Observed in the Wild: Pacific Northwest, Spring

Every May, the Pacific Northwest comes out of hiding.

The Pacific Northwesterner is a shy and skittish creature who spends approximately eight months of the year indoors, emerging only to acquire coffee and complain about the ferry. But each May, as ambient temperatures cross the sacred 58-degree threshold, a remarkable transformation occurs. The species ventures out. Pale. Disoriented. Wearing shorts they have not seen since September. What follows is a brief taxonomy of specimens you may encounter in the field.

The Sandal Pioneer. Appears at the QFC in Birkenstocks and a fleece vest the moment the forecast hits 60. Toes have not seen UV light since the Obama administration. Will not acknowledge the goosebumps. Makes direct eye contact with anyone in a jacket as if to say coward.

The Mower. Has been waiting since October. Begins at 7:47 AM on the first dry Saturday. Will mow a lawn that does not need mowing. Will edge. Will then stand in the driveway holding the trimmer and surveying the work like a man who has just summited something. Nods at you. You nod back. This is the only conversation you will have with him all year.

The Patio Optimist. Books the outdoor table at every restaurant from May 1st onward, regardless of conditions. Sits there in a puffer jacket under a heat lamp during a light drizzle, sipping a spritz, insisting this is so nice. It is not nice. But she has waited, and she will be served outside, and you will not take this from her.

The Climber. Has had a gym membership at Seattle Bouldering Project all winter and is in objectively excellent shape because of it. The first dry weekend, she drives to Index. Forgets that outdoor climbing is a different sport. Returns Sunday night with rope burn, a humbling story, and a renewed appreciation for indoor walls. By Wednesday she is telling people I climbed Index this weekend without mentioning that she fell off it.

The Re-Emerger. Has not opened Eventbrite since October. Logs in May 3rd and RSVPs to fourteen things in a single sitting: a plant swap, a sound bath, two book launches, a 5K she will not run, a porch concert, a workshop on fermentation. Will attend approximately three. Has been telling her friends we should really do something for six months and now intends to do all of it in a four-week window. Meetup notifications return to her phone like migratory birds.

The Hiker. Begins texting the group chat in mid-April: should we do Rattlesnake this weekend. Nobody responds. Texts again: Mailbox Peak? Silence. Tiger Mountain? One person reacts with a thumbs up. By May the group has reluctantly agreed to Discovery Park, which everyone secretly prefers. Brings trekking poles to Discovery Park. Uses them. Wears the full kit — moisture-wicking layers, broken-in boots, a pack with a hydration bladder she filled at home — for a 2.8-mile loop on flat ground. Brings snacks for everyone. Stops three times to log the hike on her Apple Watch. On the drive back, suggests Mount Si for next weekend. Nobody responds.

The Eastern Washington Apologist. Mentions, unprompted, that it's actually really beautiful over there. Will bring up Leavenworth. Will bring up the Palouse. Has been to Walla Walla exactly once for a wedding in 2019 and has been dining out on it ever since. If pressed, cannot name a second town.

The Dog People. Reach a critical mass at every off-leash park between Magnuson and Marymoor by 9 AM Saturday. The dogs do not know each other but the owners introduce themselves through their dogs (this is Hoopla, she's a rescue, she's nervous around men in hats). Conversations begin with breeds, end with property values. At least one person is wearing crocs.

The Pickleball Convert. Did not play pickleball in March. Plays pickleball four times a week by May. Has Opinions about paddles. Is in a group chat called Dink Dynasty or The Kitchen Cabinet or Pickle Me This. Will, at minimum once, attempt to recruit you. The recruitment will happen at a child's birthday party.

The Boat Person. Has been talking about The Boat since Christmas. The boat is at a marina you have never heard of. The boat needs work. The boat is, depending on the day, either almost ready or more involved than I thought. You will be invited onto The Boat in June. The invitation will be vague. The actual outing will be in August. It will be worth it.

The Convert. Has spent the last six months telling everyone back home that Seattle was a mistake. The rain. The freeze. The way nobody makes plans. Was, as recently as April 14th, googling cost of living Austin. But the sun has been out for nine consecutive days and now she is at Green Lake in a sundress, slightly emotional, texting her mother that actually, it's stunning here. Has joined a Spanish conversation meetup. Has joined a hiking group she has not yet hiked with. Opens Redfin during her lunch break. Saves three listings. Just to see.

The Homeowner Awakens. Steps into the backyard for the first time since February and recoils. The moss has won. There is a thing growing on the fence that may be sentient. The patio furniture is a crime scene. She makes a list. The list has nineteen items. She buys a pressure washer on Marketplace and now has Opinions about pressure washers. Three houses on the block are doing the same thing on the same Saturday, none of them making eye contact, all of them quietly competitive. By noon someone has already said the words I think we need a new deck.

The Realtor Reappears. Has been hibernating in spreadsheets and Zillow alerts since November. Returns in May ready to attend any networking function she can haul herself to. Hands out business cards like Halloween candy. Door-knocks her farm. Handwrites letters to potential sellers. Brings up the topic of real estate, against her better judgment, even in the women's bathroom at a theater.

You should hire her. You read this whole thing, didn't you? She's clearly paying attention.

I'm Xan Roberti, a real estate broker working the Seattle-to-Tacoma corridor with a focus on Burien, Normandy Park, & Des Moines. If you're new here — or the math is finally mathing — let's talk. xan.roberti@exprealty.com.