finding true speed

An island author’s quest to get people outside

Words by B.L. Crook

Photo: Nick Hall

Years ago, as a parent educator, local author Nancy Blakey would ask parents to share a beloved childhood memory. Ninety-nine percent of these memories, she found, took place outside. I ask why she thinks that is. We are seated outside a café one sunny late summer morning. “I think it’s because when we’re outside, all of our senses are activated, we slow down,” she theorizes.

Those complex sensory experiences imprint on our memories more so than dull, indoor impressions. Plus, unstructured time outside, what she calls “doodle and hum time,” supports valuable neurological processes our brains require for creativity. “For children, being outside is an adventure. There are fewer rules outdoors, fewer restrictions. They have maximum absorption and curiosity, to look up, to look down. Meander.”

Blakey recently published her second guidebook on all things hiking and hills in the Pacific Northwest. The Mountains Are Calling is a guide for those wishing to explore trails in the Cascades or Olympics, but who may also want tips for the best riverside campgrounds or most idyllic mountain villages. The book includes illustrations for identifying animal tracks or wild berries or how best to fill a wilderness backpack. Her previous book, By The Shore, follows a similar format, directing readers to coastal hidden gems, beaches, port towns, oyster festivals, wooden boats and activities for getting the whole family involved.

“My favorite guidebooks not only tell you where to go but why,” Blakey says. For this mother of four adult children and thirteen grandchildren, the why is all about being present and creating lasting memories. “If there’s one thing I wish to impart, it’s the importance of going outside,” she says, leaning over the table. “Making memories.”

As a parent, Blakey knows that’s not always easy to put into practice. She gave birth to four children in five years. While raising this cohort of small children with her late husband Greg, she wrote a syndicated column called Mudpies, about getting kids outside. To meet her writing deadline, she often put the TV on for the kids. “Here I was, writing about getting kids outdoors while mine sat watching TV for three, four hours a day.”

Around that time, she took her kids to Lake Chelan for a getaway. “I found myself worrying about whether or not there would be a TV,” she recalls. I ask for clarification: Did she, or didn’t she hope there was a TV? “I hoped there was. For entertainment!” It turns out there wasn’t, but the children climbed an apple tree as she sat below, all of them laughing. “That’s when I realized: screens steal time.”

Now at a different stage in life, Blakey finds time spent in nature to be more valuable than ever. “After Greg died, I was 58. I thought, I will never, never be with someone else again. How could I? But then I met Phil.” Phil is Canadian, and this past summer they spent two months sailing up the coast of Alaska, Blakey learning new boating skills and discovering untapped knowledge about herself.

“I found my true speed,” she almost whispers. I ask what she means. For starters, she says, her watch broke the day they set sail for Alaska. After that, they lived governed by the tides, the elements, the wind, hunger, sleep, wake. “In one inlet, the only noise was the sound of a loon.”

Of course, finding one’s true speed is not as easy to do at home. She practices meditation and breathwork. Chooses not to ruminate on things she can’t change. “When Greg died, I made the decision not to ask ‘why me?’ because I’d never asked that in the good times.” She takes her curiosity and childlike wonder to the mountains and the shore, the kinds of places described in her guidebooks.

Before we part, I ask Nancy to share a beloved childhood memory. She considers, smiles and says: “My dad used to fly fish on the Clearwater River in Northern Idaho. Us kids wandered downriver to a curve of sandy beach so as not to disturb the fish. The river was freezing cold. We launched ourselves onto the sand bank. Picked huckleberries and filled coffee cans tied around our waists. It was nothing really, that memory. But it was everything.”