When I stepped into The Northern Light office for my senior year internship in January 2020, I had no idea what the next six years and nine months would bring.
I was welcomed by a gas station owner’s gusto for creating a Blaine mural and a ferry captain's dedication to restoring wooden boats connected to the former salmon cannery. A family revitalized their 1949 Blaine fire engine for the old-fashioned Fourth of July parade, while a married couple’s sourdough started soaring off shelves at Edaleen Dairy.
As someone reared in the capital city of Texas, this was my introduction to small town life, and I found myself fascinated by what it meant to be a community.
Three months later, COVID-19 turned the world upside down. The U.S./Canada border closed to nonessential travel in what would become the longest border shutdown in U.S. history, and Blaine found itself as a focal point in that story.
Overnight, families were separated, mailbox stores lost nearly all of their business and Birch Bay became much quieter without Canadian vacationers. And if the global pandemic weren’t enough, the “murder hornets” drew worldwide attention as they descended into Blaine.
Amid the chaos, I joined The Northern Light as a full-time reporter while finishing my senior year at Western Washington University in spring of 2020 and became editor less than six months later. Former publishers Pat Grubb and Louise Mugar had a confidence in me at 22 that I didn’t yet have, something for which I’ll always be grateful.
It was baptism by fire as I managed the editorial process, from finding stories to laying them on the pages before press. I found myself reporting front-page news every week between hiring interns, fielding calls and running social media.
To every person who called, wrote a Letter to The Editor, or stopped me at a public meeting, thank you. You are the anchor of civic engagement and the reason a newspaper like this continues. I learned so much from you, and for that, I’m endlessly grateful.
Our small but mighty news team did reporting that I truly believe rivaled regional and even sometimes national publications. We were able to break international news on the first “murder hornet” nest discovered in the U.S., which by the next morning was everywhere from The New York Times to BBC. Two years later, National Geographic published a piece about the “untold story” surrounding the discovery of that nest. But the truth was, it was told a year earlier, in your community newspaper.
Our staff recorded history as it unfolded, from cross-border couples finding love at Peace Arch Park to the community members offering a hand following historic floods. We strove to give everyone a voice, whether they were students protesting budget cuts and deportations, or older residents concerned about the future of palliative care.
Above all else, many of you let me into your living rooms on some of your darkest days. There aren’t words to fully articulate my appreciation to everyone who trusted me with their stories in hopes that, similar to the old Semiahmoo lighthouse, journalism could illuminate those experiences.
I want you to know that every decision in the newsroom was backed by careful consideration. We never lost sight of the fact that words, which now live on the internet forever, have the power to change someone’s life, for better or for worse.
Our reporting revealed water park safety oversights in the state, extended health benefits for furloughed school staff, and showed officials straying from county code. Some of the best moments included watching a retired firefighter realize how she’d paved the way for other women, and a proud mother become tearful after we published an article on her first-generation son’s school accomplishments.
I have been fortunate to mature with this publication. As I near the final years of my 20s, however, I’ve realized I have so much more of the world to explore and so much more learning to do. In June, I embarked on a three-month sabbatical that allowed me to travel through Central Asia and ultimately decided it was my time to close the chapter I started here.
The community’s stories will continue to be shared with the utmost professionalism, as The Northern Light is in good hands with Kari Mar as publisher, Kie Relyea as managing editor and Madelyn Jones and Milo Whitman as eager new journalists. The newspaper stands on a strong foundation set by Grubb and Mugar, and it is steered by hardworking, longtime employees who include Molly Ernst, Doug De Visser, Aly McGee and Gary Lee.
The Blaine and Birch Bay I’m leaving aren’t the communities I met. Historic events have weathered these places, shaping them into something both familiar and new.
I look forward to turning the pages of The Northern Light to read how, in the coming years, Blaine and Birch Bay define themselves through planning commission meetings and incorporation decisions. Whatever the future holds, I hope it’s one with the same kindness I received as an intern in this border town nearly seven years ago.
Thank you, Blaine and Birch Bay. It was an honor to be here, to grow with you, and to witness it all.
