Hi all,
First, a reminder that Monika and I are doing a drop-in writers’ group at the Sidney Library once a month. Next one is Saturday, June 17th at 1 pm. Afterwards we’ll head to the Small Gods Brewing Company around 3:15 for a drink to celebrate having written. All the information is here, and we’d love to see you there!
Next, I’m trying to remember where that cliché of English teachers asking students to write essays about what they did on their vacations comes from. I remember it in books and maybe movies, but I don’t think a teacher ever assigned such an essay to me.
A couple of weeks ago my mum and I went to Gibsons, on the Sunshine Coast, for a mini-vac. (I know that sounds like a very small dustbuster, but apparently it’s what some people call a small vacation.) I suggested a walk when Mum asked if I had any thoughts for what to do on our free day. I was thinking of the Difficulty 1 walks in the guidebook, along the marina or in the little city park. Mum asked which of two Difficulty 2 hikes I liked. We agreed on the Smuggler Cove hike just past Halfmoon Bay.
It was supposed to be an hour or so each way. We took a good 4 altogether, partly because we stopped to look at things and to read every informational sign that crossed our paths, and partly because we walked much slower than the younger more athletic types (younger than Mum, more athletic than me) who passed us in large numbers. That’s okay. We saw more than they did.
The first part of the trail was raised bridges over a strange landscape of drowned trees and spooky tea-coloured water everywhere. This, we learned via informational sign, had been created by beavers. We saw one of these beavers feeding on duckweed while we sat on a bench for rather a long time catching our breaths and watching baby ducklings. Some of those athletic passers surprised the beaver at their lunch, causing them to slap their tail and surprise the passers right back. They were walking too fast to see beavers, and as they disappeared into the distance we heard them wondering what the sound had been. They eventually decided it was a branch falling in the water. Mum and I felt quite smug to know the truth, although we were sad the beaver didn’t reappear.
Once we were moving again, we saw two garter snakes: one in the water who swam ribbonly (that’s not a word, I know, but that’s what they looked like) before they hid under a log. The second was a fine fat brightly-striped snake trying to cross the path. I saw this one first too, directly where Mum meant to step. I yelled “watch out!” (“snake!” might have been more helpful, or better yet “stay still – you’re about to step on a snake!”) and Mum made a truly delightful high whoop when she looked down. Don’t worry – she missed.
Then the terrain changed to forest with a little up and down going on, and sadly fewer benches. Two smallish mammals of some kind burst across the trail, rather exciting a dog (luckily following the leash laws) who was coming up to pass us with their people. Their people and ours discussed what these animals could be. They thought otters, but we thought not quite. Mum and I considered the possibility of weasels as we sauntered along, having been passed by the dog, but decided they were too pudgy. They were light brown with darker tails, quite quick, maybe about marten shaped. Were there Pacific coastal martens, we asked each other? Luckily our phones were in the car back at the trail head so we couldn’t google, and we got to enjoy the mystery.
This was when the trail became much more rocky and more uppish than up-and-downish. We were very happy to see the next bench, on a rocky promontory overlooking the cove and a bunch of sailboats. Beautiful.
Then it got even more uppish and the passers passed more often while Mum and I minced carefully, finding footholds among rocks and roots. While we were spending a lot of time looking at the ground we found a couple camas lilies and a bunch of seablush, two native flowers that Mum, as a native flower gardener, was happy to see. I, as a native flower garden spectator, was equally happy. Pictures were taken.
And then the return. Many many passers. But we were still (mostly) having fun, and then we were back at the car. We had the most delicious salami and cheese sandwiches ever – it was four or so by then – sitting on driftwood in a little bijou cove by the road, too small to have a name but big enough to house many purple and one pink starfish.
And that’s what I did on my vacation.
A note on they/theirs: according to a recent newsletter by Jill Margo which I loved, Jane Goodall says we should use they/them pronouns when talking about animals whose sex we do not know. That’s why the beaver, the snake and the dog are all “they”.
FROM THE SPIRAL NOTEBOOK
I was just looking at this poem from last fall. I don’t have a title for it yet – any suggestions?
Currently Untitled
A crane fly shimmies at the edge of the web, does the twist, escapes but the spiders on the deck are huge pregnant butternut squash with spindly legs and the webs cover everything but otters pile under the dock sinuous and salty and warm they like to play a game with the next-door dog where, if they win, he drowns but the roses are hanging on, pink and yellow fat with juice and promise I added two to a macramé hanging thinking they’d dry in place but they’re rotting, too much juice to die clean but staghorn something has turned to fire in the planting by the driveway long leaves dripping flame along spindly branches but there is smoke in the air from everywhere drought breeding conflagration but the ocean quenches my eyes blue and pewter and mother.
NOTES
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And thanks, as always, for reading.
Yours,
Kelsey
kelseyandrews.ca
I enjoyed reading about your epic walk! RIBBONLY! I love it.
I love your pictures and pronoun description!
I like "interweb" as a title of your poem. Thanks for asking! :)