Just a Dash
- skagitjack
- 2 hours ago
- 3 min read
November 30, 2025
As our moon brightens into fullness this week, it becomes the Samish “Moon of the Elders,” the S7elálexw Moon [S--el-AL-uhh], a time to gather indoors with friends and family during these short days and long nights, to sing, tell stories, exchange gifts, and celebrate the close of the year.
One of those elders, another dear friend, passed away unexpectedly this week. He had lived a full life, full of gentleness, full of kindness, full of creative energy and a giving spirit. His passing leaves a hole in my heart where his smile and warmth dwelt. In truth, the smile and warmth still reside there, a gift he shared that keeps on giving.
Another elder who spoke at his memorial service outlined my friend’s birth and death dates, then had us look at what was written between those two dates – a dash, just like the one right here. That dash represented his entire life.
In mourning, I visited a nearby cemetery and found acres of headstones displaying the dash of life. Two in particular caught my attention: the first of a woman who had died the year that I was born. That gave me pause. And then the next: a large headstone for a married couple who had given our town its name.
We think of life as a marathon, not a quick dash. But compared to the eons of years that we see in the cosmos and on our own planet, our lives truly are just a dash in comparison. That dash is our life, hardly straight at all, messy and humbling at times, but deep and powerful too. It’s all we get.
The year 2025 now turns toward its final month. The air cools, the clouds gather, the sun vacations in a southern clime. Most of the trees in our Fidalgo neighborhood have shed their leaves as they button up for winter. We walked through Cap Sante, remembering how the now-bare maples had filtered golden light above us a month ago; those leaves now lying as a cushion for our feet, a cover of duff to protect the soil and nurture next year’s growth.
Another year passes, another part of the dash.
The moon grows full, and then fades away, like the leaves, teaching us the passing of time, of seasons, of generations. Salmon, like the rivers they swim in, run to the sea, and then return in due time to begin the next generation.
My six-year-old grandson and I raced toward a bench today, across a grassy field. It was all I could do with my much longer legs to keep up with him as he ran! (Of course I let him win!) So much of life lies ahead of him. Me, not so much. For both of us, it’s still – just a dash.
The dash. It’s not a line of emptiness between two dates—it is the living pulse of our existence, as fleeting and magnificent as a leaf, a tree, a salmon, a season, or a star. The dash is where meaning resides. It is ours to fill with gifts of love and life.
I salute the life of an elder, and raise my hands to his name as he joins the ancestors in the world around us. Hoy7sxwq’e (Hai’-skha)
jack
William “Bill” Bailey, Tsulton1950 – 2025
Bill passed away peacefully, surrounded by his mate Rosie Cayou and family. William was born in Tacoma. He attended Chilocco Indian Agricultural School in Oklahoma. Bill was a Master carver, artist, and painter. Nothing made him happier than his creations. His work was portrayed across the Northwest.
He was a true man of honor and courage, facing many difficulties throughout his life. Yet, he always remained strong and had a caring soul.
Bill was a soft-spoken person; when he spoke, you wanted to listen, as he had many words of wisdom, lessons to offer, and stories to share.
His contributions to the community are far-reaching, from leading the carving for Dog Woods to sharing his cultural and traditional ways. Bill was a humble man who walked his own path with such a beautiful soul that will be missed.