The approach of Autumn

To be honest,  Fall is one of my favourite seasons. I was born and lived in California till I was 14 years old before moving to Vancouver Island with my folks, epochs ago. In California the days were, and I venture to assume are still, warm with regularly clear skies for most of the year. If you wanted to see snow you went to Big Bear or Lake Tahoe. I lived in Huntington Beach.

The trees on our streets never dropped a leaf. If it did the tree was probably dying. And flowers seem to continually bloom. The rare occurrence when rain fell in southern California, and after the skies cleared, I would only then notice clean, clear air. The smog would be rinsed from the skyline for a short while. I could see the details on Saddleback, the highest mountain peaks in the Santa Ana Mountain range. Better still, sometimes I could even see the crown of Mount Shasta poking up on the horizon from Northern California.

When I moved to Vancouver Island in the summer of 1973 I was completely blissed out when my first autumn came and the leaves changed colour and let loose on the wind, carpeting the roads and yards. The smell of autumn was a new thing for me. Rich and voluptuous, and layered. Cool fresh mornings and burnished evenings, blustery days with gusting winds. Love it.

And as autumn deepens in to November and December I’m loving it still.  If there is a snowfall in the mix, then I’m excited and invigorated by it. Even when I had to commute to work by boat, then car. Snow fall here is a novel happening. It might only last a week or two, so even a die hard from Ontario has no grounds for complaint. But sometimes they still do. I’m naming no one. Bob.

January is another story.

Although I just got home not long ago from a busy summer, in another week I will be making one more drive back to Salmon Arm to get together with family for Thanksgiving and to celebrate my granddaughter Saylor’s second birthday. Then life will come down to a simmer when I get back. Well, I would say rather, life will turn inward. For me, I have writing I want to – need to do, and also get to work on some painting in the studio I have yet to fully engage in. It sits downstairs waiting.

Autumn is the perfect time for these kinds of things.

 

 

 

Home Again, Home Again Jiggety Jig.

Finally home from the drive back east visiting relatives in Georgian Bay, Ontario, and then my month long stay with my daughter and her new baby in Salmon Arm.

We left home July 19th and it’s good to be back to my little island rock in the Nanaimo harbour. But, in true island fashion/frustration, there was a hitch getting here.

It was 9:00 pm when Bob and I got off the B.C Ferry from Vancouver, and its monsoonal rainfall. We got  to the marina where we dock our boat and unloaded all our gear from the car down the dock ramp and into our boat, then drove the car over to our parkade a block away, walked back to the boat, jumped in and Bob turned the key to start the 50 hp outboard- and nothing happened.

Dead battery. Probably caused by the bilge pump sticking and not turning off after it had pumped all the water out that had collected in the boat during our time away.  Bob let out some pretty (in)decent expletives as I check the time and said it’s 9:55, the Dinghy Dock Ferry to the island (and home) is at 10:10.

We have to make that boat. Bob swore some more. So a mad dash back to the parkade, retrieve the car, drive back to the boat basin, reload our bags into the car, drive back to the parkade to re-park the car, and hustle down to the ferry landing.

We made it. And once on the island, and relief set in, the tranquil 20 minute walk to our house from the little ferry was a pleasant homecoming.

Yesterday Bob took the Dinghy Dock Ferry back to town, dropped our dead battery off at the battery shop to recharge. Today, both of us taking the little ferry, we picked up the now charged battery and put it in our boat, along with all our luggage from the car, and the three bags of groceries we bought. Now everything is home!

What’s missing in my feature photo is what we couldn’t carry ourselves and had left at the dock head. A bag of potatoes, two coolers, a big bag containing my coats, and another containing two pillows. Bob was off with our wheelbarrow retrieving them.

We are still thinking of getting a small truck for over here. But then where’s the strain and exercise with that?

So goes island life. It’s not without its worthy efforts!