Poof

I am sitting in my kitchen. The big one. The one with the incredibly beautiful myrtle butcher table and stainless steel counter tops. The one with the 6-burner stove of my most wished for wish and a view of a back yard garden full of potential. I love potential. I can hear the hum of rubber on asphalt through the open back door. It comes and then goes in syncopation with the traffic light on my corner.

I have emptied the car and then the boxes. Most everything has found its way back into its place of origin. Most, not all. I have to finish this evening. I don't want this hanging over me. I don't like clutter, it really offends me.

Day one of the trip was not as they say, clear sailing. You see, I have this sense that rules and laws don't apply to me. Not only Human Laws, but the laws of nature and physics as well. I needed a ferry at 7:50 on Sunday morning, so of course there would be one. Did I take the simple step of looking at a sign on Saturday afternoon when I was right there or read the schedule I keep in my car or look it up on the internet while sitting right there on my ass? No, I did not, because RULES AND LAWS DON'T APPLY TO ME.

Well, this mild case of insanity dashed the plan to be on the mainland in Washington and heading south at 12:30. It just fell away like the "Except Sunday" sign in my rear view mirror as I tore out of the first ferry launch area. I jackassed my way to another SSI ferry terminal waited an hour for the 9 am and then tried to beat the laws of physics by driving 35 miles in 40 minutes through traffic light filled suburban Vancouver Island traffic. I gave up with 15 minutes til launch and 15 miles to go. I ended up driving back north to catch an 11 am ferry to Vancouver which would add 2+ hours onto my mainland drive. Too bad I missed it by 5 minutes and ended up on the 12. Add 4 hours plus 2 more for hitting the mainland in Vancouver instead of Port Townsend, Washington. I made it to Eugene close to 10. Thankfully I had plenty of snackrels.

Monday was easier. Malcom Gladwell and his outlier theory were incredibly entertaining. I was so engrossed that when I abruptly swung out through the commercial truck lanes to avoid passing through the agriculture checkpoint to enter California, I was genuinely surprised. I thought it was a truck weigh station. Seriously, I swerved out right and went through the un-barricaded far right lane and just kept on going. Hmmm. This is the 21st century and perhaps they took a snapshot of my license plate. Hmmm. I pulled onto the shoulder and backed up 1/4 mile, got out of the car and went to face the officer who had jumped up and waved at me on the first pass. I denied having plants and fruit and animals and was back on my way.

The contraband now sits in jars and zip lock bags next to the mammoth apothecary jar on my counter waiting to be transformed into a SSI terrarium. I lied. I had plants in the car. I won't put them in the ground outside. See, I am a reasonable law violater type. I will arrange them artfully in this jar on my counter to keep my connected to the forest. Some day I will return them to their rightful place.

PS. Chinese food, lovingly and ravenously desired, tastes so, so fine.

Today is Tuesday the 21st. It is not yet Sunday the 26th, departure day. I should strike the "yet" from that sentence if I truly want to stay in the today, which right now is so very hard to do. It is beginning to feel like I can see the headlights of the car driven by the arms that will pull this island away from me. It is getting hard.

Today I said some goodbyes. I did not want to take a chance that I would miss some people on Saturday, so I stopped in their shops and said bye. The man and woman who run the little store that is filled with eastern pickles, sauces, lemongrass and kefir lime leaves and who have the happy meat and lovely sushi. They told me to travel safe and come back. The pet shop owner who thanked me for telling her so that she didn't spend time wondering whatever happened to me and then shared stories of emigrating and returning. She wished me luck.

I left a note for Carol of the Fish and Chips. She is off on Tuesdays as Dee and I discovered a couple of weeks ago. I had to have one more serving of the good stuff before I left. I was doubly blessed because the sun warmed the outdoor patio to about 20 centigrade and I was alone to watch the comings and goings of the Howe Sound Queen.

And I finally found Jana's. She owns my shop. High quality, terrifically executed baked sweets and savouries. Small batch, leaning toward the healthy. I enjoyed my cake and coffee while listening to the conductor, the bassoonist and a choral member laugh and chat about Sunday's concert. Right there, next to me. It may not have been hanging out in a hotel room in Ann Arbor with Steve Forbert, but they didn't smash the chandelier and rip down the curtains either.

So being Tuesday, I have an early and long day tomorrow. Time to call it a day. No "X" on the calendar, no tears on the pillow. There are still trails to hike and whales to watch and I need to be on the top of my game; balls forward and pores open.

PS. Nettle stings do not plump up your lips though they do make them quiver.

Life on "the rock" does

Wow. Such a day I had. Scout and I sat outside and had breakfast and coffee, my favorite breakfast in the whole wide world, bacon and egg sandwich on crusty levain bread with a cup of really, really good coffee. We sat on the back deck. I found the baroque music station on the tv and I cranked it. Then I turned it back down and practiced deep, long breathing.

About 10 a.m. we jumped in the car and headed over to a part of the island I love to walk around a semi developed area of woods, the place that includes that water-front lot on the cove that I fell in love with when Ingrid was here. We had walked about 25 minutes and I turned us to head back and then realized there was nothing I wanted to do more than keep walking on this exquisite day. So we did. We ended up on the north end of the first nation land I like so much (I wrote about it when Spring paid her first visit to the island) and where I go every few days. This time we came from the north. We stopped on the beautiful bench and I chatted with Dee for a while. Then we sat and watched the water and the snow capped mountains and the incoming tide.

This afternoon I had a ticket to a program of Vivaldi, JS Bach and Handel -two oratorios and one piece for two violins - by the on island classical group and choir "Bach on the Rock". They had brought in a couple of vocal ringers which really took it up a notch. It was in a small church and I had the center aisle seat in the front row immediately to the right of the redolent conductor which was mostly great, but at times I couldn't hear clearly through his funk. It was my first time listening to them and I have to say they were really good and when they came to the climax of the second movement of the "Messiah," I was as I always am, moved to near ecstasy.

As I write this and the sun is slipping behind the trees behind me, the neighborhood bats are zipping around the deck. I love bats. I think they are incredibly cool creatures. It makes me happy that spring is here and they have emerged and there are bugs for them to eat and get all fat and fuzzy. I'd have one as a pet if I could. Ten points to anyone who knew that about me before now.

Well, for now, I am avoiding two topics that may make it to posts this week; my looming departure and news that my honey is sick. I can't do much about either tongight, except ask for strength and grace for her and for me. So I do.

PS. Human beings are impressive, often. Mother Nature is awesome, always.

Journey around my room

That is the title of one of my favorite books. Netted out, man under house arrest manages to travel incredible distances inside the 4 walls of his parlor. I wish I could tell you who wrote it. I bet Mister Google could.

Why am I thinking about that? I think it is about this small island and what it means to be somewhere so compact. There are a few ways this comes to my mind, but before I go there I will cop to sounding like a woman in the early stages of dating who cannot believe that the object of her affection also loves walks in the rain and green tea.

You may have sumised that I lost my journal. I'm sure you are wondering how that happens. Well, it is my journal, cum shopping list book, cum stray factoids book and I have taken to carrying it with me wherever I go. It makes me feel grounded. I don't quite get it, but I am very attached to this beautiful book. I wonder if the lovely A knew how attached I'd be when she gave it to me? But I digress.

It dawned on me on Saturday that I had not seen the book since last Friday and no matter how hard I searched, it was not here. I lost sleep over this. It made me anxious. It was hard. Finally, Monday night, I did what I always finally do when I lose something, I prayed to St. Anthony, and even though I never reach out just to see how he is, he took my call. Tuesday morning, I phoned the grocery store where I stopped on Friday and viola, there it was with the silver pen still attached to the strap that encircles it. It felt to me like the smallness of this place kept that book safe and sitting there til I came back to pick it up. Like it was never ever in danger of having something terrible befall it.

And still the island is not too tiny. When I go out with Scout we are still finding new paths and routes and views. Maybe this is a result of there being an actual community which makes it feel small, but a lot of land and not many people which makes it feel huge. Mostly I still can't believe she also likes green tea.

And apropos of nothing, today it hailed for 20 minutes. Pea-size hail, like miniature moth balls. It was really something to watch because we don't get much hail in San Fran. They were a good size, not too big to be threatening and not to small to make this retelling unwarranted. I'd say they were twice the size of the black ants that are trying to set up house and shop in the cabin. Spring is here for sure once the ants come marching two by two. Hurrah.

PS. I was walking high up on the ridge road and quickly turned my head to check out the truck roaring up the hill behind me, only to hear the giggle of the wind.

Places, Roll em' and ACTION!

Some random moments of my time with Dee.

Warning! The following videos may be endearing only to those who love us.











And for the record, yes, her leaving made me sad, but a good sad, like I'll be all right in a few days sad. Sad in a way that should not suggest to anyone they need to call some authority and stage an intervention. I appreciate your worrying about me a little though. Much mush.

PS. Are the contents of a lost journal truly personal if your name is not in the book?

The return of faith

One of the things I struggle with is how to weave a group of disparate thoughts into a coherent post. Sometimes I don't try and just save some of the stories for another time. Often, that time does not come. So today, I am going to try for the comb-over weave and see if I can have you join me in pretending this thing flows.

A long walk in the warm gentle rain woke me up and put me right. Those walks before breakfast are both hard and enriching. The fatigue in my leg muscles starts right at the first small hill at the end of the driveway. It is here I remind myself that I need to eat something so my muscles have fuel, but some mornings I don't want to wait for the egg and toast and neither does Scout.

Worms. Worms live in dirt. They are both the instrument for healthy soil and the sign of it. They are every gardener's friend, whether you have a 18 x 18 foot yard or 18 acres. And while these wiggly guys live in the dirt, they still need oxygen to live. Weird, right? There is enough oxygen in the soil for them, that is until it rains. Then the water, which is only part oxygen and not in a form they can use, displaces the oxygen they "breath" which is why you see worms above ground when it has been raining.

On today's walk there were worms everywhere. I don't mean like 15 or so, I mean I finally stopped counting and started extrapolating. We walked for 30 minutes and I passed over 1,000 worms and 5 slugs of varying style and color. It got so that I had to look down to avoid crushing entire communities. I worried about them drowning, being run over by a car, being crushed by deer hooves and dog paws. Then I stopped worrying so much because there are not many cars out here and really, I can't spend 30 minutes of this day in fear for the lives of worms. But I did wish them safe passage.

The worms, who are mostly safe from tires, reminded me that I am living in the country. The country is the habitat of a mix of creatures. Our human brains make us the rulers, but our numbers and our drive to control are measured enough that we do not dominate. Cities, like Oakland for example, are the habitats of humans. Of course, we have a huge population of domesticated animals, but we can easily go days without encountering something not wearing clothes or a collar or both.

We have birds, but we have to draw them to us to spend time with them. And on those rare moments when we do see other animals, we likely refer to them as vermin. We don't coo and smile at the rats and skunks and racoons, we flash our porch lights and hope to drive them away. We build better bird feeders so the squirrels can't eat the bird bait. And when any of these interlopers refuse to leave our habitat, we kill them. Take that you unwelcome beast.

I guess what I am saying is I like dim sum, incredible carnitas tacos, mortadella that makes me swoon and avocados with tahitian pomellos. I just like living in the country more.

And finally, it is passeaster right about now. A time of faith and saving of souls. These are not my holidays, but I appreciate some of the messages. At this time each year, I like to remind myself that faith can be lost and it can be reborn again. We just need to indicate we are willing. So here is to Spring and the birth of another cycle of life.

PS. Necessity is, in fact, the mother of invention.

The Love Boat

I awoke Sunday prepared for a successful journey to reunite with my love, Dee. I spent the previous two weeks sorting out my feelings, fear, anxiety, glee and by Sunday morning I had gained the clarity I needed, I was so very happy she was on her way.

As I reminded myself the week before, and others reminded me as well, travelling to a new place on a journey that involves planes, buses, boats and automobiles, not to mention immigration and customs is not easy. The first time can be daunting, no matter how clear the directions.

The only travel hiccup involved the alleged smuggling of dog food into the country without a permit, USDA letter of safety and notarized blessing from the Pope. Part of that sentence is true. The border guards were unable to complete an inspection of the alleged contraband since the zipper of the suitcase refused to work. They waved her in anyway. Happy ending, no one in jail and food in paw. A chance for the Canadians to extend the hand of welcome, not missed.

They had a second chance a bit further in the trip --and grabbed that brass ring with a smile-- when I dropped/lost/misplaced, verb of your choice, our ferry tickets as we raced to board the 3 pm crossing and avoid the dreaded 2 hour wait for the next one. It was like they wanted to make a good impression on Dee. They asked if I had really bought the alleged lost tickets, I said "Yes," and he waved us on. Welcome weary traveller, we have been expecting you, here is a nice cup of tea and homemade biscuit to tide you over til dinner.

Dee asked that I remind viewers that gum chewing is a dirty, dirty habit. Just ask Violet Beuregard.




PS. Sometimes having someone witness your experience is all you need. Here's to the witnesses.

Wood that warms me twice

One of the questions I am sometimes asked when I start chatting with people is "Thrifty or CG?" Translation, do you shop at the on-island owned Country Grocer supermarket or the off-Island owned Thrifty supermarket. "The Natch" I say, eliciting a "Huh?" from them --and probably you. "Natch" is slang for the Natural Food Store (thanks IM). So now you get it, but many of them don't.


Why would I knowingly pay more for my food at the Natch when CG sells a bit of organic food and is also owned by nice island people. Easy, food from the Natch feeds me twice.


The owner of this Natch is a young woman named Carol, a transplant from California ironically, who is my Pizzaiolo of grocers. I walk into the place and don't have to ask about the ethics of this, or the growing habitat of that; it's all good. And during the weeks and months when the farmers have no Saturday market and few self-generated customers, Carol buys everything they have. Everything. She is the money in their pockets that helps ensure they are here each spring.

Today was the first day of the Saturday market, a celebration of the food and art of Saltspring. All week I have suffered trying to decide where to buy my produce for the next few weeks. Would I abandon Carol to buy directly from the farmers, or would I stay loyal to Carol, knowing the produce she sells will be coming from them?

So today, with my market bag in my decidedly chilly hand, I charged onto the Park Plaza to cheat on Carol. Right off, boom, a rapid ping pong of emotion as it finally sank in that snow in March means no local vegetables in April. At least not here on Saltspring Island. For now at least, and likely til I leave, I will be shopping for all my grocery needs at Carol's including the veggies from other parts of BC where they grow under plastic and from California.

Please don't tell Carol. I do afterall, have to face her on Monday, empty bag in hand.


PS. Sadly I was not able to find a scratch and sniff applet. The skunk cabbage in the photo comes by its name honestly.