Patricia Ann Corey Eastly was born in Deadwood, South Dakota on December 30, 1929, and took flight on February 5, 2021.
As a child, she was known as “Pard,” and she loved to run with the horses in the thunder and lightning, deliver water to her father in the fields on her horse Old Paint, and spend time in the Cream House helping to convert milk to sour cream. In High School, her family moved to Richland, WA and after graduating, she went to Washington State University, earning both a BA and a Masters in Interior Design.
Known for fashionable lateness, a chance encounter on a side path to Dance class introduced her to the love of her life, Donald Eastly, who she would marry in 1952. They began their auspicious and abundant 55-year adventure with a four-month around-the-world honeymoon, igniting a passion for travel and exploration that would extend decades. Pat and Don moved to West Seattle and ran the West Seattle Animal Hospital. In the years that followed they adopted children — Clay and Susan, and surrogate son Leonard — and grew a family that reveled in water fights (indoor and out), progressive rummy, poetry, art (in all forms), and an unconditional commitment to unconditional love.
For Pat and Don, this meant showing up to every activity, game, match, recital and gathering — and for steadfast presence and support when times were tough. Ingenious and known for triage — Pat always had room for another chair at the table and the stove was always hot. She could make a 5-star feast out of random leftovers and a box of wine. The family moved to Vashon Island full-time in 1978 and became committed to the community and the peace of life on the farm. Importing Shire horses from England, the family-focused more than 2 decades on breeding, raising, showing and sharing the horses with anyone and everyone who was interested.
It was a common sight to see Pat and Don with a wagon full of passengers on their way to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone or giving hayrides with Santa at the annual Christmas Tree lighting. Despite a near-fatal horse accident in 1980, Pat never gave way to fear, and once she was healed, would train the colts and fillies to lick corn syrup from her hand. Once grown, these 1-ton horses would answer her call by bolting to her side, the ground reverberating and their manes flying, for their sweet treat — the sound of her laughter carrying across the property.
Pat was grit personified. Her passion for early civilization, archaeology and art inspired her to become a docent at the Seattle Art Museum where she led tours for more than 40 years, Much to her delight — and the delight of others — there was a particular enthusiasm that was sparked when exploring art in the context of the broader world. This enthusiasm was further enhanced as a member of the West Seattle Art Club and as a Vashon docent.
Born with insatiable wanderlust and curiosity, Pat and Don ventured far and wide exploring more than 25 countries, some multiple times, and though Don would sometimes grumble about having to go on another “crappy trip,” the two always returned more alive, more informed, and more in love. Pat was ever the foil for her singularly extroverted husband, and carried herself with uncommon grace, though a hint of a saucy joke was always at the corners of her mouth or present in the shine of her green eyes. She loved to laugh and dance and sing and had an extraordinary way of inviting everyone in to do the same. If there was music, a Bourbon and Seven, and some space to kick up her heels, she was the first on the dance floor. Hers was a credo of “don’t worry — it will be ok”, and indeed, it is.
Though she has gone on from here, there is a certainty that her energy is aloft on Vashon Island, Crete, New Delhi, Dublin, London, Istanbul, Rome. Shi Shi Beach, and all the stops between — including the hearts of those who love her. Remaining behind are her children Clay, Susan (John) and Leonard, and her grandkids, Taylor, Lane and Payton (Clay), Olivia, Owen and Victor (Susan), Lara and Jane (Leonard) and many beautiful humans she claimed as her very own. Immortality exists when we share the stories of those who have gone and extend their goodness to others. Let us do just that.
Go, Pirates! Go Cougs!