Island Life: Riding the Storm

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!

Coming Home.

The road unfurls before me like a dove-grey ribbon, divided by dashes of yellow, winding through the trees. Sunlight filters through the canopy of pines, dappling the road ahead. Around each bend, the ocean glimmers against a periwinkle sky as the trees play peek-a-boo in green and blue. All of it a constant reminder of nature’s tender embrace. I inhale the scent of pine needles and feel the cool air on my skin as I drive with the window open.

I am falling in love with island life.

This island, just 14 kilometers long by 4.2 kilometers wide, holds me close. The sea is always near, a comforting presence amidst the lush green landscape. Behind me, as I drive, the road seems to narrow and disappear, like a thought drifting away on a cloud, carrying with it worries and woes, fears and trepidations.

And like the road disappearing into the trees, the daily routines of my former life fade into memory as I fall under the spell of this island in the sea.

There is a rhythm to island life unique to those who live here. I am slowly discovering mine. Even my morning routine – the familiar comfort of the NYTimes puzzles – feels infused with a new sense of peace. I feel my desire to create and contribute returning, my desire for calm rising like the tides, ebbing and flowing with the moon and stars.

I am of the wind. The waves. The trees swaying. The birds soaring along the water’s surface. I am the wild waves crashing. The calm seas rolling. I am the one I’ve always been searching for.

I am coming home to myself, to the me I’ve fought so hard to discover beneath the detritus of life’s tugs and pulls. In my homecoming, I find myself firmly planted in my being, all of me, no matter how fierce the winds around me blow.

In this place there is no need to rush about, to achieve and do more, be more, have more. There is only the sea’s constant urging I let go and be part of the ebb and flow of life unfolding like the road before me.

Will the romance ever end?

Will the romance of taking the ferry ever fade? Will island life ever grow old? These were the questions swirling in my mind as I returned from a day trip to Nanaimo with my sister. A fellow passenger, J., assured me with a knowing smile, “Never. I still feel the thrill after all these years.”

J., a long-time resident of Gabriola, perfectly embodies the warm and welcoming spirit of this island. Like C.C. and me, she moved west from Calgary, seeking a different pace of life. After island hopping amongst several Gulf Islands, she finally settled on Gabriola. “They are all beautiful,” she said, “but Gabe holds a certain charm.”

It’s a charm I’m quickly discovering myself. From the friendly conversations on the ferry to the shared knowledge about everything dog related including the 411 on Friday morning community dog walks on the beach and Friday night darts at the Golf Club. There’s a strong sense of community here, a feeling of community woven through every interaction. Even the intricacies of garbage day – a topic of surprising importance on the island – reveal a unique connection to place and a respect for the environment.

Like so many people I’ve met here, J.’s story, with its reflections on aging, resilience, and connection to nature, adds another layer to the island’s allure. Her invitation to join her on a walk with her horses speaks volumes about the openness and generosity I’ve encountered in everyone I meet.

It has been just over two weeks since C.C. and I rolled off the ferry to take up residence on the island. In those few short days, Gabriola has begun to weave its magic. The initial romance hasn’t faded; it’s deepened into a sense of belonging and a growing appreciation for the island way of life. And, like J, I am holding on to the romance of taking the ferry as my heart settles into finding myself at home here at the edge of the sea.

Island Life. Slow and easy does it.

The View From Where I Sit

Island life is a slow, easy pace. The biggest decision of my morning here at my sister and brother-in-law’s on Gabriola Island is whether to have coffee on the north deck or the south.

Decisions. Decisions.

This morning, I added one more decision. To take the seaplane from Silva Bay to the south terminal in Vancouver, (20 minutes + half hour transit) or, two ferries (4+ hours).

Seaplane won. Simple. Direct. And bonus. I get to spend the day exploring the beaches of Gabriola before returning to Vancouver.

This trip is unplanned insofar as my schedule is determined by my daughter’s needs for childcare as she settles into a new job and juggles work, family, and a nanny 3 days a week.

Tomorrow, Thurlow, my grandson, and I will spend the day together.

Colour me excited!

It is the most precious part of this trip. To spend time with him without adult supervision (I’m hoping my daughter doesn’t read this as she might get a little perturbed by my suggestion that time with my grandson is all about being a child at heart!) 🙂

Before I left for Gabriola on Monday, my grandson and I walked to the park at the end of their street for playtime. Apparently, an hour walk was a bit longer than my daughter anticipated. When my phone rang and I answered, she advised me I needed to get back.

But he’s not ready to leave yet, I told her.

She suggested I pick him up and carry him home.

I don’t think he’ll be happy about that, I replied.

I didn’t pick him up but we did manage to wander home in time to meet the nanny.

It is perhaps one of the greatest joys of being a YiaYa. Not feeling the pressure and responsibility of time, schedules and disciplined structure. It’s why I like my name ‘YiaYa’.  There are no-no’s where my grandson is concerned!

And on this trip, there is no need to create a schedule — other than to coincide with what works for friends and family whom I may be visiting. C.C. is looking at flying out for a week to visit friends on Vancouver Island. He’ll fly home and I’ll continue on my journey. Or he’ll drive back with me.

That’s the plan. And that’s the beauty of the plan. There’s lots of room for change!

Namaste.