It is morning. The sun is bright. I wake up
throwing on my terry cloth robe, and descend the stairs from our yurt. The
weather is warming lately. It is as it used to be, as I remember those summer
days, bright sunny mornings and roasting afternoons. The rain has subsided. I click
on the coffee maker. The day begins. The smell of fresh coffee begins to
permeate the air. I breathe deeply, look around and welcome the day ahead.
Neighbourhood dogs have eaten from the
bowls filled with dog food left from days before. The birds are busy in the
trees. Their communication has become an expected part of our morning routine. Squirrels,
playing high up in the trees, bombard the ground with pinecones. I stop to
listen to it all in awe as the wind blows gently through the trees.
This morning we are making the 10:05 ferry
into town. Nanaimo is the closest town from Gabriola. We need to go there
whenever we have to purchase something big. Our refrigerator has conked. The
ruthless sun shining on its’ outside walls during the last 6 years has created
an early demise. Our new fridge is stainless steel so the reflector action
might make a difference. Outside living requires new approaches to old ideas.
On our drive to the ferry I watch the
active ocean. Fluffy clouds, the colour of milk, swim across the bright blue
sky. It’s another clear day! Several cars pass as we travel. The drivers casually
lift their hand from the steering wheel in greeting, sometimes offering a
gentle smile as we pass. Runners and bicyclers of all shapes and sizes line the
right side of the road. They (and we too) are hugged by the tree-lined roads. Smiles
and serious expressions are noticeable.
We stop at the local coffee shop, Mad Rona’s,
where the coffee is hot and delicious and the various sandwich choices usually
make me hungry. We’ve packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to have with
our coffee so I refrain from ordering the sausage, egg, goat cheese, pesto,
tomato, spinach and aioli breakfast sandwich. Geez, I wish I didn’t pack peanut
butter and jelly!
We joke with the people in front of us in
line. It’s early still and it seems that sunshine outside fills the hearts of
the people inside. People on Gabriola seem happier. They smile, say good
morning and often stop on the road just to talk. Time is different here. There
seems to be time to embrace the simplicity of lifes’ opportunity. A chance to
speak with a friend. Sitting outside in the sunshine with a delicious cup of
coffee. Verbal reminders of appreciation for the glorious colours of the
natural world. I see friends sitting outside at Mad Rona’s. I stay and chat for
a while. Friendly and amiable, there is time to say hello and chat. I feel a
comfortable sense of belonging.
The ferry line-up is reasonable and there
is no doubt we’ll get on with our vehicle. Living on an Island means that we
need to plan according to the ferry schedule. At certain times of the day, or
even on certain days, it’s necessary to get to the ferry way ahead of its
departure time to ensure you’ll get on. Otherwise, it’s necessary to wait for
the next ferry. People who commute to work remain constantly mindful of getting
there on time. I would guess “I couldn’t get on the ferry” just doesn’t cut it
when creating excuses for the daily trek to the office.
Our time in town is intentional and
focussed. We are both eager to complete our chores and make the earliest ferry
back to Gabriola. With carefully created lists we plow through our tasks.
On the ferry home, the cars line up
transporting families and friends over to the island to celebrate the long
weekend. I see their happy faces and their relief about having a long weekend
ahead of them. I don’t mean to be smug. I want to embrace our visitors. I feel
grateful that I get to stay past the weekend. This is my home. Paradise. That’s
where I live. On a small island.
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