Excerpted from "In Praise of Island Stewards — Portraits and Views in Passing," photographed by Joel Sackett, Association of Bainbridge Communities, $25. Available at Eagle Harbor Books, 206-842-5332.

"Many stewards in this book minimize their impact on the island's resources and hence on the planet," Schmid writes in the foreword. "They practice conservation — some out of necessity, all out of respect for their natural surroundings, as they consciously live a sustainable lifestyle in the midst of an affluent and wasteful consumer-oriented culture. Caring for one's own land will undoubtedly assume an even greater importance as our population increases and privately owned open space disappears."

It is the islanders' hope, Schmid concludes, "that this book will inspire readers, as it has us, to be better stewards in today's world."

Neighbors gather for a maypole celebration at Suyematsu Farm on Day Road

Upon our land, our island, we are caretakers and stewards between a thousand generations. Our footprints are slow to disappear. The view of our wake, the vision back down the trail of our history, gives us a sense of where we have been and are going. Changing conditions demand our attention or teach us hard lessons. We respond individually or as teams, all on this life raft we call Earth, our Mother. A ferry captain steers a half-mile off course so as not to frighten a flock of seabirds. A gardener takes better care of her compost pile than her jewelry. A commuter rides a bicycle, rather than foul forest-filtered breezes. We adopt streams, roads, beaches, animals, children, the less fortunate, a new attitude. GERALD ELFENDAHL

Islanders join in a garlic-cleaning party at the Suyematsu Farm on Day Road. The farm was preserved for open space in 2001
Grapevine prunings are stacked at the Bainbridge Island Vineyards on Day Road.		Every winter our grapevines produce over two tons of prunings that must be stacked and burned to kill mildew spores hiding in their bark. Though practical in purpose, our bonfire is rooted in an ancient agricultural ritual. For thousands of years, farmers have raised fires up against the black night, and to close-knit communities they were pivotal events. Held on the evening of a solstice or equinox, bonfires were bridges between seasons, a time for giving thanks and asking for blessing in one gesture of transition. That tradition was created by people awed and humbled by the natural cycles of their world. Today, it celebrates a sustainable way of life that recognizes humanity as part of the fabric of nature. Tending these vines under open skies, touching and breathing the world every day, has nurtured my awareness of this planetary rhythm into which our species is inextricably woven. For this I give thanks, as the bonfire is lit and the summer's sunlight, captured in wood, is released in flaming prayers, lifting into the infinite night. IAN BENTRYN

Gail Smith peers out a window at his
home on West Port Madison.

	A prehistoric crab from the Oligocene Epoch (25 to 30 million years ago) was found in the rocks of the Blakely Formation at Restoration Point.

(Based on an interview with Gail's neighbor, Tom Fehsenfeld)

Traveling down West Port Madison Road, you might notice a faded red cabin nestled amid ancient fruit trees, a patch of garden, some low outbuildings and a grove of towering firs. You might see woodpiles stacked so neatly as to approach the level of fine art. And everything — from the tools with the well-oiled handles to the root cellar, to the clothes drying on the clothes line and the upturned dory under the cedar tree — is practical, unpretentious and as relaxed as the smoke curling from the cabin chimney. Meeting you at the door of Gail Smith's cabin is a compact, wiry man in his 80s, dressed in freshly waxed hobnailed boots, denim high-water trousers, and a clean, white T-shirt. Gail tells how he arrived in Port Madison in 1918, at the age of 2, how he lost his mother at the age of 10. After leaving school at 12, he became a fisherman. He worked on steamships until his participation in the historic 1934 "Big Strike." After that, no longer working for "starvation wages," he was able to save enough money to buy his own 40-foot fishing boat, in 1941.

Gail tells of a state-of-Mainer who also lived in Port Madison and influenced his decision to retire at the age of 50. "When this fellow got to be 50, he figured he had enough money and so he started cutting wood and staying home and living it up until 50 years later when he died. So when I got to be 50, I got to thinking about my old friend, how much he enjoyed life as he got older." From that time on, Gail measured wealth, happiness and freedom in terms of a woodpile well stacked and dry, a root cellar full of grub, and dogs and chickens cared for and fed. Gail's industry and thrift are matched by his compassion for all creatures and causes in need of protection. There is no better example of this than his defense of public road ends. Established by law in the 19th century, road ends provided vital access to the waterfront for all islanders. Gail notes that, as real-estate values have risen, so has the avarice of some landowners, who have attempted to block access to or gain ownership of adjacent road ends. In defending road ends, Gail has faced "greedy, common thieves, real-estate sharks and lots of liars with briefcases who showed up at Kitsap Superior Court."

About the photographer:

Since the age of 16, Joel Sackett has been exploring major cities and remote places around the world, shooting for magazines such as National Geographic, Time and German Geo. Sackett lived in Japan from 1980 to 1990, publishing several books, including "Rikishi: the Men of Sumo" (Weatherhill). After moving to Bainbridge Island in 1990, he gradually decreased his international work and turned his attention to community-based projects. His island exhibits include "A Collective Portrait of Diversity" and "Home Is Where . . . Portraits from Our Interiors." Sackett lives on the island with his wife, Michiko; son, Daniel; and daughter, Yuri.