Wars, so we all are sympathetic to rotting floor joists and crumbling chimneys. They are small with generous lawns and porches. They have been here since the largest employer, the state government, competed with the other large employer, the Olympia Brewing Company. Yes, I grew up in a town where beer and politics went hand in hand and no one raised an eyebrow.