Category Archives: Island Wonderings

In Lavender Fields

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Surrounded by the exquisite scent of 700 Lavender plants in bloom and serenaded by wind chimes and birdsong, my sister, Anne and I, along with 4 other women and the amazing Dar Yuill spun lavender into beautiful wreaths.It was a delightful afternoon of creating, chatting and celebrating our human connections and community.

And… I decided, just for fun, to write a song for the day and ask AI (I know, I’ve crossed over to the ‘dark’ side – but it’s really cool!) to put my song to music. And this is what I got! (Lyrics are mine)

And these are the complete song lyrics:

In Lavender Fields
by Louise Gallagher

In lavender fields where the sun sets wide,
Gentle breezes whisper tales of old.
Memories float like clouds in the sky,
Soft petals dance under the sun's gold light.

Oh, lavender fields, how you bring me peace,
With every breath, my heart finds release.
In your charms, I find the quiet ease,
Of simple days when life was full of rest.

Through the rows of purple, I create a wreath,
Feeling the warm sun caress my cheeks.
Each strand weaves a memory, each scent a tone,
Nature's melody, sweet and sweet.

In lavender fields, I let go and rest,
Where worries fade and calm takes hold.
In your gentle beauty, I find my best,
A peaceful journey, soul and fold.

Grace Unfolding

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You know those days where magic seems to permeate every drop of sunshine streaming through the air?

Those days where Orcas appear as you cross the Strait and sunbeams dance like fairies on the water?

Yup. Yesterday was one of those days. I do hope you come and revel in the beauty of it all! It was so exquisitely magical!

The video of my day is on my Substack HERE.

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News is full of worries and woes. I awaken. I open the deck doors, letting in the morning sounds: a sealion honking, birds twittering, an eagle cawing, the sea rolling onto the shore. I breathe deeply. Slowly. Softly. Contentment settles. My heart breaks open with delight. The news can wait.

News is full of worries and woes. I awaken. I open the deck doors, letting in the morning sounds: a sealion honking, birds twittering, an eagle cawing, the sea rolling onto the shore. I breathe deeply. Slowly. Softly. Contentment settles. My heart breaks open with delight. The news can wait.

I hope you pour a cup of your favourite morning bevvie and join me for a calm and serene morning reflection.

Grey on Grey: A Writer’s Walk

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I walk along the shoreline with Beaumont, my Sheepadoodle. He sniffs every blade of grass, every seaweed-strewn rock, his tail wagging in delight. I, on the other hand, am on a different kind of hunt.

My eyes scan the vast expanse of grey – the sea flows like breath, in and out, a constant rhythm of life. The steel-grey clouds swallow the horizon, the charcoal-grey ocean stretches towards the invisible shore. Beneath my feet, the ground is a muted slate carpet punctuated by the occasional glint of ebony. It’s a grey on grey world, mirroring the swirling greyness within my own mind.

But amidst this monochrome landscape, there’s a strange beauty, a sense of quiet power. It both calms and unsettles me. I breathe in the crisp, salty air, tasting the tang of seaweed and the faintest hint of pine. The soft January breeze teases a strand of hair from behind my ear. It tickles my cheek. With each step, I feel the tension in my shoulders easing, my thoughts beginning to settle like sediment in still water.

I walk and consume each step like a chef testing a pot of risotto, seeking the perfect balance between taste and texture. I am a woman on the hunt for stillness; a path back to the computer screen I have left mid-sentence, black on white words trailing off into empty space. Their storyline is not yet formed, their purpose not yet clear.

I left my desk frustrated, confused, even angry. Where is this story going? Who is it truly about? I thought it was the heroine’s story, but as it unfolds, painful keystroke by keystroke, it’s becoming something else. It is the mother’s story, her struggles, her complexities. The heroine is but a foil to her mother’s emotional turmoil and angst.

But I don’t want to write the mother’s story. She is an enigma to me. I want to write the daughter’s. The one whose journey parallels mine in insignificant and sometimes significant ways, but who also holds charcteristics of her own. She is not given to self-sabotage. She is not driven by fear. How can I write of the mother whose constant whining for attention leaves me shaking with grief.

Is the mother more me than the heroine?

This is where the muse finds me. She slips in with wraithlike grace, beguiling, provocative, whispering enticing tidbits of inspiration into my swirling mind before floating away.

Carrying tendrils of her words and images with me, I return home and heed her urgings to “write it out.”

And so it is.

And so a poem is born.

Lessons from a Tiny Tugboat

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This morning, I watched a tiny tugboat wrestle with a giant of a barge loaded with what appeared to be the castoffs from the pulpmill. At first, I wondered if an island mountain had risen out of the ocean overnight. But then I realized the island was moving, pulled by the tiny tug.

Sometimes, that’s how life’s many challenges can appear. Mountainous. Overwhelming. Heavy. Illness. Loss. Divorce. Those life events that can knock the wind out of our sails.

Are you the tugboat, straining and striving yet always focused on its destination, or the barge, at the mercy of the currents?

For the past few years, I have struggled with adjusting to my husband’s health issues. Constantly repeating, “this isn’t the life I envisioned for us,” only invited my critter mind to hiss back. “It’s the life you’ve got. There’s nothing you can do about it.” The challenge was to tap into my inner wisdom, to hear its voice above the relentless negativity of my critter mind: ‘This is your life. What are you willing to do about it to create beauty, joy and love in it everyday?’

Most days, I heed its invitation to take control, be in charge of my own life and how I live it. And then there are those days where I just want to stay in bed, the weight of it all pressing down like an anchor. On those days, I lament that COPD has stolen away more than just his ease of breathing. Gone are Sunday morning bike rides, the wind in our hair, our laughter wafting out over the hills as we coast along the trail. Our new norm has required me to adjust my expectations of our ‘senior years,’ to include less physicality while still holding onto connection and intimacy.

I’m learning that joy can be found both in shared moments and in solitary pursuits. It’s about staying committed to a rich life together, even when it feels like I’m carrying the weight of the world. But the truth is, we’re in this together. And when we stop keeping score of who’s pulling more weight, harmony finds us, like gentle waves lapping at the shore.

Like the little tug, I’ve learned to adjust my course, find new ways to connect, and keep moving forward, one small wave at a time.

What about you? What ‘barge’ are you hauling around, and how can you become the tug?

How to Journey to Stillness

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Tuesday morning, Sun shine. Fluffy white clouds tinged with grey and blue shroud Vancouver Island in the distance. Sea a gently undulating blanket, always in motion. Trees stand tall, branches still, their filigree network of needles pricking the untouchable sky.

In meditation this morning, the invitation was to ‘let your mind dissolve into the clouds’. I struggled with it. Struggled to find the stillness and spaciousness of nothingness. To imagine my mind as dissolvable.

I am attached to my mind and its constant yammerings and yawings. It’s incessant litany of thoughts and ideas tumbling around inside my head telling me, ‘that’s a good idea’. ‘what on earth were you thinking?, ‘you need to do more’, ‘you’re not enough’… and all that jazz.

Stilling the chatter has been a lifelong journey for me. Meditation is my gateway to the stillness, and calm, of letting my mind dissolve into the clouds.

Some mornings, my mind feels busier than others. When I began meditating, I started small. Even 1 minute of sitting in the silence is better than none.

Whether you’re a beginner, or a seasoned meditator, here are four ideas on how you can begin to meditate or to enrich your existing practice:

1. Start Small:

  • Silencing the mind completely is a lofty goal, especially for beginners. If you’re just beginning, start with just a few minutes of dedicated stillness each day, gradually increasing the duration as you become more comfortable. If like me, you go in and out of your practice, sometimes leaving it for days on end, always begin again and do not judge yourself harshly!

2. Focus on the Breath:

  • The breath is an anchor to the present moment. Especially as you begin to practice, pay close attention to each breath. In. Out. In. Out. As you progress, focus the sensation of each inhale and exhale, noticing the rise and fall of your chest or belly. When the mind wanders, gently guide it back to the breath. In. Out. In. Out.
  • Remember not to judge your progress, or the stillness of your mind. Stay, ‘open minded’. Curious. Calm.
  • Tip: To support your practice, try this counting exercise: inhale for a count of 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4.

3. Engage the Senses:

  • Connect with your senses. Take a mindful walk in nature, noticing the sights, sounds, smells, and textures around you. Or, sit quietly and savour a cup of tea or coffee, paying attention to the warmth of the mug, the aroma, and the taste.
  • Exercise: When connecting with your senses, close your eyes and ask yourself: “What do I hear? What do Ifeel against your skin? What do I smell?” Don’t seek the words to describe what your experiencing. Feel it. Don’t name it.

4. Embrace a Creative Outlet:

  • Engaging in creative activities can quiet the mental chatter and induce a state of flow. There are countless individual ways of experiencing this – painting, writing, dancing, playing music, gardening, or anything that allows you to express yourself and get lost in the process.
  • As a mixed media artist and as a writer, getting lost in the process of creation has taught me to ‘trust in the process’ . Time disappears, the world around me fades as I become immersed in the pure joy and wonder of allowing my intuition and creative essence to express itself fearlessly.

5. Acceptance and Non-Judgment:

  • It’s crucial to approach stillness with a gentle, non-judgmental attitude. When thoughts arise (and they will!), acknowledge them without judgment and gently redirect your attention back to your chosen anchor (breath, senses, etc.).
  • Remember: Meditation is a practice, not a performance. There’s no “right” way to find stillness just as there is no wrong way to begin again.

What about you? What do you do to stop the chatter and open the portal to your heart?

Don’t Let Fear Silence Your Song.

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I joined the Island Singers last night. It’s a choir made up of people of all ages most of whom live on the island and love to sing. I was blown away by the friendliness and the quality of singing. The group’s familiarity with each other and the music created a beautiful tapestry of harmonies that swirled around me, sweet and rich like honey.

For me, though, it feels intimidating to walk into a group of experienced singers—most can read music—and let my voice be heard. My musical past is… checkered. Let’s just say my father’s insistence I play the accordion, coupled with my own teenage awkwardness, didn’t exactly foster a lifelong love of performing. Even years later, when a kind soul at a songwriting workshop offered me her accordion, my fingers fumbled on the keys, stiff and unfamiliar. Too much time, too much self-doubt.

That songwriting workshop in the early 2010’s, was the last time I sang in a choir of any sort. Lead by Eric Bibb, the incredible blues musician, I felt myself wanting to shrink into the corner when first I stepped into the music studio where the workshop was held. Surrounded by 7 professional musicans, there I stood, notebook and pen in hand, but no long list of professional musical accolades and definitely no instrument by my side, let alone the several most had with them.

And still, the community of musicians held strong, like a symonphony of chords making sweet music. They welcomed me in, put me at ease and even supported me in performing on stage the song I wrote during the workshop which Eric Bibb had set to music, “Fear Lives in her Belly”. Standing there, singing my own words, words about fear no less, was terrifying. And exhilarating. It was a glimpse of that raw, vulnerable place where true connection happens. .

Which brings me full circle back to singing with the choir. I love to sing. Mostly stopped in my teens and then, two years ago, sang in front of 250 people. At that event, I sang the same song I’d sung when I was 16, the one that only earned me more jeers and pokes from my brother. His words, like tiny daggers, had pierced my fragile teenage confidence, silencing my voice for years.

So here I am, years later, walking into the Island Singers, my heart pounding a familiar rhythm of fear. Will my voice hold up? Will I hit the right notes? Will they judge my rusty sight-reading? But there was something else too… a yearning to let that vulnerable part of me breathe. And it was in that vulnerability that I found my voice.

Surrounded by people passionate about singing and sharing song and entertaining audiences just for the sheer joy of it, confidence soared like a high note, drowning out the whispers of doubt. And in its melodious song, fear melted away, leaving a space for the quiet courage of vulnerability to emerge.

As a fellow choir member reminded me, “Sometimes I completely lose my place and have to just fake it ’til I find it again. Just keep singing along, and if you forget the words, just keep your lips moving and smile. No one will know the difference. It’s okay to not be perfect. We’re all here to support each other and just enjoy the music.”

No one will know.

No one will notice my nervousness if I keep smiling.

No one will realize my mind is devoid of the words if I keep moving my lips.

And my heart won’t dance for joy if I don’t sing and let my voice be heard.

CALM Beckons

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The word that has found me for 2025 is CALM. Living here at the ocean’s edge, where the waves crash and whisper against the shore in their ever-shifting dance, CALM feels like a powerful anchor, a guiding star.

As I sat in meditation, contemplating this word, its essence seeped into my soul, hushing the clamour of my thoughts. CALM, I realized, is not a destination but a way of being, a gentle unfolding. For me, CALM represents:

  • Clarity: Seeking clarity in my thoughts, actions, and decisions, I invite peace to bloom within and radiate outwards.
  • Alignment: Aligning my actions with my values, I weave a tapestry of inner harmony.
  • Lightness: Cultivating a lightness of being, I allow joy and ease to flow through me like the tide.
  • Mindfulness: Rooted in the present moment, I create fertile ground for CALM to blossom and flourish.

Looking back on 2024, especially the whirlwind that followed our decision to leave Calgary and embrace island life, I recognize that CALM was often elusive. Amidst the chaos of sorting, packing, and moving, amidst the bittersweet farewells and the daunting unknowns, CALM took a backseat to the relentless demands of “getting it done.” In that frenzied focus, I lost touch with my inner sanctuary.

But now, I whisper, “Hello 2025.”

I am beginning anew. Beginning again to breathe in the salty dawn, to find the stillness within, and to radiate peace like the soft glow of sunrise.

Three months have passed since we arrived on Gabriola, though with visits to my loved ones in Calgary and Vancouver, I’ve spent a precious month away. As I reflect on this new beginning, I realize that two months is but a blink of an eye in the grand tapestry of time. I breathe deeply, releasing the anxious whispers that urge me to “settle in” faster, to do more, to be more.

My monkey mind, ever restless, has been chattering lately, insisting that I “get more done,” that I “get focused,” that I “get cracking.” But the truth is, I have accomplished much in these three months. Our home is cozy, most of the boxes are unpacked, and a sense of belonging is slowly taking root.

I adorned our home with festive cheer, baked cookies and cakes, and crafted small gifts from the heart. I even wrote two short stories, now whispering to be edited, and rekindled the flame of a book begun during my Irish adventure in the fall of 2023.

A dear friend once gently suggested I be kinder to myself, that I release the unreasonable demands I place upon my time and energy. At the time, I laughed, quick to assure her that I was indeed kind to myself. But in this nascent year, in this embrace of CALM, I recognize the wisdom in her words. CALM requires me to let go of expectations I would never impose on another. It is an invitation to surrender to the gentle rhythm of life, to savour each day as the precious gift it is.

Hello 2025. I am here, present and ready to embrace you, with open arms and a tranquil heart.

_______________

If you have found your word for 2025 and would like to share it, please do in the comments below! Perhaps your word will inspire others…

Painted Sky (a poem to sunset)

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Painted Sky
by Louise Gallagher

Stretched across a cerulean canvas
crimson streaks dance 
upon Mother Nature's fiery palette 
burnishing the sky in gold and rosy hues  
of painted light playing 
hide-and-seek amongst the clouds.

Breathe, 
the golden hour whispers.

Shadows lengthen 
calming wind-tossed seas
as day prepares to welcome
night's embrace.

With each exhale, 
the day's woes ease 
tensions bleed away 
carrying off the bitter taste of past regrets 
like smoke drifting
upon the wind 
fading 
into twilight's hush.

Breathing, 
I step beyond 
the fading light 
welcoming in the mystery of darkness
falling
into the vast stillness of the stars 
whispering 
ancient secrets of eternity.

Island Life: Riding the Storm

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Monday Evening – The calm before the storm

The sea is a mirror, reflecting the tranquility of my Monday evening walk with Beau, my eager companion. I stroll along the shoreline, breathing in the sights and sounds and scents of sea meeting forest. Beau strains at his leash, his nose twitching at the salty air as he presses me to hurry up and walk faster. Perhaps he senses the stormy seas wrapped up in a ‘cyclone bomb’ predicted to descend upon the west coast this evening? In the words of Scarlett O’Hara, of Tara, “I’ll worry about that tomorrow.” On this evening, we stroll along the shore, watching otters frolic and a bald eagle trace circles against the sky. Who knows what fierce fury tomorrow’s weather will blow in with the wind?

Life here has a rhythm all its own. One day I’m elbow-deep in flour, baking Christmas cookies with a gaggle of laughing women (let’s just say my first batch of chocolate chip cookies, were unexpectedly, ‘Chocolate Chip Florentines’!). The next, I’m immersed in the vibrant local community, volunteering with the “Grug Huggers” who provide meals for Islanders needing food support.

My sister Anne and I are rediscovering our shared love for music and laughter, exploring the island’s theaters and concert halls. Sunday nights find C.C. and I swaying to jazz in a cozy pub, where we met Ken, an artist who welcomed me into his creative circle, and Kat, who introduced me to the Island Singers. Who knows, maybe Anne and I will even grace the stage again, defying our brother’s youthful pronouncements that the only stage we should be on is, ‘the first one out of town’!

Tuesday morning – There’s a storm brewin’

But island life also means facing the raw power of nature. A “cyclone bomb” is brewing, promising high winds and crashing waves. We’ve battened down the hatches, our generator standing ready to keep the essentials running. Wish us luck as we ride out the storm!

Island Living is pure adventure, especially in stormy weather!