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Health & Fitness

McNeil Island: Sacred Site

McNeil Island is much more than just a prison. Tightly knit communities lived and died there, leaving a legacy of warmth and compassion, amid environs that could have left all hard as stone.

What comes to mind when you think of McNeil Island? An isolated island prison surrounded by the frigid waters of Puget Sound? McNeil, now the site of a Special Commitment Center, is in every respect much more than just a rock.

McNeil has a long and varied history; well before infamous inmates arrived on its shores, a pioneer community thrived there. In fact, as the first home site of Ezra Meeker, the famous Oregon Trail pioneer, McNeil Island should be considered the end of the Oregon Trail.

What better documentation of the secrets McNeil hoards than a grave stone, recalling not a criminal past, but a beloved son and brother? Just past the prison on McNeil is a clearing with a singular tree stand that appears from a distance as one majestic evergreen, but in reality is three tightly entwined madrona trees.

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Originally there were four madronas, but time has taken it's toll. Nestled under their massive boughs lies a slight depression, within a rocky outcropping, headed by a plaque bearing the name Edwin William Holm, August 1895 - May 1896. The beloved infant son of early McNeil settlers John and Petra Holm, Edwin's is the first documented burial on McNeil, but there were others who's names yet go unknown.

What makes Edwin's grave so very special? Besides the sentient watch of his madrona guardians, it is the tenderness his grave site instills, in what would seemingly should be a singularly unsentimental place.

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Edwin's sisters, Elma, Alice and Jennie, cared for his grave as the ever growing Federal Prison encroached on their pioneer property. Finally there came a point where Edwin's grave site was enclosed within prison grounds and bands of land clearing felons approached. Trees dropped relentlessly under the axes and saws of sweating cons, obeying the orders of their prisoner foreman. Surely the inmates noticed the girls hovering about in their calico skirts, hanging back by the big madronas. Finally an axe man approached the first tree, telling the girls to step aside, but bravely they ventured forth and begged that the four trees marking their baby brother's grave be spared. The axeman returned to his prisoner foreman saying he had no desire to cut the trees. Appraised of the situation, the foreman spared the trees and this generous act of kindness and compassion, by felons no less, is upheld to this day.

Since Edwin's burial in 1896 the Prison has changed hands three times; from a Federal Pen to a State Correctional Facility (1981), and finally to a Special Commitment Camp in 2011. Yet, through all these custodial changes the legacy of respect and compassion for one tiny infant has touched all who have ever viewed his grave.  

I was blessed to rest beneath the shading boughs of Edwin's madronas as a child, feeling the serene goodness of the site, though at the time the headstone appeared as just part of the landscape. The ravages of time had tilted it and worn away any inscription. (A plaque was installed by the McNeil Island Boy Scout Troop in 1980 so that future inhabitants would respect Edwin's grave.) Still, I felt the peacefulness there while knowing nothing of Edwin's tiny body snuggled within his cradle of roots. This speaks to the power of love and compassion making their presence felt over eras of enduring acts of kindness done out of respect for life, death and a family's love. So while Edwin and his kin are long gone from this earth, on the hard prison island washed by the freezing waters of Puget Sound, their legacy lives on via a prevailing tenderness offering hope for future generations.

Perhaps when the last of the ancient madronas finally falls, four more will be planted by as yet unknown souls, kindly continuing Edwin's guardianship...

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