Over the decades, uninhabited forests have given way to the skyscrapers of downtown Bellevue, old farms have been felled for QFC's, and Bellevue Way has doubled its former modest two-lane size. “And one of the houses down 106th Avenue SE used to just be wetlands,” says lifelong Enatai resident, Anita Mousseau. “We were not supposed to be over there. They were building a home, and we were all running across the two-by-fours, and I fell. They couldn't get me out, so they had to call my dad,” she laughs. “He was mad…but it was just a dumb mistake by a kid. I think I was right around 10 years old.”

Anita’s family moved to Seattle from Rapid City, South Dakota 74 years ago and came to Bellevue four years later. The family consisted of the distinguished Boeing engineer, Louis Mousseau, his wife, Mary Ann, and their seven children – five girls and two boys. “It was like having a sorority… and we’d call the boys the ‘bookends’ because the oldest is a boy and the youngest is a boy,” jokes Anita and her sister, Michelle Holms. “Our siblings were our friends.”

Over time, Mary Ann and Louis passed away, and the rest of the family moved to other areas around the Puget Sound. However, Anita, Michelle, and their older sister, Peggy Mousseau, still live in the family home on 106th Avenue in Enatai. Why? “It’s home,” says Michelle, simply. Anita agrees. “Oh yeah, it’s home.” It’s easy to see why the sisters chose to stay. Their house has a warm, inviting air, full of rugs and comfy couches. A photograph of their late mother smiles warmly at me from a small table near the entrance of the living room, and a black-and-white picture of their father from his college days is tucked into the bottom corner of the frame. A regal brown upright piano stands across from the photographs, with the lid closed over the ivory keys. “This piano is a hundred years old,” says Anita. “It was our mom’s…her father gave it to her when she was 10 years old.”

The Enatai community is important to the Mousseaus, who value their close connections with their neighbors. Both Anita and Michelle have warm recollections of their childhood in the community – from learning to ride their bikes on 106th Avenue SE (which used to be made of gravel) to playing in Killarney Glen Park with their friends and siblings. “There were 150 kids in a three or four block area…and we’d play from early morning until it got dark,” Anita recalls fondly.

However, the truest testament to the strength of their neighborly bonds came in a time of hardship for the Mousseaus. “Back in 1966, some neighborhood boys thought it would be funny to play a trick at night,” recounts Anita. “They lit sparklers and put them in a plastic garbage can…which tipped over and set our front door on fire.” According to the sisters, Mary Ann had been asleep when she thought she smelled smoke, and when she got up to investigate, she noticed the flames. “She had my older brother wake all of us girls up,” adds Michelle, gravely. “He whispered in my ears and said ‘Michelle, there’s a fire. I want you to go downstairs to the basement and out the door, and I'll meet you out front.’” This story, however, did not end in tragedy. During that time, according to Michelle, “The community came together and gave us support.” Within a few days, the police had tracked down the culprits, and the Mousseaus rebuilt their front door.

Over the decades, as Bellevue has expanded into a big city, longtime residents began to move away. “They don't like it here anymore, because of the way it's changed,” explains Anita. But the sisters take a different view; even if it is hard to recognize the town they grew up in at times, they have learned to accept Bellevue’s transformation as progress. 

One thing that hasn’t changed, however, is the community’s caring spirit, in part thanks to the Mousseaus. For example, a few years back, Michelle and Anita struck up a friendship with their disabled neighbor, driving her wherever she needed to go and assisting her in tasks such as buying groceries. Other neighbors pitched in too, taking out her trash and delivering her newspaper. “We used to check on her every day. She was all on her own, but Anita and I were her friends, and two other people as well,” says Michelle. “The four of us were with her at the end, and she was unconscious at that point. But I knew that she could hear me, and I said to her, ‘We just want you to know, you're not by yourself, your friends are here…and when you're ready to go, it's okay.” A beat of silence passed.

“Everybody takes care of everybody here,” she concludes.