The budget outing: Discover Puget Sound's roots from the days when there were many firs and no freeways. Visit Suquamish, where the tribal chief for whom Seattle was named lived communally in what amounted to a mansion of the early 1800s: a beachfront longhouse reputedly more than 500 feet long.

Today, Chief Sealth is buried in a small cemetery just up the hill, with a glimpse through tall, guardian evergreens of the swirling waters of narrow Agate Passage.

Nearby, a museum dedicated to the history of the Suquamish and other Puget Sound tribes helps people your imagination, with photos of residents of early-day tribal villages.

I learned a piece of the story at the chief's gravesite, in the tribal cemetery surrounded by a split-rail fence next to the white-steepled St. Peter's Catholic Mission, circa 1904.

One thing quickly noted: varying spellings of both the chief's name and the name of his tribe, based on various interpretations of the tribal language. His white marble marker is inscribed "Seattle, Chief of the Suguampsh and Allied tribes, died June 7, 1866, The firm friend of the whites, and for him the City of Seattle was named by its founders."

Below that is his other name, "Sealth," and on another side of the stone: "Baptismal name Noah Sealth, age probably 80 years."

Chief Sealth played a key role in treaty negotiations in 1854, when his people were moved to reservations. He was a peaceable man in tune with the earth, as reflected in a historic speech he made then, noting with melancholy that "my people are ebbing away like a fast receding tide that will never flow again." Yet he also delivered a burning message that his people's spirits will forever inhabit this land.

I brought to his grave a copy of the speech, from the Suquamish tribe's Web site (www.suquamish.nsn.us/chief.htm. As I sat under a spreading maple by his tombstone, amid the scent of fresh-cut grass and the cawing of crows, his words held a poignancy.

It was a five-minute drive to where Chief Sealth once lived, now a pleasant park. The Indian name for the now-long-gone longhouse translated in Chinook jargon, the popular trading language of the area, as "O-le-man," or Strong Man. The settler's version of that: Old Man, so Old Man House the place remains today.

It's a homesite befitting a chief. A sandy beach scattered with sun-bleached clamshells edges the tide-swept waters of Agate Passage. (Suquamish means "place of clear saltwater.") Directly across is the northern tip of Bainbridge Island, and to the left a wide view of Puget Sound and the distant Cascades.

This was where a longhouse built in about 1800 of hand-adzed cedar slabs, the largest known Indian house in the region, served as home, fortress and festival hall for Chief Sealth and thousands of others over a period of about 60 years.

I lunched at a picnic table, watching boats scooting through the pass and visitors playing in the sand. Anne Jackson of Seattle and a visiting friend from California, exploring the park with two small children, had just come from the chief's grave.

They were interested in the offerings visitors had left on his grave: a teddy bear, feathered decorations, even an unopened bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino.

Would Chief Sealth drink Frappuccino? Well, the coffee capital of the world was named for him, and he was human like the rest of us.

"I would personally want one if I were in the ground," Jackson mused.

Shopping op: The Suquamish Museum has a small gift shop with artwork and CDs by tribal musicians. I bought a notepad decorated with tribal designs: $3.75. The museum is south off Highway 305 about a half-mile west of Agate Passage. See www.suquamish.nsn.us.