More from the BC Scrapbook…
From a remote gulf island where about 1,200, self-reliant, human inhabitants enjoy summer gardens, blackberry pie, sunset picnics, and a good laugh.
Keeping it all in perspective.
Rest a spell, just right there, on the side of the road.
Last public washroom on the trail to the village.
Though I’m home from summer adventure, I’m still reflecting back on our family’s recent travels. Our time in British Columbia was especially dear to me, as I was returning to that land after 17 years.
I was 23 years old when I sailed away from one of BC’s remote islands in the Georgia Strait. A piece of my heart was left imbedded in the forest there. Tucked in the loam, surrounded by Arbutus, lapped by the calm sea that sheltered purple starfish and white swans. While my subsequent years may have been graced in paradise, BC has always gently tugged my tethered heart.
Returning was a dream-come-true. Being accompanied by my husband and ten-year old son was meaningful, as they both are my life’s dreams, made real.
It was a reflection on time. What changes, and what stays the same.
I discovered that there still exists hotels with real room keys.
Beach finds can include a magnifying glass, just in case you weren’t looking closely enough.
And feathers abound on small islands, floating freely, without name, until you try to label them.
Here’s a sample from the BC Scrapbook.
Over the course of the last few weeks, my fingers have been doing more digging than typing. With a year-round tropical growing season, it’s never a bad time to put plants in the ground. And after six months of settling into our new abode, we finally felt ready for the garden.
With a multitude of projects on the Bohemian’s mind (banana patch, pineapple patch, water catchment, a worm farm, etc.), he’s turned the garden over to me. He’s always been the one in the family with the green thumb, so the endeavor has been a little daunting.
The only way that got me through the process of digging the beds was to chant a mantra to myself: “This is an imperfect garden. It will be full of mistakes.”
Thus far, however, the garden’s been holding at that rather ‘perfect’ stage. The phase when all of the plants are new and fresh, full of potential, and requiring only a daily watering. Their fluffy beds are still free from weeds, and the local pests have yet to discover the greenery.
Every day I’ve been watching the progress of the plants, and was thrilled to discover the first cucumber tendril taking hold of the fence. I felt like the mother of a toddler taking its first step. The evolutionary milestone being so fundamentally basic, yet seeming like magic.
Ha ha! Wow! It works! Just like that…
So far, so good. The little imperfect garden is growing along just perfectly.
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