Motoring or Sailing

I imagine that some people’s lives are like driving a motorboat. They have a destination in mind, they start their engines, and they set out towards it. They maneuver around obstacles, meet and surmount difficulties with relatively few diversions and a clear sense of direction.

Then there are people whose lives are more like sailing a ship. They, too, have a destination in mind, but in order to reach it they rely on elements over which they have no control, tacking and jibing, hoisting and reefing to wend their way closer and closer along an indirect and unpredetermined path, sometimes surprised by where their journey takes them. Their direction is governed by squalls of emotion and deep tidal currents they may struggle to read. But for the most part, if one attends to the wind and trims one's sails accordingly, the boat sings along.

This week for the first time since I landed in Ottawa I’m proud to say that I’ve had days when I have not cried. I’m finally able to find my way around on key routes and recognize landmarks – not easy in a city where roads change names and direction seemingly haphazardly. This growing familiarity means it takes me much less time to get things done. I have at times felt happy. Phew.

Then Friday morning I woke up and was overwhelmed by grief. I kept crying and crying and couldn’t feel a way out. I would get myself calm for a time, eat, take a business call, or meditate, but then the tears returned. Everything felt wrong. It was a beautiful fall day. I was supposed to go camping with my sister when she got home from work, but grief drowned any enthusiasm I would normally have for that. Deep mourning and confusion immersed me.

Just after noon, I finally forced myself to go for a run. How would I have gotten through this past year without running? I think of friends who are limited or debilitated by pain or illness and my heart goes out to them. Sometimes physical exertion is all that gets me through, the only thing that seems capable of shifting my mood or leading me to insight.

As I ran, the tears abated and the jumble of thoughts in my head finally fell into place. The day before two or three people told me that although they found moving to Ottawa difficult initially, they had now lived here for many years and loved it. They reassured me that whatever I might feel now, I would come to be at home here, too. At the time, I expressed relief and thanked them.

As I ran I realized that this was the source of my grief. I was having a violent reaction to the thought of making Ottawa home. Seeing this, I finally relaxed. “This is my life,” I thought, “and I don’t have to stay here. I can stay for nine months, a year, make the most of this time with Karen and her family, and then go back to the west coast.”

At this thought, I felt deeply comforted. I could now see the beauty of the day, appreciate everything good about Ottawa (and there is much of that). My enthusiasm for the camping trip returned. All was right in the world.

I guess I am not yet done with the west coast. I’m taken aback by the violence of emotion I have around that. I’ve navigated many changes in the past year, and I’m surprised that it is the idea of leaving the west coast permanently that seems the most intolerable. Yet when I honour that and think of this as a retreat rather than a permanent move, I am motivated to make the most of my time with my sister, nephew, niece and brother-in-law; to explore and appreciate Ottawa and environs and everything it has to offer. Things make sense again. I can ride this tack through Ottawa happily for a time, knowing my final port lies in another destination.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Greetings from Ottawa

Seattle was so good to me. It felt so easy to be back there with my classmates; so many people generously welcomed me into their homes and hearts again. My only regret was that my time at each place felt too short. Jolene and I explored birthday love signs and the U of W farmer's market; most of my graduating class congregated at Jessa's Vachon Island home Saturday for a barbecue and bonfire; Mary and Bruce swept me off to a rusticly beautiful bed and breakfast; Carol, Helen, Erica, Mary and I shared a great dinner Sunday night and then savoured Eat, Pray, Love together; Heather, Lauren, John and Brian spent a sweet and savoury evening at Katie and Tom's with me; Katie and I had some great conversations and spent a glorious afternoon hiking, swimming and sunbathing at beautiful Lake Twentytwo.

On my way back north to Vancouver, I stopped in South Surrey to spend a night with Joan Mara, a LIOS adjunct faculty member and fellow OD consultant. It was such a pleasure to relax, talk, and walk with her, meet two of her three sons, and get to know her better. I particularly appreciated her reading my Tarot cards by candlelight on her patio late in the evening. The images of the future, as murky as they were, felt comforting.

My time in Vancouver was very short. I wrapped up some business, had lunch with Craig, and -- finally! -- hiked the Grouse Grind. The Grind is a 2.9 km (1.8 mile) hike with 2,830 stairs up a 30 degree slope -- short but challenging! Although I was soaked with sweat and pushing myself to keep pace, when I saw the finish I got a burst of adrenaline and ran the last few metres. My friend and I reached the summit in 1:01:30 -- what a great feeling! And the view was astonishingly beautiful. I was so glad I did it before leaving the west coast.

After such a stellar August, it is perhaps not surprising that the return to Ottawa to finally set down roots has felt challenging. My sister, brother-in-law, nephew and niece have been super welcoming and very understanding of my moods. I'm very grateful to be staying with them; it would feel much harder if I were on my own. Other things that have been very helpful:

• my morning exercise routine, even on the days when I've practically had to whip myself to do it
• playing guitar
• lovingkindness meditations
• hugs (thank you, Aïsha!)
• having a cry when I need it
• making contact with people to whom I've been virtually introduced
• the two meetup.com outings I've been on: It's felt so good to get out, do something fun, and socialize with people.

Most of my attention this past week has been on getting somewhat settled and letting people know I'm here, interspersed with two great lunches with my sister. The theme of the coming week will be Finding Work. I'm sure it's also going to be a huge help to be employed again and focusing on something besides my little life. I am also going to start calling people on the west coast and doing a better job of keeping in touch.

I hope that you are all well and safe and happy. Please call or write anytime. If you don't have my new cell phone number, let me know and I'll send it to you.

Here's a quote I've been thinking of today. It's so far away from where I am right now, but nonetheless I find it helpful.

As a bee seeks nectar from all kind of flowers, seek teachings everywhere. Like a deer that finds a quiet place to graze, seek seclusion to digest all that you have gathered. Like a madman beyond all limits, go wherever you please and live like a lion completely free of all fear. - Ancient Tibetan text

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

August 20: Island Perspectives

Ah, border crossings. I’ve had some challenging ones in the past couple years – being asked to sit and wait on bench W without explanation and then accused of being a student for Pete’s sake; being asked one item at a time whether I was bringing guns, knives, bombs, apples, oranges, potatoes, drugs, gifts, merchandise, funds in excess of $10,000, or broken glass into the United States until I was teetering on the verge of sarcasm.

Today I was the last in a long line of bus passengers, having forgotten to complete my declaration form beforehand. I chatted with the young Norwegian couple in front of me finishing the final few days of their four-week Seattle-Vancouver adventure. The agricultural inspectors laughed and joked when I cheerfully declared my container of half-eaten hommous, and then to my surprise wished me a happy birthday. I’m now back on the rolling bus admiring a beautiful view of Mount Baker while listening to Boards of Canada’s “In a Beautiful Place in the Country”. Maybe this is my reward for earlier today praising Seattlites’ warmth, courtesy, and kind driving manners.

I have had such rich experiences on Vancouver and Salt Spring Islands the past three weeks, and want to say more about the happy side of those. At first wildlife sightings seemed rare, but when I tally them now the list is extensive: Hummingbirds, dippers, herons, eagles, ravens, harbour seals, sea stars, a bat star, mussels, oysters, crabs, moon and lion’s mane jellyfish, rockfish, salmon, sole, and two humpback whales flipping their tails out of the water across Muchalet Inlet. Kingfishers, chickadees, deer, goats on the roof and on a cheese farm (one of which I helped rescue from its entrapment between a fence and chickenwire pen), alpaca, a mink, many rabbits, raccoons, the sound of otters playing on the shore. Carolyn and Derek were even visited by a crying coyote one night, which seemed significant since we had been talking about the transgressive trickster earlier that evening.

I fell in love with Vancouver Island all over again. It was the first time I’d explored much of the interior, and I discovered lakes, hikes, caves, rivers, and tiny towns with curious histories that I would love to experience more of. Plus there were the wild western beaches that I’ve always loved, surprisingly warm-watered, windy inlets, and a short pilgrimage to my grandparents’ former home at Qualicum Bay. Carolyn and Derek were very persuasive in their display of Victoria’s attractions. They get farm-fresh eggs and produce at stands only a couple blocks from their townhouse, and showed me hikes and sunset panoramas on nearby Mount Doug. Whales and deer and an abundance of bunnies – Victoria is a pretty idyllic little city. I also understand what my aunt in Cowichan Bay means when she says that when she comes home she feels like she's on vacation.

Over the course of the three weeks, I’ve slept in sailboat berths and hammocks; couch-surfed at my step-daughter’s apartment; stayed in the guest wing of a mansion bungalow perched on a mountain top overlooking the southern Gulf Islands and Olympic peninsula; spent many happy nights in the back of a Jeep out in the middle of nowhere; stayed in a truly sleazy motel; and been put up in the guest rooms of two beautifully and creatively decorated homes (one with a secret passage to the master bedroom…)

I’ve also eaten extremely well: three pots of increasingly delicious seafood stew; oysters, salmon and asparagus barbecued on the stern of a sailing boat; Embe Bakery apple oat muffins; the best coconut cream pie I’ve ever had; vegan poutine; truffle goat cheese, halibut baked in herbed lemon mayonnaise with farm-fresh veggies; crab for dinner, breakfast, and dinner again (I’m not complaining!); Portuguese rice pudding; and many amazing and abundant breakfasts. Today I am very much noticing the effects on my waistline. Hmmm.

To top it all off, I’ve been very generously welcomed and hosted by loving, daring, dedicated, wise, wild, and provocative people, and have been connected to many others by phone and email. My heart is full. I hope the record has been set straight. Life is pretty damn good when I relax enough to just enjoy it.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Finally Checking In Again

A few of you recently reminded me that it’s been a few weeks since I last blogged, and you’re wondering where I am and what’s happening. I am flattered that you have enjoyed reading the blogs and care about me enough that you are prodding me, and very grateful to still be connected with you all through this transition.

Although my belongings are in Ottawa now, I am not. The first few days there, I enjoyed being stationary, caught up on sleep, and settled into being with family. I also had two wonderful meetings with a friend of a former client’s (thank you, Nicole!) and with a second cousin, both of whom have experienced big moves, think of Vancouver as a second home, and were very welcoming and informative about life and work in Ottawa. Those two meetings were lifelines to me in beginning to feel connected to this city.

After five days in Ottawa, my mom, sister, brother, nephew, nieces and I left for a whirlwind visit to New York. What can I say about the Big Apple? I grew up on a farm, I love being outdoors, and I sometimes find the hubbub of a strange city overwhelming – but I LOVED New York. There were so many wonderful sights, tastes, sounds, and experiences. Three days was just enough time to know what I would want to do when I return. You can see photos of our visit here: http://picasaweb.google.ca/thorsell.lm/NewYorkNewYork#

Back in Ottawa, cousins welcomed us to their farm near Carleton Place for a barbecue and tractor ride; one of my nieces and I spend a day at a nearby waterpark; the men (my brother in particular) gave my Jeep much tender, loving care; and we celebrated an anniversary and two birthdays. Then I jumped on a plane back to the west coast.

I came here was to fulfill a pact made last summer to spend an annual weekend with five of my luscious LIOS women friends. This year’s retreat was on Salt Spring Island at the beautiful home of one classmate’s parents. Great company, delicious food, silly antics, morning meditations, a kayak trip, and a beautiful island to explore – it was all I could ask for. Yet I felt a bit outside, not as happy and connected as I would have been even a few weeks before, one foot in another world.

That’s been a common experience the past couple months. I have felt unsettled with myself, emotionally distant, irritable, or just plain lost. I haven’t always been able to be a good friend to people who have been good to me. These aren’t all-the-time experiences, but frequent enough to be a trend, and disconcertingly unpredictable. I have been completely happy and at home cooking over a campfire at a remote lake on Vancouver Island, or sitting in a kayak anywhere, but prickly and uncomfortable in more familiar places.

My summer has continued to be nomadic – I began writing this on a bus and am finishing it on a sailboat. After leaving Salt Spring Island, I met a friend at Swartz Bay and spent ten wonderful days camping and exploring from Sombrio Beach to Campbell River to the Nootka Sound – places I’d never seen before. After we parted, I returned to Salt Spring for a sail with Ross and Gina, spent three nights in Victoria with Cait, Corey, Carolyn, and Derek, and am now savouring another short sail with Alan and Eduarda near Cowichan Bay.

Earlier this week, I called my brother in tears, saying how ironic it was that last year at this time, newly separated and about to lose the home I loved, I felt so happy and joyful, while this year, travelling, being with people dear to me, with good health and relatively few concerns, I am having crying jags and feeling so out of sorts. It was so helpful to hear him reflect back to me the limbo that I’m in, and his faith in my ability to ride this river of changes through to calmer waters.

I talked with a few other friends that day, too, who reminded me that sometimes there is nothing to do but go through the experience as mindfully as possible, that, although it may feel painful and I may not recognize it, there is a healing happening. From his extensive travelling experience, Derek talked about the tendency to cling to the people, places, and times that we associate with happiness, love, and connection, when what is required is to keep relinquishing each day’s experience, each chapter of life, and to move on to the next with faith and intention.

At times, I’ve questioned my decision to travel this month, wondering whether I shouldn’t instead be in Ottawa being responsible and putting down roots. After talking with Derek, I see these travels not just as recreation, but as a practice – a practice in moving through life’s changes with acceptance, expressiveness, and grace.

Since those conversations, connections, and tears I have felt much more peaceful and happy. At the moment, I am sitting in Tabinta’s cockpit anchored off Charlie’s Cove. The water is calm, there’s a gentle breeze, blue sky is breaking through the clouds. My uncle, who earlier made omelets with crab leftover from last night’s dinner, is lying reading in the hammock on the foredeck where I slept last night. In an hour or two, we’ll get in the kayaks and paddle to Genoa Bay.

To those of you who have been on the receiving end of my moods and disgruntledness, please accept my heartfelt apologies. I wish that I could have been with you differently, and don’t know even yet that I can. I’m still practicing.

May we all be safe from inner and outer harm. May our bodies serve us well. May we be happy and accept ourselves just as we are. May we take care of ourselves joyfully.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Saturday, July 3: Day Two

I love waking up in the middle of nowhere. After freshening up, the Jeep and I got back on the road. Wilf Carter on the iPod sang the praises of the Calgary Stampede. He makes me feel so happy.

The first stop of the day was at the Swan Lake Recreation Centre to visit my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Jim. They had just sold their house, and I was visiting them on their first full day living in their RV. Like me, they've been paring down their belongings. I was impressed to see how neatly they had fit everything they needed plus a few treasures and mementos into such a compact space.

Their RV is an amazing vehicle. For example, the cabinetry is Amish-built, all solid wood with some lovely decorative carvings. Electrical awnings, a sophisticated HVAC system, four armchairs and a couch -- they look like they will be very comfortable in their residential mobility.

After a tour of the RV and a great lunch, I got on the road again. My goal was to get to Lake Louise, Alberta as early in the day as possible, but this section of the trip was probably the most challenging of the drive: curvy and mountainous. I had to take it easy going uphill so as not to overtax the engine, and easy on the downhills, gearing down and staying within the range of the brakes. I came to appreciate having the trailer in my rear view mirror. I could drive down the highway relaxed, as if I was the only vehicle on the road, oblivious to the two-mile line of traffic building behind me.

At the top of Rogers Pass, I stopped to get gas (just in time) and to celebrate the Jeep's odometer rolling over to 300,000 km.

I finally reached Lake Louise at 7:00 p.m. Throughout my childhood, my family made annual pilgrimages through this area and across B.C. to visit my grandparents on Vancouver Island. Having been through so many times I thought that it should be familiar, but we had never done more than stop once to briefly look at the lake and then drive on. Really, it was all new to me.

I hiked up to a lookout point, against the flow of other tourists making their way back down. Except for a family of whiskeyjacks, I had the lookout to myself. It was beautiful. I stopped for a while to savour the view, and for the first time on my trip felt lonely. I hiked down and walked the promenade to the other side of the lake. There was a hike to Lake Agnes and a teahouse that I would have liked to have visited, but it was getting too late. The teahouse wouldn't open until 10:00 the next morning, and by then I needed to be on my way to Calgary. Why didn't I have more time?

The dining rooms at the Fairmont Chateau on the end of the lake had all closed when I returned, so I had a bowl of soup in the saloon downstairs, peering through the tables of families and couples at a peak-a-boo view of the lake. My short visit to Lake Louise left me wanting much more.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Friday, July 2: Day One on the Road

This morning was the moment of truth: Would all my stuff actually fit into that tiny U-Haul trailer? I met the two movers, Farrell and John, at the storage facility in North Delta at 9:30. We didn’t seem to be off to a great start. Farrell pulled me aside to tell me that if John seemed grumpy and unhelpful, it was because he hadn’t wanted to work today, but someone else had called in sick. Hmm. I was paying for two movers, wasn’t I? Then we opened the storage locker and John said, “Are you taking half of that?” “No,” I replied, “I’m hoping we can fit it all in.”

Just in case, I started by pulling to the side the things I would sacrifice if I had to. This was the third time I’d pared down, and it was getting tough. I strapped my second bicycle on the roof of the Jeep with the first one, resigned that neither would make it into the trailer.

Farrell took the lead at strategizing how to pack everything in as tightly as possible. John at least seemed to be willing, and more friendly than Farrell had suggested. I pitched in here and there, but after a while there was little I could do but get out of the way and watch. They were doing a great job. We started including some of the boxes I’d put on the side. Little by little, it was all squishing in. 

Success! There was just one box left, and I put it in the back of the Jeep. By 11:00, I was all packed.

Before getting on the highway, I took a detour to Gary’s Auto Wrecking in Maple Ridge to pick up a steering box for the Jeep. The mechanic shop had quoted me $725 to replace it. Gary’s got me a used part for $100 cash, no tax. (Maybe it helped that I was wearing their t-shirt). My brother Dave will swap it in, and I’ll save $600. Phew! Thanks, Dave.

At last I was on the road. Waiting to do something is so often harder than doing it. I left Vancouver happy that everything had gone so well, with no tears. (Okay, I had a cry in the shower in the morning, but I’m talking about after that.) The day was sunny and warm, and the Jeep was running beautifully. “Happy Trails” was playing in my head. (Thank you!) The mountains along the Coquihalla Highway were green and beautiful.

What to say about the drive? The iPod kept me entertained and awake. I listened to Reggie Ray’s dharma talks, then to Hank Williams III. There are always things to think about along the road, like how do you pronounce Pinaus Lake?

In Kamloops, I stopped to visit one of my classmates, Michelle McMaster. After so many sessions at the Doubletree Inn, it’s good to see people in their home environments; so interesting to see another side of them. Michelle made me tea and we each decompressed after our very different but busy days. We dined at a restaurant by the river, sitting on the patio and watching a couple kayakers launch from the dock. Then it was time to get back on the road. Michelle ensured that I got safely onto the right highway.

I decided to camp for the night closer to Vernon, where I would see my aunt and uncle the next morning. It was dark by the time I reached Falkland. I saw a promising side road and turned off in search of a quiet place to pull over and sleep. The road turned to gravel, which I took as a good sign that there would be little traffic here. A few miles up, I saw what I thought could be a promising treed area to pull up into. I started up a short hill only to find a locked gate. Drat. I would have to back up, something I avoid as much as possible with this pesky trailer. As I reversed down the short hill, I realized that my brakes were not as strong as the momentum of the loaded trailer. Park brake! Thank goodness the mechanic fixed that. Then came the task of trying to get the trailer on the right angle to get back onto the road instead of in the ditch, where it was headed. That meant the Jeep had to dip into the other ditch a bit. Thank goodness for 4x4! With adrenaline and some positive self talk, I managed to pull it off: A crash course in what not to do with a loaded trailer. Phew! I'm wondering how much of my stuff will be in one piece by the time I get to Ottawa.

I returned to a flat area on the side of the road 500 meters back and pulled over for the night, adventures for the day at an end.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Desolation Sound

During my day in Monroe in May, I thought of some of the places on the westcoast that I'd that I'd hoped to kayak: the Broken Islands, Haida Gwaii, Bowron Lakes, Desolation Sound. Was I going to get to any of these, or just dither around? Plans to kayak with other people were not materializing, so I decided to make a trip on my own. From Seattle, Desolation Sound seemed the most accessible destination.

Desolation Sound is located at the north end of the Sunshine Coast near Lund, B.C. Because of its sheltered location, there is very little current in the Sound, and the water is remarkably warm for the west coast. I had been hearing about the Sound for a couple decades, initially from my aunt and uncle who often sailed there for summer vacations.

After some research, I called a Lund kayak rental shop, hoping to join a multi-day tour or at least a daylong guided excursion, but they had no midweek offerings this early in the season, and those were the only times I was available to go. I only had a few weeks left on the westcoast. I liked the idea of doing a solo trip, and it seemed scary, too. My kayaking experience to date had been either on lakes, English Bay, or the Burrard Inlet -- relatively safe and well-traveled waters.

Initially, I wasn't sure how I would even get to Lund. I found bus schedules, a local hotel (the only one in town, apparently). The trip was looking expensive and complicated. Then I thought about buying a vehicle. If I found something that would tow my stuff across Canada, it would save me the cost of renting a truck. A friend was working on buying a newer Jeep, and we started talking about me buying his 1994 Cherokee provided the timing was right. He generously agreed to at least lend it to me for the week. Then a few days before my trip he found the Jeep that he was looking for. His old one was mine; I just needed to come to Vancouver early to get it transferred and insured.

The weather forecast for the week of the trip showed nothing but grey cloud raindrop icons. I scanned and compared forecasts, trying to plan my trip for the most promising days. Thursday seemed the one most likely to have sunshine, so I centred my plans around that. I kept hearing wariness and concern when I talked to the people at the kayak rental shop and some of my friends and family about kayaking on my own. Honestly, I felt some trepidation, too, but also a great need to prove to myself that I was up for the adventure.

The day of my departure for Lund was as forecast: thoroughly wet and grey. I caught the ferry from Horseshoe Bay to Langdale, and then toodled up the south section of the Sunshine Coast to the next ferry terminal, stopping to walk a couple of the beaches, umbrella in hand. On the second ferry from Earl's Cove to Saltery Bay, I was lured out onto the rainy deck to watch a pod of porpoises dancing beside us. In Powell River while looking for a hardware store I found a Vietnamese / Thai restaurant tucked away in a deserted mall with cars huddling around the entrance -- a delicious local secret. Late in the wet evening, I finally neared my destination.

The Pan-American Highway (Highway 101) at 15,020 km is the longest highway in the world, running along the entire Pacific coast from Lund, B.C. to Castro, Chile. As I reached Lund and the highway's Mile 0, the rain stopped and the clouds lifted. I drove out onto the government dock to be greeted by a beautiful ocean evening.

Lund is a very tiny town, and it took little time to stroll around its harbour. The Jeep and I then made our way to the Dinner Rock Forestry Services site just out of town. The campsites were all empty. I parked in one overlooking the water, played some guitar, and then snuggled into my bed in the back of the Jeep for the night.

The next morning was sunny and warm. After breakfast, I wended my way over to Okeover Inlet, where the kayak rental shack was located. I'm sure I was their only customer that entire day. The young woman at the counter expressed surprise at how dry the weather was, and helped me get my gear ready.

It was a glorious day. The water was calm, breezes were mild, the scenery was spectacular. All day I saw only a dozen boats at most -- sailboats, motor boats, fishing boats, but no other kayaks or canoes. Where the water was shallow, there were gardens of sea stars, urchins, anemones, and cucumbers.

As I paddled, I recalled a computer career aptitude test I had taken in my first years of university when computer technology was relatively young. After answering a slew of questions, I received only one career suggestion: oyster farmer. At the time, I dismissed the idea out of hand. Now, passing summer cottages and oyster farms, I wondered why I hadn't given it more thought. Studying marine biology and then living somewhere like this seemed pretty wonderful.

Eventually even the few signs of human residence disappeared and I entered the Desolation Sound Marine Park. I paddled across a channel to reach Kinghorn Island, where I pulled my boat ashore for lunch, sunshine, and rest. I felt proud to have gotten so far; the guide had suggested much closer destinations. My P90X workouts had paid off!

The next morning at my forestry campsite I breakfasted on the rocks overlooking the water. Swallows dashed by, chasing insects. A pair of mating eagles danced together across the sky. I could hear, and occasionally see, seals barking on the rocks below me. After breakfast, I did a few yoga poses. A light sprinkle of rain began, so I tied up the sleeping bag, packed up my clothes, and drove away. I love my Jeep!

The drive back south was as rainy, grey, and wet as the drive north had been. I reached the last ferry terminal early, so stopped at Saltery Bay Provincial Park to explore. I clambered up a rock mound to sit and watch the ocean for a while. Throughout the trip, I was very conscious of being careful while walking and climbing on rocks. They seemed more dangerous than kayaking. If I slipped and hurt myself, there was no one around to help. Despite my care, when I got up to return to the Jeep I slipped and fell onto my left arm, scraping it and stubbing my fingers. It wasn't a serious fall, but I felt shaken by it. Then I reflected on how badly I could have been hurt, and how little I was. Really, the Sunshine Coast had just given me a love bite.

Later in the evening, the ring finger on my left hand puffed up, and has remained swollen for weeks after. I feel reluctant for it to completely heal.


Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.