Wilson is  running for mayor for the first time, challenging incumbent Bruce Harrell in what’s shaping up to be one of the city’s most closely watched races in years. Even The New York Times has weighed in, calling it part of a generational shift in politics. (You can listen to our interview with Mayor Harrell here and get to know the man behind the mayor.)

We caught up with Wilson to get a sense of who she is beyond the race—the kid who asked big questions, the Oxford student who trusted her gut, and the mom thinking about playgrounds and public bathrooms.

You grew up in Binghamton, New York, with parents who were evolutionary biologists. What kind of kid were you, and what early memory or influence from that time still shapes how you see the world?

I was a kid who loved reading, spent a lot of time romping around outside, and put more pressure on myself to excel than my parents did. When trying to learn or accomplish something, I was very persistent and single-minded. I was a pretty serious kid, but with a sense of humor and an independent streak. I think being raised by scientists taught me to value reason over authority; I wasn’t afraid to correct adults or speak up when I thought something was wrong, and I’m sure that made me a little insufferable sometimes.

I remember when I was about seven years old riding in the car with my dad and asking what the purpose of life was. He said something like, “To have children and raise them into healthy adults,” presumably trying to answer my question accurately from an evolutionary point of view. Endless cycles of procreation struck me as depressingly futile, and my internal response was something like, “there must be more to life than that.” Maybe I’ve spent a lot of my own life searching for it. 

You left Oxford just before finishing your degree in physics and philosophy—a big decision at a young age. What did that choice teach you about identity and trusting your own direction?

The Stranger reported that my favorite movie is Orson Welles’s 1965 Chimes at Midnight—I think my husband told them that. It’s adapted mainly from Shakespeare’s Henry IV plays, and it’s a coming-of-age story that resonates with me because it’s about leaving childish things behind and assuming great responsibility. 

I know it sounds counterintuitive and maybe absurd, but that’s what the decision to leave university was for me. Of course, almost no one understood that, and it was a very difficult thing to do because I had to accept that I was going to leave many people in my life confused, angry, and disappointed. I had to take a leap of faith, trust my gut, and accept that there was this wide gulf between appearance and reality. It led to a lot of self-reflection over the years and I definitely got to know myself better as a result.

You’ve spent years organizing for renters, transit riders, and low-income residents. We all see inequality every day, but was there something you saw, heard, or experienced that made you want to take action?

I don’t think it was ever one thing. On a personal and emotional level, like a lot of people, when I see someone in a bad situation I want to help. But I know from experience that it’s easy to get lost in, and paralyzed by, another person’s suffering. I realized pretty early on that people-helping-people only goes so far. The forces driving inequality and other social problems are structural and systemic—and that’s where the big solutions lie too. That’s why I became an organizer. Organizing isn’t charity, it’s about building power.

You’ve been at the helm of major campaigns—co-founding the Transit Riders Union, helping design the JumpStart Seattle Payroll Expense Tax to fund housing, and steering efforts to broaden transit access for students and low-income residents. When you think about leadership, what does it mean to you on a human level, not just political?

Leadership is about looking and listening for what people need, and reflecting that back to them in a way that opens up the opportunity to address that need through collaboration and collective action. On a human level, that process should be both educational and empowering, and sometimes it can be transformative. 

Everyone involved learns more about how our society works, how democracy works, and how power flows. People discover capacities in themselves that they didn’t know they had, and ultimately—hopefully, if we win!—together they accomplish something that improves not just their own lives but the lives of many other people as well.

You’ve held hands-on jobs like barista, laborer, and boatyard work before becoming a full-time organizer. How did that work shape how you relate to people or stay grounded in what matters?

I love the camaraderie that develops among coworkers when you’re doing hands-on work together. Building and repairing things gives such a sense of competence and accomplishment, and I especially enjoyed working outside. But I also experienced some really difficult and unpleasant workplaces, and I worked alongside people who had far fewer options than I did. At the boatyard, they would hire Latino workers during the summer and then lay them off with no notice as soon as work slowed down. 

For a while I was renovating apartments in Eastlake, turning studios into very small one-bedrooms so the owner could raise the rents and sell the building at a profit. The boss was so cheap he wouldn’t buy us ladders, so when we did ceiling repairs we had to stand on overturned five-gallon buckets. It was so unsafe. 

The bakery I worked at was attached to a restaurant, and there was a guy in the kitchen working 80 hours a week without getting paid overtime. But he didn’t want to complain because he was undocumented and needed the money to send back to his family. Getting to know people in situations like that definitely stayed with me.

You and your husband are raising a young daughter in Seattle. How has parenthood changed the way you see the city and its future?

Parenthood has given me a new appreciation for our parks, playgrounds, and community centers, as well as kid-friendly restaurants, cafés, and breweries. Especially raising a kid in an apartment, it’s so important to have public spaces where little ones can run around. 

And public bathrooms! They’re more important to me than ever. 

Being a mom also makes me see our affordability crisis in new ways. My daughter is a future Seattle Public Schools student, and a major driver of our schools’ enrollment problems is the high cost of living in Seattle. So many working people have moved out of the city because they can’t afford to sink roots and grow a family here, and that affects school funding and ultimately the quality of the education we’re able to provide.

Campaigning and activism can be intense. What helps you keep your balance or find quiet when things get noisy?

Before I had my daughter, it was riding my bike. For me, that was such a great way to get around the city while also getting some exercise and taking a pause from constant work and communication. Now with a toddler, to be honest, there’s not much balance or quiet in my life. But spending time with her is at least a change of pace from campaigning. Sometimes I’m just focused on reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar or feeding her oatmeal.

Every organizer has a network—friends, mentors, collaborators. Who do you lean on when you need encouragement or perspective, and what makes those people important to you?

Back in 2017 and 2018, I was deeply involved in the “head tax” campaign, a high-drama fight that I wrote about here. That was really a trial by fire, and many of the people I went through it with are still close friends and colleagues to whom I turn when things get tough. I’ve learned a ton from fellow organizers, leaders, and collaborators over the years—sometimes by osmosis and observation, and sometimes because they give really good advice.

After two decades here, what part of Seattle feels like “home”—a place, ritual, or event that reminds you why you fell in love with this city?

I love being out on Elliott Bay. Our waterfront is so special, and there’s nothing like looking back at the Seattle skyline from the Bainbridge Island ferry or the West Seattle, or Vashon, water taxis on a beautiful day.

If we could strip away the title of “mayoral candidate” and just ask Katie Wilson the person: At the end of the day, what matters most to you?

To bring it full circle back to your first question, at some point in my life, it occurred to me that if a child asked me the same question I had asked my dad, I’d be stumped. What is the purpose of life—what matters most? Of course, you could say “love” or “family” or “making the world a better place,” and those are all fine answers. But what’s an answer that I could really stand by—and that would also give a seven-year-old something to chew on for the rest of her life? 

After some thought, here’s what I came up with: To participate as fully, as consciously, and as passionately as possible in the great unfolding of the universe. That’s what I want to do.

The post Getting to Know Katie Wilson appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Pacific Science Center’s new exhibition, Spiders: From Fear to Fascination, aims to change that. Created by the Australian Museum, the show opened last week and invites visitors to step past their reflexive shudder and see spiders for what they are: essential, complex, and surprisingly beautiful.

The exhibit is fully immersive, with live and preserved spiders, large-scale models, interactive experiences, and video installations. You can trigger an augmented-reality floor where virtual spiders scuttle at your feet, or try out the male peacock spider’s elaborate courtship dance  yourself. Or, if you’re brave enough, you can get so close to living spiders that you feel the little hairs on your neck rise, and still find yourself wanting to know more.

This larger-than-life tarantula display is mesmerizing.

Photo by Sarah Stackhouse

“I am so excited for our guests to have an opportunity to observe the incredible collection of live spiders on exhibit,” says Hannah Held, Pacific Science Center’s Living Exhibits manager. “The specimens highlight the wide range of spiders and allow us to look closer into what makes them so special. It is a truly unique opportunity to observe the behaviors, habits, and instincts of these remarkable creatures.”

Displays with living spiders highlight species like the Carolina wolf spider, yellow garden spider, and desert blond tarantula—each accompanied by bilingual panels describing how they hunt and burrow. Another display shows real molted tarantula skins. You can see the fragile shells, complete with leg holes where the spider pulled itself free, growing slightly larger with each shed. And a fossilized Talbragaraneus jurassicus, one of the oldest spiders ever found, connects the exhibit to the ancient world.

Fuzzy and fierce, wolf spiders roam their habitat in search of prey, using their silk for safety lines, egg sacs, and shelter.

Photo by Rafael Minguet Delgado / Pexels

Orb weavers spin massive, silky traps for big bugs, but they’re harmless to humans. Look at this beauty!

Photo by Raynnier Gómez / Pexels

“For being such small critters, spiders have a huge reputation,” she says. “Most of us have been taught to fear spiders since childhood, and there are a lot of spider myths passed down through generations. Also, they’re fast, hairy, have eight legs, and at least six eyes. This exhibit provides a safe space to look closer. There is a whole spider world out there that we don’t get to see up close. When you aren’t being taken by surprise by an unexpected spider, you are able to be curious. When you take the fear out of the situation, spiders truly are fascinating.”

Visitors step onto an interactive floor projection where clusters of augmented-reality spiders scurry away with each movement, then slowly creep back once the coast is clear.

Photo by James Horan / Australian Museum

One of the most moving elements is a video showing a mother black lace-weaver spider feeding herself to her young. It’s an extraordinary act known as matriphagy. Another video comes from the Australian Bush Doctor program, where a Ngangkari healer describes using spider medicines in traditional healing, illustrating how spiders have long been part of both science and culture.

“It’s a strong exhibition and it hadn’t been shown in this part of the country before,” says Peggy Monahan, Pacific Science Center’s vice president of exhibits. “Seattle certainly has a lot of spiders, especially this time of year! This exhibit is a great opportunity for people to learn more about these creatures.”

The show also points to spiders’ growing scientific relevance. Researchers are studying spider venom and silk for their potential in medicine, sustainable textiles, and bioengineering. Some studies show orb-weaver silk has tensile strength comparable to (or in some tests greater than) steel of the same diameter.

“Spiders eat other kinds of bugs and are an important part of the ecosystem,” Monahan adds. “It helps us to know about them and recognize the role they play. That’s the way it is with science, isn’t it? There’s so much to learn about almost anything if you look closely enough.”

Visitors learn that spiders have been on Earth for hundreds of millions of years—long before the first dinosaurs appeared. And if you’ve ever heard one of those local legends about hobo spiders in Seattle, you might want to stop by before repeating it because the exhibit has a few surprises waiting on that front.

After walking through, you might find it harder to panic about the next eight-legged roommate that appears in your bathroom. Take a deep breath and try a catch-and-release. Spiders do plenty of good like, keeping other bugs in check, and like us, they’re just fascinating creatures trying to survive.

The exhibit runs through April 2026 at Pacific Science Center. General admission includes the spider show: adults $10, children $7 (special pricing through November 20).

The post The Secret Lives of Spiders appeared first on Seattle magazine.

The five-month installation is part of Seattle Restored, a city initiative that transforms unused storefronts into art and pop-up spaces. For Chan, a Bellevue-based artist who left her career in tech about a year ago to pursue art full time, it marks her first large-scale public display and a chance to share what she calls an intentional act of optimism.

“I want the colors to pause people in their day, to pull them out of the gray,” Chan says. “Even if someone’s waiting for the bus, maybe they stop for a moment and feel a bit lighter.”

Her vibrant, high-contrast florals blend traditional symbolism with modern, digital technique. In her artist statement, Chan notes that flowers in Chinese culture carry meaning—peonies represent prosperity, gladioluses symbolize resilience and remembrance, and peach blossoms mean renewal and vitality. Growing up near Hong Kong’s bustling flower market, she saw these blooms mark every new year and celebration, and after moving to Seattle in 2005 for college, they became a way to stay connected to home.

Chan says that link only deepened over time. As an immigrant and parent raising two young children far from extended family, she’s drawn to subjects that speak to belonging and continuity. The flowers she paints carry the same meanings she grew up with, but they also act as bridges—symbols that anyone can recognize and find comfort in. During her years at university, she met classmates from all over the world and began to see how universal these connections are. Her work reflects that belief that beauty and optimism transcend language and background.

Chan earned both her undergraduate degree and MBA from the University of Washington and spent more than a decade in tech before returning to art during the pandemic. With her children learning from home, she found herself craving a creative outlet. “It was a stressful time,” she recalls. “Picking up the paintbrush was about self-care in the moment.”

Late at night, she began painting with watercolor and gouache, mediums that let her start and stop easily while balancing parenting and work. She liked that both were water-activated; she could step away to make dinner or help with school and return to a dry palette that came back to life with a bit of water. The flexibility made painting possible in short bursts, and those sessions soon became routine. They led to Cute Fun Joy Designs, the art business she launched in 2024, and a growing presence at local cafes, art walks, and markets. When Seattle Restored announced a call for artists earlier this year, she applied.

One piece in the Lake City installation comes from her Kintsugi Collection, inspired by the Japanese practice of repairing broken pottery with gold. The idea took root when Chan noticed misprints coming out of her home printer. “I was learning how to manage color, and the results weren’t perfect,” she says. “But instead of throwing it away, I decided to finish it with gold leaf, to honor the imperfection.”

Each hand-embellished print is one of a kind. And in a way, Chan’s process mirrors Seattle Restored itself: both see potential in what’s been overlooked.

Chan’s gold-leaf Chinese poppy from her Kintsugi Collection—each hand-embellished print honors imperfection and turns a printing mistake into something luminous.

Photo by Cute Fun Joy Designs

Since the installation went up, she says she hopes it brightens the day of people walking by. “It’s been really interesting to connect with people over flowers, and it’s been an exciting year,” she says. “I’ve had opportunities to show my artwork in lots of different settings.”

In Lake City, new pop-ups and a monthly art walk are adding creative energy to the neighborhood. Chan plans to join those events this winter and hopes to collaborate with other artists she’s met through Seattle Restored.

Photo by Samuel François / GrowingBoyMedia

The installation runs through Feb. 20, 2026, at 12325 Lake City Way Northeast.

The post Flowers Light Up Lake City appeared first on Seattle magazine.

That’s what makes escape rooms so fun. They trick you into teamwork, reward trial and error, and make you think out loud, which is surprisingly vulnerable and silly. They make adults feel like kids again.

So when The Escape Game and Great Big Game Show opened at Westfield Southcenter, I wanted to see if they could recreate that spark. My husband, our CFO, and our social media manager came along for “research.”

“Ruins: Forbidden Treasure” strands players in a jungle temple, where every solved puzzle brings them closer to the hidden treasure.

Photo courtesy of The Escape Game

We started with “Ruins: Forbidden Treasure,” one of five themed rooms, where a plane crash strands you in a jungle temple. Inside, the space shifted from prop plane to stone-walled ruins as we tugged vines, rotated life-sized statue heads, and solved puzzles involving running water and lots of teamwork. There were three rooms to unlock in total and one good jump scare that got most of us. When we finally found the hidden treasure and unlocked the exit with seven minutes left, it felt earned.

Then we tried the Great Big Game Show, a live, host-led competition where two teams face off in 18 rotating mini-games. We spun a massive wheel, stacked foam blocks, and answered trivia questions as fast as we could. The host made it feel like a real game show with cheering and banter. Our social media manager, Emma, told me she wanted to quit her job and host the show instead.

“I was shocked by how much fun it was,” she says. “I was a little apprehensive about the escape room, but I was blown away by the props and the setup. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The Escape Game and Great Big Game Show launched earlier this month in Tukwila and will expand downtown to Amazon’s re:Invent building near The Spheres later in November. The Escape Game, which started in Nashville, now operates more than 50 locations nationwide. The downtown site will also feature five rooms, including two Seattle exclusives: “The Depths” and “Timeliner: Train Through Time.” Each game lasts an hour, costs $44.99 per person, and can accommodate up to eight players for escape rooms and up to 14 for the game show. One catch: rooms aren’t private by default, so you might share the experience with strangers. That works fine for the game show, but for the escape rooms, I prefer doing those privately with my own crew.

Escape rooms began in Japan nearly two decades ago and have become a multibillion-dollar global business, with more than 2,000 in the U.S. Few cities took to them faster than Seattle, where gaming culture and rainy weekends make for ideal conditions. Locurio in Fremont offers outdoor puzzle hunts alongside its indoor challenges. There’s Hourglass Escapes near Olympic Sculpture Park, The Escape Artist in West Seattle, and a cluster up north—Escapology, KryptoScape, and Entangled in Lynnwood. Downtown, there’s Puzzle Break and 4 Dreams. Scroll through any of their social feeds and you’ll find teams of adults with arms around each other, smiling and proud after making their escapes.

After years of screens and multitasking, it feels good to focus on one thing. You’re locked in a room, solving puzzles, laughing, and shouting when you finally make it out. For an hour, you get to forget everything else and just play.

The post Locked In appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Trinh’s parents, Huyen Tran and Rang Nguyen, came to Seattle in 1998 after spending seven years at a refugee camp in Thailand, where their youngest son, Thai, was born. The couple continued to raise their four children, Joe, Trinh, Linda, and Thai, while working in Rainier Valley restaurants and learning the business from the inside out. In 2001, they moved to Poulsbo to help a friend expand his pho program, and a few years later decided it was time to open a place of their own.

Trinh was 19 when the doors opened. Just two weeks shy of leaving for college, she learned that her parents were ready to launch the restaurant and needed her help. Because her parents spoke limited English, Trinh handled nearly everything from the lease to the signage and the menu while her parents took charge of the kitchen. Her brother Joe was serving in the Marines at the time, and the plan was for her to stay until he returned.

Joe’s service ended the following year, and what began as a short-term plan turned into a lifelong commitment. “Sometimes life takes turns,” he says. “You don’t always get a choice.”

The restaurant’s first day left a lasting impression on Trinh. The former owners introduced the Nguyens to customers who weren’t sure what to expect from a new family, and some were hesitant to order. Trinh, who was almost 20 but says she looked closer to 12, told them that if they didn’t like the food, the meal would be on the house. They stayed, and came back the next day.

That early determination helped build the foundation of what Pho T & N would become: a trusted neighborhood restaurant. It’s a place where people bring their kids after soccer games, celebrate birthdays, or just sit over steaming bowls of pho after a long day. The family’s warmth and tireless work ethic quickly won over locals, and Joe’s easy rapport with guests deepened those relationships. He has a gift for remembering faces, names, and orders—a trait Trinh says he got from their father. “Sometimes I joke that our customers are like extended family,” Joe says. “We’ve celebrated their milestones, but we’ve also been there for their grief. It’s special to share so much of life with the same people over so many years.”

Even through long days and family health challenges, the restaurant has stayed open almost every day. Trinh says her mother believes the key to business is consistency: if the sign says they’re open until nine, they stay open until nine. Over the years, Pho T & N has closed only a few times, including one stretch for Joe’s wedding. Trinh remembers posting a big banner that read, We’re closing from this day to this day. Blame Joe. Customers took it in stride, joking that they’d just have to survive nine days without their favorite pho.

Joe Nguyen at Pho T & N.

Photo courtesy of Pho T & N

That kind of connection with the community has become the heart of the restaurant. “It was never the intention. Everything happened really organically in a way,” Trinh says. “It was our parents’ dream, and it became part of our lives. Then our kids came along, and it became part of theirs. We’re just members of the community running this business.”

Trinh often reflects on her mother’s form of encouragement—one rooted in love and caution. “In our culture, it’s not really about saying, ‘You’re so good, go do it,’” she says. “It’s more like, ‘Are you sure? It’s too hard. Don’t do it.’ That’s love. It’s them protecting us, giving us the best of what they worked for.”

Rang and Huyen officially retired in 2018 due to health reasons, passing the restaurant fully to their children. Joe continues to run Pho T & N with the same care and precision their parents taught them. Trinh, who later earned her BA, and Thai have both attended culinary school and have gone on to open Ba Sa on Bainbridge Island in 2019 and Ramie on Capitol Hill last year, both modern takes on Vietnamese cuisine. Their sister Linda manages Ba Sa’s daily operations.

The family behind T & N celebrates 20 years in Poulsbo.

Photo courtesy of Pho T & N

As Pho T & N turns 20, the family plans to celebrate the way they always have—by feeding their community. The restaurant officially opened on Oct. 25, 2005, and this year, on Saturday, Oct. 25, they’ll mark the milestone with an all-day anniversary event from 10:30 a.m.- 8:30 p.m. The celebration will feature a Lion Dance by Mak Fai Kung Fu at 1:30 p.m., a family toast at 2 p.m., and photo opportunities with all four siblings and their parents from 2:30-5 p.m.

The day will also include a flashback menu with prices straight out of 2005: pho with steak, brisket, chicken, or tofu for $5.99; stir-fried noodles with chicken, pork, beef, or tofu for $7.25; vermicelli bowls with egg rolls and chicken, beef, or pork for $7.49; special fried rice with chicken, pork, Chinese sausage, and shrimp for $7.95; egg rolls for $1.99 each; and bubble tea (with 17 flavor options) for $3.50.

Through it all, the family’s gratitude for Poulsbo has only deepened. “I’m just grateful that we get to be part of this community,” Trinh says. “It’s such a beautiful journey to share memories with our guests, our staff, and everyone who’s come through our doors.”

The post A Family Legacy in Every Bowl appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Here’s what’s happening around town…

A massive ocean heat wave known as The Blob is spreading across the Pacific. It’s mostly skipping our coast for now, but scientists say it could ripple through the ecosystem in unexpected ways.

Reuben’s Brews in Ballard just launched a Pumpkin Stout Latte.

The Seattle Public Library’s smallest branch is showing off big community pride, from teen writing to social services to neon art in the windows. Libraries are the best.

Evergreen Goodwill is getting in on Seattle Outdoor Fashion Week this week with a live installation at Populus Hotel. How cool is that?

Mushroom season is in full swing, with chanterelles, morels, trumpets, and shiitakes ready for risotto night.

SIFF is leaving the Egyptian Theatre on Capitol Hill after more than a decade. I just hope it stays loved—that theater is so pretty.

The Cascade Bicycle Club is spotlighting South Seattle’s growing bike network and the riders who make it move.

Our new podcast features Mayor Bruce Harrell talking about what it’s really like behind the title, and being Seattle’s second Black mayor and first Asian American mayor. Give it a listen.

Who’s been to The Wayland Mill in Northlake? We love it.

The Wall Street Journal is once again “discovering” Bellevue as a tech hot spot and pretty place to live. LOL.

This KEXP set is completely alive. I don’t know, it just makes you want to quit your job and start a band.

What if Paris and Tulum had a baby in Seattle?

This immersive Halloween light show at Seattle Chinese Garden look spooky. My family and I did a similar light experience in Whistler, B.C. this summer. It wasn’t scary at all, just magical being outside in the lights.

And if you’re planning Halloween: Copperworks Kenmore is throwing a Halloween Dance Party on Oct. 24 with DJ Cide, spooky cocktails, and farm-to-table food from De La Soil.

The post The Pulse: Under the October Moon appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Maum, which means “heart” or “mind” in Korean, began in 2019 at Helen J Gallery in Hollywood as a small gathering for Asian artists and entrepreneurs. It has since grown into a national platform for Asian-owned businesses and creatives. “We create safe and supportive spaces for emerging and established Asian-owned small businesses,” the organizers write on the website, “often in partnership with like-minded cultural institutions, historical landmarks, and mixed-use properties.”

On Oct. 26, MAUM Market will take over Hangar 30 at Magnuson Park for one day. The event will feature over 40 vendors selling handmade ceramics, jewelry, stationery, home goods, and small-batch foods.

This summer, Panda Fest, one of the country’s biggest outdoor Asian food festivals, made its debut in Seattle, with plans to return next year. The three-day event was a success, featuring hundreds of street-food dishes, specialty crafts, live performances, and a 15-foot inflatable panda.

MAUM Market runs from 11 a.m.-4 p.m. at Hangar 30 in Magnuson Park. Admission is free. RSVP here for vendor updates and day-of details.

The post MAUM Market Pops Up in Seattle appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Built in 1931, Bothell’s first junior high served students for decades before becoming an alternative high school. The city purchased the property in 2009, and McMenamins took it over a year later, restoring the five-acre campus into one of its most ambitious projects. It reopened in 2015 and has since become a world unto itself.

Anderson School in the mid 1930s.

When I heard the Bothell property was celebrating its ten-year anniversary, I joined a history tour to see the place through the eyes of the people who brought it back to life. The tour was led by Caitlin Popp, McMenamins’ tour guide manager and former company historian, who has a story for every hallway. She began with the building’s early years—the 1931 Zigzag Moderne-style art deco design by Seattle architect Earl Wilson Morrison, built by local shipwright Alfred Sundholm, and later renamed for longtime principal Wilbert “Andy” Anderson, remembered for his humor and his notoriously bad homebrewed beer. “We really see ourselves as stewards of these buildings,” Popp says. “It’s not just preservation, it’s giving them new life and inviting the community back in.”

The McMenamins aesthetic is instantly recognizable: low amber lighting (there’s a strict wattage cap at every property), surreal murals, found vintage-style furniture, celestial-inspired stained glass, and potted plants that seem to twist and grow everywhere. The atmosphere feels artful and distinctly Northwest—eclectic without being cluttered and dramatic without being fussy. “It’s whimsical art deco. We call it historic surrealism,” says Popp. Think velvet couches and leather chairs, the kind you might find in a classy old library or a swanky lawyer’s office from the 1930s.

The Woodshop, once the school’s wood shop, is now home to the property’s largest bar—a lively space with shuffleboard and pool tables, and a counter that runs nearly the length of the building. Just off this area, the brewery occupies a smaller adjoining room packed with ten stainless steel tanks. On tap are McMenamins standards alongside house-made creations like Bobcat Pale Ale, named for the school mascot, and experimental batches aged in wine or whiskey barrels. “We pay attention to what people love,” says brewer Alex Coggins, “but we still make the fun, weird stuff because that’s what McMenamins has always done.”

McMenamins swapped the fluorescents for warm, glowing lights in the hallway outside the old principal’s office, now a tiny bar and lounge.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

Once the school’s wood shop, this lively bar now has shuffleboard, pool, arcade games, and TVs tuned to the game.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

The old gym now hosts movies and live music, its walls lined with original vintage magician posters, including one from Carter the Great, a Houdini-era illusionist. The warm-water pool, where synchronized swimming coach Charlotte Davis once trained two Bothell Olympians after the sport debuted in the Games, still shimmers beneath skylights that stay open year-round. Since opening, more than 27,000 children and 200 adults have learned to swim here. Upstairs, the tiki-style Nui Nui bar overlooks the pool, where the mood is sultry and the Mai Tais are reliably good.

The former Anderson School gym before its transformation into today’s movie theater and music venue.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

Before the restoration, the Northshore Pool was home to local swim lessons and community programs.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

The North Shore Lagoon Pool today.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

Nui Nui tiki bar overlooks the pool, a cozy spot for drinks and conversation.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

Step outside and the campus opens into a patchwork of courtyards and gardens. Some are tucked into quiet corners; others spill toward the main walkways. Most are set up for all seasons, with covered patios and firepits that keep the air smelling of campfire.

Head gardener Sarah led us through edible beds that replaced old asphalt still faintly marked by the school’s four-square courts, now filled with herbs, flowers, and fruit trees used in the bars and kitchens. “Anywhere we have space for a garden, we do,” she says. We sampled four kinds of figs grown on the property, clusters of Concord-style grapes, and peppery, edible flowers. “We harvest things as they’re ready and take them into the kitchen for folks to use,” she says. A small flock of chickens adds to the sense that nothing here goes to waste.

Just beyond the gardens is The Shed—the only new structure on the property. The walls are paneled in dark wood, and bottles line the tiny bar from floor to ceiling. Bar manager Ethan Brotherton calls it “an altar to the brown stuff.” More than 200 whiskeys fill the space, from small-batch American to bottles from Japan, Israel, and beyond. In summer, the bar hosts Whiskey Talks with visiting distillers, and its whiskey club draws regulars chasing rare pours. If you visit, try the flannel shirt, a mix of Benriach 10, Meletti Amaro, apple cider, lemon, and spices, with the option to have it served warm.

Tavern on the Square, the property’s main restaurant, sits at the center of it all. Inside, stained-glass windows by artist David Schlicker scatter colored light across the wood beams. On the walls are several of the late Lyle Hehn’s large-scale paintings of art nouveau figures, suns, and swirling stills. Hehn, whose work also appears on McMenamins beer labels like Ruby, Hammerhead, and Terminator Stout, helped define the company’s surreal, Grateful Dead-inspired aesthetic.

The stone fireplace still warms the room in what was once the school cafeteria.

Photo courtesy of McMenamins

The McMenamin brothers, Mike and Brian, opened their first pub in Portland in 1983 and slowly built an empire across Oregon and Washington. Many of their 55 properties began as schools, theaters, and hotels, restored rather than replaced. The brothers have long said their goal is to keep the past in the present, a philosophy that guides everything from architecture to artwork. Today, McMenamins employs roughly 2,680 people.

And 10 years in, Anderson School still feels like the most imaginative campus in Bothell. “We really love this concept of community gathering spaces,” Popp says. “That’s what we consider all of our properties to be—places where the community can come together.”

McMenamins Anderson School will host history tours on Oct. 10 at noon, 2 p.m., and 4 p.m. with more planned throughout the year.

The post Anderson School: Lessons in Preservation appeared first on Seattle magazine.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac says this moon once helped farmers work late into the night, its steady light stretching harvest season before electricity existed. It also rises at nearly the same hour for a few evenings in a row, giving us that lingering golden twilight at the edge of fall.

In Seattle, the moon will rise around 6:18 p.m., with dusk settling in soon after sunset at 6:40 p.m. Look east as the sky darkens to see it at its biggest and warmest. The golden tint comes from Earth’s atmosphere scattering the light, the same way it does at sunset.

You really can’t mess up moon-watching. You don’t need to drive anywhere or hunt down a dark field. You don’t even need an app—just look up. If it’s low on the horizon, even better because rooftops and trees make it look huge. Take a slow walk around the block, or catch it from your driveway or deck. And if clouds roll in, don’t worry, it’ll still look just as pretty tomorrow night.

If you’re staying in, turn off the lights and leave the curtains open. You’ll get all the mood lighting you need right from your couch. The next full moon, the Beaver Moon, will rise on Nov. 5, followed by the Cold Moon on Dec. 4.

The post Harvest Moon Rising appeared first on Seattle magazine.

“We believe classical music is vibrant, magnetic, and belongs in everyday life,” says SCMS executive director John Holloway. “By welcoming The Concert Truck and its visionary co-founder, Susan Zhang, into our organization, we are putting our money where our mouth is—investing in the future of classical music.”

Zhang, who created The Concert Truck with pianist Nick Luby in 2016, will continue leading the program as the newly named Maryanne Tagney Director. Since launching, the project has teamed up with major arts organizations across the country, including the Kennedy Center’s Washington National Opera and the Aspen Music Festival.

For SCMS artistic director James Ehnes, the acquisition is a natural fit. “One of the most powerful ways to show people that this music belongs to them is to bring it directly into their daily lives,” he says. “The Concert Truck makes that possible in the most joyful and immediate way.”

Already this fall, the truck is scheduled to appear at a Juvenile Probation Center, a winery, museums, and dozens of schools. And come summer 2026, Seattleites can expect to see the piano-on-wheels pulling up again at neighborhood parks and markets. “These performances help people see themselves in the music,” Ehnes says. “And that’s how we build a future where classical music isn’t just preserved, but pulsing through the cultural zeitgeist for decades to come.”

Education has always been a cornerstone of the project. In partnership with the Four Seasons Chamber Music Festival, The Concert Truck co-created an online children’s program that has already reached more than 55,000 students in North Carolina schools. It also continues to mentor young artists at institutions like Rice University and the San Francisco Conservatory of Music.

“We’re not just expanding access—we’re reimagining where and how people experience this art form,” Zhang says. “There’s a raw, magnetic energy when brilliant musicians perform in unexpected places. It breaks classical music out of the concert hall and into the heartbeat of the community.”

Learn more about The Concert Truck’s fall tour here.

The post Sonata on Wheels appeared first on Seattle magazine.