Nudged to hyperbole

Sunday really, finally, felt like spring. She put on a lovely spaghetti strap sundress with a modestly low cleavage and some platform sandals to show off her pink toenails. She was lovely enough to make everyone smile who spent any time with her. She smelled good too.

Scout and I went for a new (to us) hike at the southern end of the island. It was into and through the last piece of land anywhere in the Gulf Islands that still "belongs" to the first nation people. The signs addressed to "Friends" ask for just a modicum of respect for this land -- all within the bounds of commonly understood, decent behavior. They did not ask that Scout stay on a leash. In grateful response, he did not walk through the alter in the middle of the fir grove, but strode around it, turning only once to sniff at the shells amassed on the edge, declining to lift his leg.

We went through the fir, down to the water, up into the massive grove and then down again to the water. We ended up just immediately south of the $1.1 million beach cove Ingrid and I discovered last weekend. I sat on the bench overlooking the water that I had admired from a log on the beach just to the north. The bench was installed, I gathered, by the people who live on the private lot adjoining the sacred ground and was rustically beautiful, all wood and stone and oozing thoughtfulness and noblesse oblige.

As deeply as I was moved to stillness, Scout was a dog recently furlowed from the funny farm. He ran and frolicked on humus, sand and sea. My heart kept gasping at the beauty . This place is 10 minutes from my cabin. Ten minutes. Just right there. A short drive on an easy country road. A drive without getting on a highway, paying a toll, sitting in traffic or breathing deeply to avoid screaming "Asshole!" at a ruthless driver.

When I was a journaling girl, I assigned a grade to every day. I was a depressed kid once I hit 13, so there were not too many scoring better than a C-. But Sunday, what with the sun, the warm, the happy dog, the pink toenails, the graciousness of people and this discovery, it was an A++.

PS. Scout and I both needed anti-inflamatories for our right knees. He took his. As usual, I refused. He may be aging more gracefully than me.

TT may be right

I mostly do not enjoy looking at pictures of myself. This has always been the case, but since I let my hair go grey, it is even worse. Amateur photographers and snap-shotters don't compensate for the wierd, shiny, halo thing that happens when light hits silver hair and then goes into the still photo lens. I mean it is just creepy and distracting. But on video, although there are still lighting issues, I don't really notice. I like the way I come across on video. There, I said it aloud.

Here is a greeting and then a tour.




Now I am going to put 4 pounds of chicken bones and feet into a stock pot along with carrots, onion and whatnot. I am making a big pot of golden liquid love. While that brews away, I'm heading over to Salt Spring Cheese for some fresh goat cheese and some aged sheep cheese. YUMM!

PS. Inviting people into my home is one of the best ways to motivate me to tidy up. You should have seen it before I turned the camera on.

Is it better to have loved and lost?

My friend Ingrid came to visit me this past weekend. I feel like we coaxed every drop of life out of the 69 hours she was here.

I was really excited on Friday morning both because she was coming for a visit, but also because she was coming by seaplane. We decided that a standing mixer full of bread dough sounds more stable than the plane she rode in on. But she made it.



It is here that I wanted to insert the video of her plane actually landing, but alas, I managed to delete it when I was trying to upload it from the Flip to the PC. Believe me it was very exciting - not deleting 5 videos, but the landing.

We spent a lot of time exploring, and everywhere we two Marys went the lambs were sure to be. Their silliness and shenanigans made us laugh and laugh.



This little mottled fuzzy guy was convinced Ingrid was his mom. She called and he came running down the hill. His bleet was the funniest thing we heard all weekend.



We ate good food (chicken pot pie on Friday night, Aushuk with lamb (!) and yogurt sauce Saturday night and noodles with lamb (!) ragu on Sunday night), we drank some nice wine and we sat quietly and looked at the scenery. We found some places like this one that we wished could be ours.





And then, as happens, this good thing came to an end. Boy was I sad yesterday.



I went to a meeting today. Remembered I had a higher power and feel much better for it.


PS. Even on a remote island in British Colombia, reality manages to intrude. That cove, $1.2 million Canadian, roughly $1 million US.

Casting call

I was reminded that since most readers have never been to SaltSpring, showing them video after video of the island, while interesting, is not satisfying the need to see me. Today, I commit to you to tape myself more, talking to you instead of at you. You have to commit to tell me I look good, like I may have even lost a few pounds. Deal?

PS. There is a particular similarity between SSI and SF. If you are not enjoying the weather, wait 5 minutes 'cause it will change.

Non documente

How the hell did this PMS make it across the freakin border? No photo i.d., no birth certificate, no documentation of any kind from a recognized governmental authority. It must have stowed away in one of the boxes I packed, counting the days. It wrapped itself up in a migraine headache for safe keeping. You know what I just realized don't you, there were two of them in that box. The other one is hiding around here somewhere, waiting with gleeful anticipation for the clock to strike mid-April.


The sun has finally set on what I hope is March's nadir. Because really, if tomorrow is worse, I may kick the dog.



PS. Strike anywhere matches are amazing. They will ignite if simply left, with say 100 boxmates, on top of a wood burning stove.

Three Reasons I Love SaltSpring Island

Jun, age 21

Today I went downtown, a name that conjurs an image that decidly mismatches the reality. But in any case, I was there. And so was Jun. I was just standing gently observing one of the harbors, basking in the afterglow of a sugar scrub and tub. --Note to self, DH has ruined me for showers. Must have tub.-- Anyway, back to Jun. I happened to glance left and saw this young man approaching me, certainly about to kill my buzz. I have become fearful of young men, with pen and pad who walk up and say "Hi. How are you?" But as I am discovering, I have some ability to control my reaction. While it is not immediate, it comes more quickly here on the island. I disconnected my ears from my shoulders and smiled and said "Fine. How are you doing?" And the shoulders relaxed and on went the conversation. For 20 minutes. At least.

Jun (his "fake" English name as he calls it) is on sabbatical from university in Tokyo attending an ESL school in Victoria. He is here on SSI for a month with a host family, further perfecting his english. His assignment every day is to walk around and talk to 100 people, learn their names and write down one new thing, phrase or comment in english next to their name. I was number 76 and it was just before noon. He had been very busy already. What a joy. We chatted about all sorts of things and I taught him "I bet" and "Sabbatical." He taught me that there are still places where fear is an inappropriate response to a young man in a big coat walking toward you.


Sunset From My Deck

Scout and I had returned home from the afternoon "stroll" (that is as funny as "downtown" but probably only to me). I had started dinner and turned to see this view out the back of the house. That clump of thinnish trees just to the left of center...I used to think they blocked my view. Apparently, they make it. This totally doesn't suck.



I Heart Lichen

Each day, one of the two walks we take is in the woods. There are some established trails and some travelled fire roads and some thinned out thicketed spaces asking to become familiar paths, so we help them along. This was shot from an area adjacent to the cottage. We'll be going there in a little while. After I talk with DH and before I talk with KP. Boy she must have been tortured at sleep away camp.


PS. Picking up hitchhikers, knowing it is safe, is one of the great secret joys of life. Service, encapsulated interactions and painless goodbyes.

Can't trust that day

So it took just under 2 weeks for the honeymoon to run its course. The pilot marriage has begun. It is the time when if you chose to, you notice the warts and habits and formerly charming pecadillos. It is the time when the real relationship and in my case, the real evaluation begins.

Wednesday and Thursday on the island are a lot like Wednesday and Thursday at home. I get up early, work and think very hard all day and wonder at least once, why it is I put up with this shit. I still contend that I have an amazing deal, but sometimes I think it is only because this pile of poo stinks less than others I know about. Once again, it is about cost and benefit and it is about understanding that I do have to earn money and apparently in portions higher than the average bear. This is the truth about me right now.

Mondays are a work day too, but given my love of Tuesday, Monday has a reflecting halo around it.

I want to talk about gossip. Is that gossip? What if I talk about people who gossip? Is that gossip? Well I found a few of them last night. You can so guess where. Makes me nervous. Especially now that I know there is one meeting a week on the island and 10 people were there. This doubles my intention to get on the right ferry tomorrow and take the short ride across the water to what I hope is the bay area type standard Saturday hootanany. I have hope. I hate gossip. There is just nothing about it that is any good. Especially in an anonymous program.

Today I will go visit quiet Briggitte. I imagine she is only quiet because Bruno seldom is. Funny thing though, he is one of those people who has a lot of interesting things to say, and it is not that I don't want him to share it all with me, but I do get tired listening. Not bored, not annoyed, just tired.

I have pistachios for Briggitte. When we met in October I asked her why her brimming plate of macaroons did not include pistachio cream. "No pistachios" was the sum of her answer. So when I visited the other day and told her I brought some for her, her eyes lit up disproportionately I thought, given her non-plussed attitude of yore. Seems between my visits she had, at the request of a store in Victoria that she supplies, discovered the joy of pistachios. Quiet Brigitte waxed for a full 2 minutes about the sublime quality of pistachio creme and how one could never fully comprehend the bliss until some of the subtle silky essence covered your tongue. But still, for Briggitte, it seems, there are no pistachios. I have to investigate this further.

This is one of her little treasures. She is on to something. I enjoy it while admittedly wondering how I can have some of what she has. A little shop, a superior product, low overhead and the ability to succeed when so many others on the island seem to fail at similar undertakings.

PS. I have discovered a new love of whole wheat pasta. Two years of brown rice pasta will do that to you. Apparently absence does make the heart grow fonder which means April 5th should be the start of a really good week.

Little Rays of Sunshine

Today is Tuesday, one of my favorite days of the week. No one owns me on Tuesday, except Scout who owns me every day. Rain, shine, snow or heat, the dog needs a long walk and he gets one.

I have found a new loop trail that leaves out of the end of the driveway. The first third is down Dubois Rd and is on actual pavement, but the car traffic here is nearly non-existent so it is still pleasant. After a long downhill, we turn west and head up a private road that barely says "Hello, good morning!" before it starts to kick my ass. The first time I mounted this beast, my heart actually hurt. The second time, today, I knew what I was in for and though I went no slower, my head was prepared and my heart caught up. My lungs are still not so sure.

I remember when I was younger listening to "old" people make jokes about how hills got steeper as they got older. "They may be right," crossed my mind, then I chalked up the intense challenge to altitude. ;-)

Scout is also changing. He still runs up the hill, but his recovery time is slower and generally passes out for a few hours after we get home. I find that his compulsion to tag every tree, shrub and post, as is his standard practice when he is a city dog, has abated here on the island. Two long pulls on the trigger and he is good for the entire walk.

I headed into town amazed at how much I still enjoyed the cold weather, even after all these years of blood-thinning life in SF. Frozen pot-shaped ponds with wooden stirring sticks jutting skyward reminded me of skating on the marsh adjacent to my childhood home. I wonder if anyone skates here, other than the rollerblading every Friday night at the south end town hall.

I had my first on-island date with my higher power at noon and for nearly an hour, charaded as an alcoholic. I was brain engaged and butt in chair for 55 minutes when the words "Ellen, did you want to share?" drove my mind clear out of my body, the room and the building.

Palms sweating, I confessed my primary allegience, haltingly declared my love for addicts and alcoholics everywhere and my growing commitment to use whatever part of the program, in its entirety, that could help me. I muttered something to the floor about feeling that these people were my community. Nods, smiles and encouraging "of courses" made their way 'round the circle, reconnecting my escaped mind with my body.

Sitting here at home, I remember 12 of their names and all of their faces. This is how I think about it: I have spent the last 10 days in a lovely, well equipped life boat with food, water and calm seas and faith that I would be fine. Today I saw there is land all around me and that whenever I need to go ashore, I can just paddle in.

PS. How ironic that the first non-Aboriginals to homestead this island were 50 free blacks from San Francisco and in 10 days I have seen nothing but white people.

I set my alarm and had plenty of time to make the 8:50 ferry to catch a 10 o'clock meeting in Sidney. I had decided to take Scout along thinking I would drive down, put the car on line and then walk him around 'til it was time to board. At 8:15 we drove down to a completely empty parking lot. Hmmm. According to the posted time schedule that covered Sept 06 until July 07 (!) the 8:50 was really a 7:50 or a 9:50 but certainly not the convenient 8:50 I needed. In what can only be deemed a blossoming change in attitude, I shrugged my shoulders. Welcome to the joy of island living.

I was awake, dressed and had hiking boots in the trunk so why not explore the island's southeast appendage and the only provincial park on the island. Translate, I could let Scout off leash and not fear a sheep farmer would mistake him for a wolf and shoot him. You think I am joking? You can't shear a dog and use his fur and you certainly can't sell him for $5 a pound, making him expendable if he wanders within 50 yards upwind of a farmer. While Scout's nappy haired body used to elicit questioning glances from 5 year olds who would often ask if he was a lamb,

it is now shorn short exposing the long snout of a vicious killer.


Since it was so early, and so the month of March, we had the entire place to ourselves. I took this video in the hopes it would continue to build the chain of evidence that I have not, in fact, lost my mind.


We came home, delightfully tuckered out and settled in for a little reading, writing and cooking. The sky was mostly clear but the cloud covering was starting to crawl over the ridge. I shot this video less than an hour after waxing poetic with Ingrid about the big blue sky.


It carried on like that for a couple of hours and left the entire forest covered with an inch of snow. We went for a short late afternoon hike and I remembered how much I love the crunch, crunch, crunch of fresh snow under hiking boots.

We wandered up near our neighbor Neil's compound and discovered a little shack of a building with smoke coming out of a chimney. The splashing confirmed what I had already suspected, Neil is a man who knows what matters. I can't help but wonder if the gift of homemade soup might lead to postings about bathing in a warm little shack amid the snowfall and cedars.

PS. Beware the daikon rotting from the inside out and remember that sometimes the vegetables in the store's bargain bin, aren't.

Friday was the day of errands. Like a nesting bird I collected things I needed to make this cabin my home. I combined the effort with a tipsy figure eight sightseeing tour of the island -- the figure eight, not me.

I started out a the bottom and headed up the right side stopping first at the SSI cheese company where David runs one of the most commercially successful food ventures on the island. He has been making goat and sheep cheese for a number of years and it is sold all over BC. He has the quality and the packaging down --citrus adornment on this, truffle infusement in that. The sheep were all about the place with their little lambs in tow. It is amazing that they really do look like the little stuffed animals but I guess less so given the toys are usually MADE FROM WOOL. I bought a chunk of chedder like sheep's milk cheese and a goat feta. On the road out I stopped to see David's chickens and I filmed this for my friend dk.

dk is an encaustic painter and specializes in chickens. you can see her work at www.dkhaas.com.

Next stop, Rendezvous patisserie, but I couldn't find it. How ironic. Rendezvous is a french bakery owned by Bruno and Brigitte whom I met at the farmers market in the fall. They sell yummy little sweets, tartes and crepes. I have some pistachios for them and I am hoping Brigitte and I can hit the kitchen and put them to use. I guess that means I will actually have to call them. Hmmmm.

Next ,off to Vesuvias on the upper west side where I was hoping to find an open sign hanging aside The Seaside Restaurant. I parked and was hit square in the nose with the smell of victory. Crunchy battered fried fresh cod with slaw, salad and chips. I let restraint rule and had just one piece but extracted a personal commitment from my superego to come here again next week.

On the way to my next stop, the Northend Farm, I found a road leading down to the water. I wanted you to see this.

At Northend Farm, 6 very large barking dogs charged the Subaru. Reason told me a merchant would not set free killer-dogs to greet the customers, so I opened the door. Sally had a freezer with 10 of the largest chickens I had ever seen. Stewers for sure. She also had lamb for sale at a great price so I stocked up. Like everyone else I have met, she wondered what I was doing on SSI. People seem genuinely interested in my process, though I imagine some of them roll their eyes as I walk away. But given that so many are here from somewhere else, I think mostly they wonder if my story matches theirs.

As I made my way from the top right of the figure eight I stopped midway home in Ganges to visit the natch and stock up on veggies, spices and other hippie dippie things, many of which came from Califormia. Made me wonder if i knew any of the farmers. Next time in, I am going to chat with the owner, a CA transplant herself, and find out who her suppliers are. At this time of year the only local veggies in the stores come from below the earth. I know they are growing greens here, but I am not sure where to find them. So for now, I am begrudgingly eating California grown. How ironic.

PS. It is important to support the local young artists on the island. I picked up this painting from Liam, age 6, for "0 cents please." It's entitled "Nana's house in the woods."

I had hoped to turn this adventure into a "we" trip, not an "I" trip by sharing videos of my surroundings, my thoughts and my new acquaintances. I have spent 3 days being technologically frustrated. Note to self, check not only the mainsail and the jib, but the rudder as well, before you push off from the dock.


I must admit that technology is not my strong suit (some will recall my inability to work my iphone camera feature due to my failure to remove the protective film covering the lens). Though, sometimes I fantasize that I am as technically savvy as I want to be. Like sewing or changing out an electrical fixture, it is all a matter of desire and some support along the way. Proper motivation also helps, say being on an island far from home with only a dog and a small cloth monkey I call C. George Johnson.


So this posting is dedicated to my peeps who pushed my boat off the dock and then paddled out to the floundering vessel to bring me the rudder. TT and IM, merci beaucoup. To you I commit to yet reclassify myself a technical wannabe instead of a technical idiot.


From my eye to my flip to my pc to youtube to blogger to you, through the lens of my heart...





PS. Today I was reminded to check the mental stability of the people pointing out who is crazy and who is sane, because afterall, everything is a matter of perspective.

Today I received an email from my friend Veronica. It was a link to this video on you tube.

It is both stimulating and suffocating and reminded me of why I am here, looking across 30 nautical miles, ok, maybe it is only 10, of water and rolling forest covered hills. I feel like a walk in the rain might wash off the crystalline energy drops that video left behind on my skin. Watch it when you have yet to consume your third cup of caffeine or you may spin right off the planet.

Today's lesson: Buy Canadian maple syrup, pass on the Canadian Feta Light.