I’m 4th generation native son of Bellingham, Wa. The third and youngest son to Gary & Cheryll Peterson, and brother to, Travis and Tyson Peterson.
One thing that people who know me the best would say is how I have always taken the road that is less traveled, and that I will always find a way to travel that road. This was the cause of many gray hairs to my parents in my younger years. But I think my father enjoyed every gray hair that I put on his head. I believe this because of one of my earliest memories of my dad was when one evening, we were all sitting around the dinner table and I cant remember exactly who proposed the question first, but going around the table, one by one, we gave our answer to the question “What do you want to be when you grow up?”. Don’t ask me what my brothers said, but I remember saying that “I wanted to grow up and be just like dad and be a mechanic who worked on school buses”. With no hesitation my dad told me that was no dream for me; that he wanted me to be better than him - that I needed to find my own path. And from that, a large portion of my foundation for my life was poured. This foundation has led me to pursuing my dream of being a ski bum in Vail, Colorado. After living with almost no money in the bank and averaging 150 days a year of skiing, I went to studying Fisheries Science and set off working for Washington Fish and Wildlife. After 2 years working studying the migration of fish, I also found myself making a hand on the Walking D ranch in Winthrop, WA. This is where I was first introduced to horses and packing with mules in the mountains.
In 2005, I move abroad to the UK and becoming fully immersed in the culture, pubs, and vineyards. It was there where I would spend the next 6 years growing grapes and making wine, but missing the wildness of my mountains. I was becoming to understand that life is not about just working at a job because “I never had done that before”. Life is about living and not just existing.
Dad was robbed of the ability to continue to live, and so he lived through his sons I believe. He lived for the days that he would sit there in his wheelchair and watch us pull out of the driveway on his Harley, or with him in the sidecar as a passenger. He could no longer ride, but he could in his heart and spirit. So I'll go on living for him, and in turn, hope to tell his story so that people might understand him a little more.