By DEBERA CARLTON HARRELL
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

A weekend sun has just set behind the Olympic Mountains and the vehicle line for the Vashon-to-Seattle ferry stretches far up the hill, winding around several curves on the way to town.

You can tell the Vashon Islanders from others by the reaction to missing the ferry by three cars. Off-islanders curse their bad luck and pound their steering wheels. Islanders switch off the ignition, pick up a book and read.

A lot of reading gets done in these ferry lines. It is a rite of the passage, reflecting not only growing lines -- especially in summer -- but a local ethic of being prepared for the worst andtaking things in stride.

An estimated 11,000 Vashon and Maury Islanders stare down the odds to live here, taking pride in their resilience when life doesn't go as planned.

Their history of hardiness dates back to the late 1800s when the first farmers, loggers, fishermen and settlers carved out a sometimes bountiful existence with what historians call "good old elbow grease." There are four hardware stores in the small town center to serve do-it-yourselfers.

This heritage is evident when inevitable winter storms knock out power. The post-Christmas storm sequence of snow, ice, wind and rain snapped island madrona trees like twigs, downed power lines, clogged roads and driveways with debris, and filled cafes and restaurants with one-upsmanship tales of woe and neighborly rescues.

Impatient, "type-A" commuters and those who aren't fond of ice baths move back to the mainland, leaving Vashon just as its hardy islanders want it: peaceful, low-key and, above all, rural.

"In the middle of the storms, everyone is miserable and unhappy, then they tell stories about their suffering and it becomes a point of honor," says Emma Amiad, a Vashon realtor and chairwoman of the Vashon Park Board.

"You're supposed to be tougher living in a rural area," says Amiad, who lost power for five days. "One newcomer just lost her cool in the laundromat during the storm because she couldn't cope without heat. Locals figure the real weenies will go back to the city. Most people who stay here know they're going to have to rough it. It's absolutely part of living here. It's a given."

This touch-love of "rurality," as residents call it, is the unifying force among an otherwise independent-minded conglomeration of divergent political opinions. That's why the broad spectrum of opinion on this 14-mile long, five-mile wide island -- from loggers to tree-huggers, yuppies to hippies, artists to rednecks, earring-nosed teens to surly old-timers -- is usually spanned when the rural environment is threatened.

Continued:

• Don't even mention the word 'bridge' to residents
• A 'can-do' spirit unites island's diverse population
• Life in rural 'paradise' offers something for everyone