My three days in Hornby were delightful. There was an upstairs room in the charming little house that I could have slept in but I choose to sleep out in the front yard in my tiny bivy sack. It rained a bit the first night, but the other two nights were warm with thousands of stars twinkling, visible between the leaves of a big old maple. It was amazingly quiet - with the exception of some unusually raucous crows, and a mother and her baby calf bawling over their forced separation, I could lay there for an hour in the morning and not hear a sound. It was quite delightful.
It must be a generational thing but my hosts who are of a similar age to my son and his wife, are not early risers either. They have managed to train their10 week old baby to follow the same sleep patterns as my West Coast grandchildren follow. Late to go to bed and late to rise. I kind of like it in that it gives me an hour or two in the morning to read or write without others puttering around or me feeling the need to be social.
While on Hornby I went for a number of walks to the nearest "beach" or just down the road for 45 minutes because I was curious as to what was there. There were, while not enough blackberries on the bushes beside the road for a meal, enough to satisfy my craving. The air was warm, sometimes veering towards hot, but there was always enough of a breeze to make it feel comfortable.
The first night my host and I went to a winery just down the road where there was a reggae dance. Reggae is not my favourite type of music but the crowd was into the music and it was fun to watch the folks dance. There was a young man who joined the band with his trombone. I don't know if trombones are a usual reggae instrument but this kid was good and well worth listening to. As we drove home we talked about this specific musical genre, why it is important and how it has been carried around the world. I still don't get but I do appreciate the energy that it generates.
On one of the days we walked along a nature trail that followed the cliffs. Looking out in between the trees one can see Denman Island and then further on, Vancouver Island. It is interesting to note that while Hornby Island is quite hilly and of course Vancouver Island has whole mountain ranges, Denman Island in the middle is as flat as the proverbial pancake.
Hornby Island, while it is home to approximately 1500 permanent residents, is far busier than that. Hornby is a major tourist destination. What few stores and restaurants there are are focused on collecting as much money possible in the few summer months. There is of course that love/hate relationship between the locals and the residents. The two food stores, the paved roads, the frequency of ferry service and the income of many of the residents is a direct result of the visitors and their willingness to spend money. The fact that the beaches, the roads and the stores may be busier than one would like is a small price to be paid compared to all of the benefits.
Hornby Island, like some of the other Gulf Islands has created an image of itself that it sells to outsiders. It is an image of being somewhat laid back, relaxed, perhaps almost hippy like (this laid back relaxed atmosphere extends to having a nude beach). The tourist love it - perhaps because it is not really an act at all. Hornby struck me as a place that was pretty laid back.
Saturday, August 15, 2015
Thursday, August 13, 2015
On the Road Again 2015 Interim #7
I went to Hornby Island for a few days. There are two things about the trip that seem to stand out for me. One is that it is a very pretty island with lots of beaches, extraordinary views and nice people. Secondarily Hornby is incredibly hard to get to and from if you don't have money and a vehicle.
Friends from Hornby had invited me to visit them a number of times. As much as I wanted to visit, getting there always seemed to be too much of a hassle. However as they were in Vancouver on Sunday and heading back through Nanaimo, it seemed to be too good of an opportunity to be missed.
I ended up spending a couple of hours at the ferry terminal at Nanaimo. It is, quite frankly, not that interesting of a place to spend a few hours in or around - except for the people. The terminal was quiet for an hour and then as it came close to when the ferry was docking/leaving things got a bit more exciting. It was specifically interesting to watch people running towards the ticket terminal with seconds to spare. It was even more interesting to watch their faces as they found out that BC Ferries' policy of people needing to be there ten minutes before boarding time was being enforced. Some of the people who had missed that cut off time by well over ten minutes were so angry. They would tell anyone within earshot how unfair it was that they were not allowed to board. I wondered to myself if these were the same people who complained when the ferry was running late.
In spite of the entertainment provide by these unjustifiably angry want-to-be passengers, I was glad when my hosts-to-be texted me saying they were just about to disembark and where was I waiting (any comment as to my inability to text quickly or accurately would be woefully inaccurate no matter how many words I used to describe my fumbling).
Buckly Bay is about 90 minutes north of Nanaimo. It is a small harbour whose only function is to provide a brief home for the ferry that goes to Denman Island. While that ferry uses diesel oil to power its way across the narrow channel, by next year there will be a ferry that is winched across using a thick cable. From the little I have read about the proposed ferry, the users of the present system wish that some other community were used for the experiment.
During the short 15-20 minute ride across the channel, all of the locals get out of their cars and continued the conversations that started while waiting for the ferry to load. Then they get back into their vehicles, disembark - drive across Denman Island which takes ten or fifteen minutes, get on another ferry for an equally brief ride and then disembark again. The whole trip takes just another an hour. I suspect they spend at least a third of that time driving or loading and unloading. If one doesn't know anyone, or is not brazen enough to ask for a ride, one could easily be stuck on Denman Island for an extended period of time. As far as I could see, there was little to do see or do on Denman Island. It is just a flat little island that is stuck between Hornby and Vancouver Islands. Of course there could be more to it, but I did not see it.
Friends from Hornby had invited me to visit them a number of times. As much as I wanted to visit, getting there always seemed to be too much of a hassle. However as they were in Vancouver on Sunday and heading back through Nanaimo, it seemed to be too good of an opportunity to be missed.
I ended up spending a couple of hours at the ferry terminal at Nanaimo. It is, quite frankly, not that interesting of a place to spend a few hours in or around - except for the people. The terminal was quiet for an hour and then as it came close to when the ferry was docking/leaving things got a bit more exciting. It was specifically interesting to watch people running towards the ticket terminal with seconds to spare. It was even more interesting to watch their faces as they found out that BC Ferries' policy of people needing to be there ten minutes before boarding time was being enforced. Some of the people who had missed that cut off time by well over ten minutes were so angry. They would tell anyone within earshot how unfair it was that they were not allowed to board. I wondered to myself if these were the same people who complained when the ferry was running late.
In spite of the entertainment provide by these unjustifiably angry want-to-be passengers, I was glad when my hosts-to-be texted me saying they were just about to disembark and where was I waiting (any comment as to my inability to text quickly or accurately would be woefully inaccurate no matter how many words I used to describe my fumbling).
Buckly Bay is about 90 minutes north of Nanaimo. It is a small harbour whose only function is to provide a brief home for the ferry that goes to Denman Island. While that ferry uses diesel oil to power its way across the narrow channel, by next year there will be a ferry that is winched across using a thick cable. From the little I have read about the proposed ferry, the users of the present system wish that some other community were used for the experiment.
During the short 15-20 minute ride across the channel, all of the locals get out of their cars and continued the conversations that started while waiting for the ferry to load. Then they get back into their vehicles, disembark - drive across Denman Island which takes ten or fifteen minutes, get on another ferry for an equally brief ride and then disembark again. The whole trip takes just another an hour. I suspect they spend at least a third of that time driving or loading and unloading. If one doesn't know anyone, or is not brazen enough to ask for a ride, one could easily be stuck on Denman Island for an extended period of time. As far as I could see, there was little to do see or do on Denman Island. It is just a flat little island that is stuck between Hornby and Vancouver Islands. Of course there could be more to it, but I did not see it.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
On the Road Agan 2015 Interim #6
I have for years whenever I left the house worn two necklaces. One necklace has been very visible. At least once a semester one of my more courageous students would ask where I got the stone from and surprisingly, store clerks frequently comment on it. Whenever I have time I am glad to share the story of where the stone came from and why, I somewhat compulsively, wear it all of the time ( the short story is that the stone comes from the B.C. beach where I found my son - he wasn't lost, I just didn't know where he was; the long story involves two separate trips across the country, a man named Reg and some angels).
The other necklace has been far less visible. In fact, I suspect that most of the people who know me, never knew that I had a small red necklace fairly high around my neck, well under my beard. I got the small, irregularly shaped meteorite at the International Rainbow Gathering at Maniwaki, Quebec in 2004 from a elder of the Quebec Family. His long dreads were gray, his skin dark and his English was limited. Every day for the twelve or so days I was there he and I met somewhere on the trails and shared a few words about the weather, the food or the numbers of eagles that had been seen flying overhead. Somehow this temporary connection became very important to me. Certainly on more than one occasion, when it was getting towards dusk and we had not met, I went and looked for him. Just before I left to return back to Ontario, he gave me two stones, meteorites from a field in Mexico. One of the stones is just smaller than a tennis ball. It sits amongst my other treasures on my grandmother's wicker trunk. The other stone was much smaller. When he gave it to me, he told me to always wear it around my neck.
The stone is very irregular in shape. It took numerous tries for me to find a way to tie my macrame knots so that I would not lose the stone. As the strings became worn from the constant rubbing against my neck, I have re-made the necklace three times in the past 11 years.
This past weekend that necklace fell off of my neck while I was at a Pow Wow. I don't have a clue where it happened. I didn't even bother to go back to look for it. The grass was too long, there were lots of people there and I had wandered around the grounds for over two hours. It is not the first time that it has become undone (or more likely it was never done up properly in the first place) but every other time I have felt it become lose or heard it fall. In the past few week this coming undone has happened more than a few times. It is almost as if it was telling me it was times to let go.
I keep on telling myself that the person found it, liked it and that they will wear it for while before it gets passed on to someone else. I keep on reminding myself that eleven years is a long time to own a stone, and that it was well past time that I gave up at least one of my compulsions or obsessions. I know in my mind that no one ever really owns a stone - that they are lent to us for awhile before they must be returned to where they came from or at least passed on to someone else. But I miss wearing it. I miss knowing that it is there, around my neck, hidden from the world like some ancient good luck charm only visible to the Gods.
Perhaps most of all, I am afraid that losing the stone means that I will forget about that magical Gathering and my somewhat tenuous connection to the elder with the grey dreads .
The other necklace has been far less visible. In fact, I suspect that most of the people who know me, never knew that I had a small red necklace fairly high around my neck, well under my beard. I got the small, irregularly shaped meteorite at the International Rainbow Gathering at Maniwaki, Quebec in 2004 from a elder of the Quebec Family. His long dreads were gray, his skin dark and his English was limited. Every day for the twelve or so days I was there he and I met somewhere on the trails and shared a few words about the weather, the food or the numbers of eagles that had been seen flying overhead. Somehow this temporary connection became very important to me. Certainly on more than one occasion, when it was getting towards dusk and we had not met, I went and looked for him. Just before I left to return back to Ontario, he gave me two stones, meteorites from a field in Mexico. One of the stones is just smaller than a tennis ball. It sits amongst my other treasures on my grandmother's wicker trunk. The other stone was much smaller. When he gave it to me, he told me to always wear it around my neck.
The stone is very irregular in shape. It took numerous tries for me to find a way to tie my macrame knots so that I would not lose the stone. As the strings became worn from the constant rubbing against my neck, I have re-made the necklace three times in the past 11 years.
This past weekend that necklace fell off of my neck while I was at a Pow Wow. I don't have a clue where it happened. I didn't even bother to go back to look for it. The grass was too long, there were lots of people there and I had wandered around the grounds for over two hours. It is not the first time that it has become undone (or more likely it was never done up properly in the first place) but every other time I have felt it become lose or heard it fall. In the past few week this coming undone has happened more than a few times. It is almost as if it was telling me it was times to let go.
I keep on telling myself that the person found it, liked it and that they will wear it for while before it gets passed on to someone else. I keep on reminding myself that eleven years is a long time to own a stone, and that it was well past time that I gave up at least one of my compulsions or obsessions. I know in my mind that no one ever really owns a stone - that they are lent to us for awhile before they must be returned to where they came from or at least passed on to someone else. But I miss wearing it. I miss knowing that it is there, around my neck, hidden from the world like some ancient good luck charm only visible to the Gods.
Perhaps most of all, I am afraid that losing the stone means that I will forget about that magical Gathering and my somewhat tenuous connection to the elder with the grey dreads .
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