Early in our marriage, we lived in Chicago for four years. Our stay was short of four years. We attended school for four years. The first two years, we left Chicago during the summer to work in the mountains of Montana. After the fourth, we moved away as summer came. During those years, I thought of myself as a Montanan. I introduced myself that way in many conversations. We kept Montana license plates on our car, which was legal because we were students. After Chicago, we moved to North Dakota, where we lived and served for seven years. In many ways, I took on the identity of being a North Dakotan, changing the license plates on our cars and trading our “Big Sky Country” plates for “Peace Garden State” plates. I took gentle ribbing from my Montana friends about living in North Dakota, and surprised myself at how easily I took on a sense of ownership of a new place. Subsequently, I have taken on the identity of the places where we have lived. I traded my “Peace Garden” plates for “Famous Potatoes” for a decade and then went on to “Great Faces, Great Places,” and now sport “Evergreen State” plates.

In each place, there have been identities and biases that are regional as well as those that are statewide. For example, both North Dakota and South Dakota are divided by the Missouri River. East River and West River are more than just geographical locations. In both states, there are two different time zones. In North Dakota, I was from Southwest. In South Dakota, I’d say I was from the Black Hills. In both places, we made jokes about the flatlanders from the other side of our state, observing they didn’t know how to drive on winding mountain roads. With two different time zones, Idaho is divided into North and South.

Here in Washington, many geographical features identify different parts of our state. Living on the coast differs from the high desert climate of the eastern part of our state. The climate is quite different on our side of the Cascades than on the drier places east of those mountains. Another significant difference of where I live is that we are not Seattle. We don’t live in the middle of a vast urban sprawl with its challenging traffic and other urban woes. Our small town has a rural flavor, and we find that we avoid trips to Seattle more each year we live here.

There is another piece of our identity that I am only beginning to embrace now that we have been retired for five years and living in our Birch Bay Home for four. We are becoming borderites. When I first moved here, I laughed at the term. I thought that having high school teams named “Borderites” was strange. Now, however, I am beginning to embrace that identity. Insulting rhetoric from the administration in Washington, D.C., combined with unpredictable on-again-off-again tariffs, has heightened our awareness of the border. Our typically polite and welcoming neighbors have had their hackles raised by cruel and untrue statements from the president.

Living in the borderlands, however, goes beyond the day's politics. The quarrels between our federal governments notwithstanding, we are aware that the border is an arbitrary line in many ways. We live in a tourist area, and many of our neighborhood's cottages and mobile homes are owned by people who live on the other side of the border. When the Canadian dollar is strong, people from British Columbia are more likely to cross the border to buy staples like milk and gasoline. As the Canadian dollar has weakened, fewer people are taking cross-border trips. Neighborhood businesses, especially gas stations and restaurants, notice the effects of the current tensions.

There are, however, many ties that are deeper than the current tensions. We have friends who have relatives on the other side of the border. Events like funerals, weddings, and family dinners involve border crossings. Yesterday, I spoke with a friend at church who had seven guests from Canada at their Easter dinner table. Couples meet and marry across the border. We are more socially connected than the geopolitical borders might indicate. The people I talk to in the coffee shop have jobs on the other side of the border. It works both ways. We have church members who live in the US and work in Canada, and know others who live in Canada and work in the US.

The trade war and other border issues are at odds with the day-to-day realities of people’s lives. This was especially apparent when we first moved to this community. The COVID-19 pandemic had closed the border for nonessential travel. We didn’t cross the border when it was officially closed. But there was a lot of traffic despite the closure. A neighbor who delivers fuel to Point Roberts has to cross the border twice on each trip. A friend from church had to cross the border daily to go to and from work, which was deemed essential. There was a steady stream of trucks carrying goods even at the height of the pandemic.

I am starting to accept the term borderite and thinking of myself as a member of that designation. I belong to a community that stretches across an international boundary. Our local economy is shaped by trade and exchange. The economy's strength across the border affects the lives lived on this side. While both Canadians and citizens of the US exhibit nationalism at times, we are aware that sometimes what is best for one country might not be best for our local area. Our local businesses thrive when the interests of both countries align, and they struggle when national interests divide.

Regardless of national politics, we who live in the borderlands are connected. We share the same river systems. We share the same sea. We breathe the same air and view the same landscape. While others tout “America first,” we understand that we must put each other first to thrive as a community.

These days, I tell people that I live on the border. It is part of my new identity in my new home.