In 1951 my parents, Patricia and Richard, met in a crowded Seattle bar; within four short weeks, they married and moved to San Juan Island in the remote northwest corner of Washington state. Seven months later, their first son Christopher was born. Mom’s staunchly conservative parents had already rejected her, and a handsome man in a Coast Guard uniform seemed like a wise solution. I didn’t know until years later that when Dad realized this, he promised her a lifetime of retribution in trade for his silence.

His electronics training in the Coast Guard led the new family on a nomadic path of lucrative employment with several technological giants, though he often said he wanted nothing more than to apply to Cook and Baker School and pursue his dream of opening a restaurant.

The family grew as it travelled; each of us four kids were born in a different US state. In 1968, the tragic suicide of a close friend of Mom’s led to her inheriting a San Juan Island waterfront parcel of land and a chance to return to rural island life. Within a year, The Gourmet’s Galley began, however humbly.

Our parents’ savings rapidly evaporated. Dad repaired televisions while he sought permanent work on the island. His mother, Betty DeStaffany, reluctantly allowed Mom to start a tiny shop consisting of little more than wooden shelves on a bedroom wall in Betty’s Spring Street house. Mom designed the shop’s logo, and had it typeset at the local newspaper. She tracked down wholesale sources of Seattle foods that weren’t yet available on the 55 square-mile island. Our extra furniture was sold off in the house’s front window to help pay for the new inventory.

Dwindling finances whetted our family’s appetite for venison, rabbit, fish, and what little we could coax from the soil. Dad’s politically conservative pride forbade his acceptance of help from concerned islanders who noticed our ribs under ill-fitting clothing. Anyone who stood up to him received the full force of his anger, and we kids quickly learned the value of silence.

Mom soon taught herself how to transform any available raw ingredients into sustenance for six, later incorporating techniques she discovered in the cookbooks of Julia Child. Dad secured work at the University of Washington’s island campus. After finishing weekly university errands in Seattle, he returned with Mom’s modest wholesale orders. Christopher, my other siblings Cynthia and Robert, and I were drafted to unpack stock according to physical strength and bedtime.

Family life revolved around The Gourmet’s Galley. It was our connection to the rural island community and later, valuable business experience for us all. All hands worked late evenings and every weekend, yet financial unpredictability fed the friction between family members. Dad bought himself an old fishing boat to rebuild, his private refuge from reality. Uncharacteristically, he asked for my help with this project – I was ten, with three older siblings. I wish to this day I had refused.

In 1976 The Gourmet’s Galley joined several other shops at the foot of Spring Street in the newly renovated former Moose Hall, renamed “The Arcade Building”. The community seemed to grow with each mention in off-island newspaper features. Movie stars were occasionally spotted by whispering locals. Mom was genuinely agog when John Wayne stopped by the shop one hot summer afternoon, requesting a cone of frozen yogurt in his trademark syrupy drawl.

The larger location offered an abundance of hard-to-find ingredients for budding island chefs and inquisitive homemakers. Scents of exotic spices and bulk coffee beans from a new company called Starbucks mingled in the air while imported wines, beers, cheeses, and a European-sounding ice cream brand further enticed islanders and tourists alike.

Mom’s brightening social spotlight aggravated Dad’s resentment and his alcohol abuse. He maintained near-weekly encounters with my best friend’s mother, who lived at a safe distance in Seattle. It became a routine side trip in between university errands and picking up shop goods. Arguments at home increased with the store’s hours. Sibling rifts were commonplace. The fraying family bond remained mostly hidden behind the counter, away from customers.

Christopher and Cynthia, much older than Robert and me, slipped away to pursue off-island post-secondary education. Robert sought stability by marrying and becoming a father at eighteen. I chose to leave home at sixteen, exhausted by family chaos. I graduated from the island’s high school with honors despite being either homeless or transient throughout my final two years of school. At 5’8” tall, I weighed only 107 lbs. in my yearbook photo.

Mom stayed.

Their college educations completed, Cynthia and Christopher returned to the island to resume roles at the store and volunteer in the fire department while I worked part-time for several other local businesses. At twenty-one, I managed the island’s first animal shelter, helping to rescue and rehabilitate neglected animals and my own health in the process. Robert started a landscaping business that quickly drew a long list of enthusiastic clients across the island.

Mom joined the International Association of Culinary Professionals, mingling with luminaries of the culinary world and reigniting her love of travel. She had become a local household name and a respected authority on all things “gourmet”.

Robert’s marriage began to disintegrate after discovering that Dad’s abuses included his young wife. The couple abruptly left the island, taking their infant son with them. Mom was devastated to lose her son and his family to a new home on the mainland. She continued to busy herself with running the two shops with Christopher until eventually merging them together.

Once the community’s animal shelter was on solid footing, I joined a local veterinary practice as a surgical assistant and helped raise orphaned wildlife. I completed veterinary assistant training in Seattle. Soon after my return, my position abruptly ended when Dad propositioned the practice’s female owner. I found work on a horse farm and perpetuated family tradition by finding an abusive husband of my own.

Business at The Gourmet’s Galley was deceptively brisk, its mounting debt hidden from customers. I learned later that all of our suppliers had frozen the store’s credit after Christopher stopped paying for inventory without telling any of us. He placated creditors’ calls with promises to make payments that he never mailed. His own neglected part-time business selling safety equipment faltered, deepening his depression.

After 34 years of marriage, Mom finally had enough and cultivated the courage to demand a divorce. One afternoon during a hectic catering event, the stress became too much. She collapsed to the floor, a cerebral aneurysm threatening her life. I left the horse farm with the owner’s blessing and took control of the shop.

Mom remained conscious enough to dictate cooking instructions to the paramedics throughout the helicopter flight to the Bellingham hospital. While she underwent hours of neurosurgery, I discovered thousands of dollars in unpaid invoices Christopher had stuffed in the office’s desk drawer. The shop was within weeks of closing down.

Rescuing the shop helped me to heal from my divorce. All accounts were re-paid with credit restored in less than a year; we were both thriving again. Mom’s base of dedicated customers insisted on constant medical updates, whether I was at the grocery store, post office, or any point in between. I was deeply touched to see how much she meant to our community. Her resiliency was unmistakable – just like her shop.

Cynthia returned to the island when Mom finally came home from the hospital. I welcomed the help until I realized I was being dismissed. In a single day I went from Store Manager to unemployed. Mom was still too weak to involve in any business decisions, so I started a sign company in order to survive until she could.

Cynthia assumed control of the shop from that day onward, naming herself president when she incorporated the business. Mom became vice president, Christopher was treasurer. My name wasn’t included, neither was Robert’s.

Mom eventually returned behind the shop’s antique wooden counter from time to time, though catering had become too much for her. After I emigrated to a new life in Canada, we shared frequent visits and two adventures in the UK before her health slowly declined. It was hard for the rest of us to accept when we learned she had quietly given her entire estate to Cynthia. Mom later admitted to me that Cynthia had threatened to leave if Mom didn’t relent.

The Gourmet’s Galley remains in business today, though newcomers to the island will never know its uniquely dedicated founder and the rest of the family who helped make it possible.