Overheard on Gambier – The Jump (or Lack Thereof)

Gambier Island is not known for its sandy beaches. It does have a ‘beach’ but it is a titch on the rocky side and also a titch on the barnacles/sharp broken shells/seaweed side as well. It does have warm water for swimming but this requires a walk across the aforementioned sharpness to reach the beach and usually seems like too much of a bother. On the odd occasion when I do decide to stumble across the rocks to the water, I am always too aware of how much I must look like some sort of rag doll hopped up amphetamines jerking my arms every which way in some sort of mad windmill fashion to compensate for the fact that I can only seem to put pressure on each foot for about half a second before it must be retracted quickly to avoid severing an artery. This of course puts pressure on the other foot to step up, as it were, and take the weight of both feet. This action then causes some sort of balancing nightmare for my arms which must then flail uncontrollably, scissoring madly as I try not to fall and crack my head on a rock, or, worse, send a barnacle straight into a main blood vessel in my foot, causing sepsis, and more or less instant death.

All this crossed my mind as I walked down the hill towards the beach. And so it was that I skipped the beach and kept going toward the dock. The dock is more my style: smooth wood, gentle rocking motion, slightly intoxicating smell of creosote on pilings, and an assortment of interesting people/kids involved in whatever they feel like doing: fishing, chatting, swimming etc. On the day in question, all the kids were at the dock (Jacob (13) and Zoe (7), and their two cousins Aleisha (9) and Claire (5) for a spot of swimming and fishing. To get to the dock, you  must first walk down a long pier. You can branch off to get to the lower dock, as I’ll refer to it here, or keep going down the pier to the end where you will find a smelly metal shed that has been there for as long as I can remember, a small crane with a hook on the end of it used for swinging stuff out over the water and presumably, into a waiting boat. (I have never actually seen it be used for this but that’s the rumour - we use it to gain distance when jumping off the pier).

One of the rights of passage of any self-respecting visitor or resident of Gambier is to leap off this pier, preferably at the lowest tide possible when the drop is probably close to 3 metres – maybe more. It requires some nerve and some people have more nerve than others. Some like to wait until the tide has come in and reduced the drop to 2 metres or less. And some people like to climb on top of the shed and jump from there, adding another few feet to the whole ordeal and sending their mother into a bit of a state. (Not me. Nope. I’m nothing but encouragement as you shall soon come to understand.) And some people just watch.

On this trip to Gambier, Zoe declared that this was the year of the Jump. She hadn’t quite managed it last year (she was only 6 at that point) and so this year, as she was 7 almost 8, she was definitely going to jump. It would be no big deal really, said the tone in her voice. She was ready. So on the day that I managed to make it off the deck and down the hill, she was really psyched to make it happen. She had tried briefly the day before without much success. Well, without any success really who am I kidding. But she was back on her horse and ready to go. We started  down on the lower dock with an easy jump in and swim around. Then the girls headed up to the pier and that’s when the action really started. Aleisha had no problem jumping at all. I wish I could say the same for Zoe. The tide was at the mid-way mark so the jump was probably 2.5 metres or so. I actually could probably have counted up the exact number of millimetres of the height with the time I had waiting for Zoe to jump.  I could also have memorised the Vancouver phone book, learned an obscure Brazilian Indian dialect, classified the entire barnacle population on the beach, lost 10 pounds, rebuilt the Eiffel tower, and climbed Mount Fuji (including flight time) in the time it took for Zoe to not jump off the pier.  We all tried various psychological tactics: reverse psychology: “I bet you can’t do it” (I was right); encouragement: “You can do it!” (OK maybe not); nonchalance:  “I don’t really mind one way or the other, Honey, it’s entirely up to you” (whatever just JUMP already); Authority: “Now, Honey, we’ve all been waiting for 62 hours for you to jump and we’re all getting a bit frustrated/hot/hungry/tired/old, including you, so lets get on with it” (where was I going with that one – FAIL).

In the end, nothing worked. And many was the time I regretted my promise not to push her in. Why, Jacob wanted to know repeatedly, had I said I wouldn’t?? (I couldn’t remember as I had developed Alzheimer's in the intervening years between promising not to and her not jumping) Could he? he asked hopefully.  Finally, out of pure exhaustion, I suggested that she climb part-way down the ladder that hangs off the edge of the pier into the water, and jump from there. And while I’m not that proud of it, I’ll admit here that I did also mention at this point that the promise of not pushing her off the pier did not apply to the ladder and that if she decided to go down the ladder, she was jumping off or I was going to come down there and push her off. Anxiety was all over her face but cold heartless mother did not seem to notice this fact. In fact, it was not until I reviewed my photos later that night that I saw exactly how anxious she was. See exhibit A. I’m not sure that I would have actually had the heart to wrench her poor little hands off the cold iron bars of the ladder and fling her unceremoniously into the depths, but it sure seemed like a good idea at the time.

I’m happy to report that she did jump from the ladder. We all cheered as well as we could in our old age with our gnarled fingers, but Zoe was not buying it. She was still pissed off and upset with herself and it was then that I finally turned back into loving nurturing mother. She looked at me with her little face, and burst into tears. I did too, and we held each other for a few minutes. I told her it was all Ok and always her own choice and that I was sorry if we had pressured her. We walked back up the hill to the house where, trying desperately to salvage something from the situation, I talked about how, in her life, there would be many times when she would get that same feeling in her stomach that she had standing on the pier, and that life is all about deciding whether or not to take a risk. And that she should trust her own feelings. She looked at me, looked past me, and asked if she could have a cookie. Then she got up and bolted out of the room after her cousin before I could even answer. Apparently she was over it. Well I wasn’t. I walked, sighing, into the dining room muttering something about parenting. My Uncle just looked at me and said “Just you wait until she’s teenager. You haven't seen anything yet!”

Perhaps he’s right and when she’s 16 and swearing at me, I’ll long for a problem as simple as whether or not to push her off the pier.

Exhibit ‘A’

climbing back up the ladder

Whatever, mum, can I have a cookie?

Three Little Girls

Whenever I tell anyone that I’m going to Gambier Island, they often nod & smile and say ‘Oh that will be nice’. Sometimes they admit up front that they have never heard of it, and sometimes they mistake it for The Gambia. I think it is no small coincidence that so far, the only people to have made this somewhat charming mistake, are Brits with good strong accents (and I can say this with impunity as all my family members are British). You know what I mean – they switch around the endings on words that end with ‘a’ and give them an ‘er’ instead, and vice versa. India becomes ‘Indier’, Australia turns into ‘Australier’, and Gambier Island, somehow shifts into The Gambia. And as The Gambia is a former English Colony, it occupies a place in English schoolbooks and minds and therefore it somehow seems possible to them that one could in fact be going to The Gambia for a summer holiday.

I had a wonderful conversation on this very subject with a certain very English Gym teacher with whom many of you will be acquainted, who asked my son one year what his travel plans were for the summer. He duly repeated the list of local destinations, which included Gambier Island. The next day I was flagged down by this teacher who wanted all the details on our ‘fascinating trip to The Gambia this summer’. I must have looked very surprised and indeed we went back and forth for some time before finally reaching an understanding that it was an island in Howe Sound not far from Vancouver that we would be visiting and not a small west-African country.

Gambier Island itself is about as far removed from The Gambia as you could possibly imagine in both distance and culture.The Island is home to approximately 120 full time residents and I am indeed very fortunate that two of those residents happen to be my Uncle and Aunt, Richard and Louise. For as long as I can remember I have made my way to Gambier every summer to hang out with the cousins, jump off the dock, swim in the warm water, scratch the bottom of my feet on the barnacles, fish for shiners, climb the hill back to the house, drink tea on the deck, eat delicious food, and sleep in the absolute darkness and profound quiet that can only be found many miles from streetlights and traffic.

My Uncle and Aunt’s house is a labour of love, transformed from a tiny little cabin (how on earth we all used to fit I don’t know) into a beautiful home, with a stop along the way as a Bed and Breakfast. The garden is all roses and lavender and a huge Bay Laurel grows by the door to the workshop. Rocky outcroppings give way to flowers and ponds, and stairs lead down to a vegetable garden (the source of Potter Organics which may be found at the dinner table on any given night) and a young orchard. And all around are huge fir, cedar, maple and alder trees. If you are lucky, sometimes a raven might fly low out of the forest; the swoosh swoosh of its wings beating through the air makes an unmistakeable sound. As I sat on the deck, two came croaking and cawing out of the trees, upset I think by the fort building that was going on in the forest below them. Perhaps a certain high-pitched voice?

I should admit here that I spend a fair bit of time on the deck. The ‘schedule’ of the day seems to encourage it and unfolds something like this:

whenever: wake up, wander to kitchen for fresh bread, homemade jam and tea. Wave goodbye to kids as they head to dock to fish. Chat with Kent, my cousin Mel and Uncle Richard and Aunt Louise

10:30ish: tea on the deck

11ish: wander outside, inspect garden, sit and ponder what it is to be a dragonfly, or not, or just sit.

12:30ish: Lunch (on the deck of course)

1pm: wander to dock, jump off pier, fish for shiners, lie on the dock, play on the beach, convince daughter to jump off dock (more on this later), wonder who that big guy is over there and then realize it’s your own son

3:30pm:  wander back up hill to house for, that’s right, tea on the deck. Chat with whoever is still awake. Pride self on not feeling sleepy at all

4:00pm: read book

4:02pm: fall asleep

5:00pm: wake up and wander to kitchen to help with dinner

5:30pm: wonder where the kids are. Decide it doesn’t really matter and hey it’s kinda nice without them right now

6:00pm: kids show up, dinner is served, dishes are washed

7:00pm: whatever

8:00pm: put kids to bed

9:00pm: watch tv/read a book/go to bed

What can I say, it’s tough.

Gambier Island does have one small store/restaurant and no summer trip is complete without a visit. So one evening my cousin Mel and Kent and myself took the kids over to the store for dinner. My aunt had made a ‘reservation’ which was hilarious as we were the only ones in sight. We walked inside and there was the largest table, with a handwritten note ‘reserved for Potter’. How quaint! But regardless of all the jokes, it turned out to be an excellent dinner. I highly recommend it! Especially the Shepherd’s Pie. And also the Prawns and Scallops in Pernod. And actually while I’m on the topic the quesadilla was also very good. And I believe the pasta with chorizo and tomatoes was also excellent. No, I did not eat 4 dinners that night but there was a fair amount of sampling going on. Whatever!All meals/trips to the store must end with ice cream, so ice cream it was all round. This is necessary as it provides the appropriate fuel for the trek back to the house.

I am happy to report that in all ways, ice cream included, this year’s visit was essentially no different from the previous 30 or so years that I have been making this pilgrimage.  There is, however, one gut-wrenching difference and that is that my cousins and I are now all grown up and those three cute little girls running ahead of us on the gravel road with ice creams are our children, not us!  If somehow we could have known all those years ago that we would be watching miniature versions of our grown selves at exactly the same place on the road, picking blackberries from the same bushes, jumping off the same pier, and playing in the same trees as we did when we, too, were three little girls, I think it would have blown my mind then like it did today. I guess that’s the beauty of childhood – to be unencumbered by thoughts of the future and instead to embrace the exact moment of the ripe blackberry, to fall through the air into the water, or skip along a path through garden to your secret fort. I’m so glad I had it, and I’m so glad to see it in the faces of three little girls.

 

 

It’s all about me…

Hey sorry about the blatant self-promotion but if you are enjoying my blog (and thank-you SO much for all the positive feedback – you are so encouraging!), please consider becoming a follower. No, this does not mean you are joining a cult. I actually don’t really know what it means other than you will appear in my list of followers and apparently, the more followers I get, the greater my chances of becoming a Blog of Note on the Blogger site. Yes, it really is all about me. But I am enjoying this whole thing so much and I hope you are too.

To become a follower, I think you have to click on the ‘follow’ button, and then sign up with Google. I hope this isn’t a cumbersome process…

Anyway – thanks for considering it!

Cheers,

Jane

Dear BC Ferries…WTF?

Dear BC Ferries,

I feel like you and I have known each other a long time. I’m 39 and have lived on Vancouver Island nearly all my life so we go way back. I even remember the old days when smoking was allowed and the floors were covered with that funky green and beige patterned carpet. I’ve spent many an hour in the parking lot waiting to board a ferry at Swartz Bay on my way to Vancouver. Seen many a market stall come and go.

When I was a child, I loved taking the ferry. It meant we were going somewhere exciting or interesting. I guess back then I was too young to notice my parents’ building anxiety as we approached the terminal. This was in the days before the $17.50 reservation fee was available. Would we miss the sailing? Would we get to hang out in the cafeteria for an extra hour? Oh Joy.

Now that I have my own kids and busy life, taking the ferry has a whole new meaning for me and frankly, it’s not that good. Sure I know what you’re thinking: If you don’t like it, then don’t live on an island. Well, BC Ferries, it’s not that easy and really you want to be careful with that kind of an attitude as it’s people like me who pay your bonuses every year. I should note that I do have some happy memories of trips on BC Ferries. Like I really appreciate it when you arrange for killer whales to make an appearance. And Active Pass is spectacular so thanks for that, too. Oh wait, that was mother nature. OK strike that. I’ll let her know instead.

As I write this I’m sitting in an arm chair in my Aunt and Uncle’s house on Gambier Island. Gambier Island is in the Howe Sound, near Gibson’s Landing on the Sunshine Coast. I’ve been coming here every summer since I was a girl and I love it. It takes me approximately 7 hours and three ferries to get here which is plenty of time to really immerse myself in your culture, BC Ferries. I’ve been looking for a way to really let you know what I think so here’s my top list of ways you could help me, your customer, out:

1. Have one of your staff try to drive off the Nanaimo – Horseshoe Bay Ferry in Horseshoe Bay, and then drive back to the terminal to take the Langdale Ferry. Go on. Just try it. I defy you to do it without wondering at least 12 times if you are going the right way. Let me know how that goes and whether you need any help or not with perhaps some SIGNAGE. And then envision someone from another country trying to do this. I only say this as there may be a few extra people here from other countries next year. In February, to be specific.

2. You may also want to put someone on the Sea to Sky highway just at the point of the exit to Horseshoe Bay and count the number of near-misses as cars realize at the last second that actually they were planning on going to Whistler, not the ferry terminal, or vice-versa. I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure this may be a bit of an issue in a few months. Like in February 2010 for example. Might want to take  a look at that one before then. I saw three cars zip across the lanes at the last second, right in front of me. I’ll leave that one with you and Highways.

3. While we’re on the topic of Horseshoe Bay, may I suggest you invest in some re-numbering of the lanes. Telling someone to proceed down lane 10 when in fact there is no lane 10 is…well…confusing. And I don’t know if you’ve done it lately, but the other thing that happens after you muddle your way through the imaginary lane 10 is that you come out into a large area with even more lanes, and a sign that directs you to lanes 73 – 84. WTF, BC Ferries? And then there was an employee with the gall to actually look frustrated with me. I asked him about the sign that says ‘this way to lane 73-84’ and why there wasn't a lane 10 and he just shrugged and told me to proceed. Yeah. Sure. Whatever, Buddy.

4. My next point is on behalf of the other parents who have small children who still use the Children’s area. Dude, it’s lame. Get some new stuff in there. I know I know, people will take it if it’s not nailed down but you can still do better than one plastic boat. I know you can.

5. Dude, the food. $8.49 is too much for a salad. But what I really want to say is why are you trying to poison my children? Just so you know, BC Ferries, most parents prefer not to feed their child a hamburger or hot dog or chicken strips PLUS a chocolate pudding, 2 cups of pop, and greasy French fries. And why do you put that sign advertising said poison at child height? Here’s a newsflash: parents prefer their kids to eat things like cheese & crackers, tuna sandwiches, whole grains, FRESH fruit, milk, water, that sort of thing. And there’s these things called vegetables. I know you know about them ‘cuz you sell a bowl of them for $10. They are generally considered a healthy choice for kids  - one that is not potentially going to cut their precious lives short like pudding or pop. I’ll think of them as my children, but you can think of them as future customers if that helps.

 

So that’s enough complaining out of me for now. I just thought you should know.

Yours sincerely,

Jane

 

Until next time…

Overheard on Hornby Part 4 – Top 10 Reasons I Love Hornby Island

10. Cardboard House Bakery. What a great spot – tables scattered around an orchard, delicious food, one of the best outhouses around (as outhouses go), a sweet garden, live music if you’re there at the right time, a ‘bring your own wine’ policy (always good), lots of room for kids to run and friends to hang out, and the BEST chocolate cheesecake around (and I should know as I had it on three separate occasions over 7 days. Was that wrong? Who cares.)

9. The natural sandstone sculpture. Shaped by the tides into caves, dunes, waves, and mushrooms, these rock formations are magical. Best at the end of a hot day when the tide comes in over the warm rocks and swirls into channels and pools.

8. The Saturday/Wednesday Farmers Market. I was wary about going as the last time I went, it was hot and dusty and trudging around a parking lot while waiting 30 minute for a taco was not my idea of a good time. So I was thrilled to see that the market had moved into the shade of the forest. I was also happy about the chocolate covered bananas, frozen Mango on a stick, and the Persian food found at a little stall by the entrance to the market - the best dolmades I have ever had, and several other delicious pastries and sweets. Something about pomegranate paste and I don’t know what else but it worked! Divine. The girls got Henna tattoos, the mums shopped for jewellery, and all was good.

 

7. The deck at our rental house. The site of much laughter, love, good food, stories, wine, an amazing hammock (that nobody fell out of, especially not Lisa and not twice in 20 seconds), laundry, wet towels and bathing suits, flowers, a shocking amount of empties, singing, silliness, good friends, and general happiness.

6. The deck at Leanne and Darren’s. A great place for a  44th birthday party & a rousing game of ‘How to Put your Partner on the Spot’ (that’s not what it was called but that’s kind of how it worked in a very hilarious way). Overheard at the party:

Question: What is the most embarrassing thing you have done while drunk?

Answer (from birthday boy Jivko after some thought) ‘I shagged a goat.’

Response from Darren: ‘Oh yeah? how many kids have you fathered?’

Hysterical laughter from all…

Also a great place for a bottle of Prosecco at 11am in the morning. It’s just too bad Leanne and Darren weren’t there to share it with us:)

5. Tribune Bay. Amazing beach, warm water, tonnes of space…it’s all good.

4. The joy on the faces of all my friends returning from mountain biking. Personally, I haven’t ever done it (not that good on the bike and would probably fall off and break my head or something) but apparently it is almost as good as chocolate, if the extreme joy radiating off their bodies is anything to go by.

3. Helliwell Provincial Park. There’s something about the full sensory experience one gains while walking in this most beautiful of places that makes it a completely joyful experience. The Garry Oak savannah smells deliciously sweet, the yellow of the dry grass stands out brilliantly against the blue sky, the deep blue water swirls and eddies, and the tall trees dwarf me. The swimming is also excellent (If you don’t mind a few seals for company. Like about 20). I had a mystical experience here once a long time ago when some friends and I camped illegally. I woke up early in the morning to a swirl of mist and sunbeams. I walked the bluffs and came across a deer who watched me come within two feet of it. I fell in love then and still love it today.

2. Swimming at Whaling Station Bay Beach. Here, the water is crystal clear, and the perfect temperature. The sand is expansive, the view to die for and except for the excessive seaweed on the beach, the place is practically perfect. I walked out into the water and started swimming out from the beach. The water got deeper, sand dollars were scattered across the bottom and I felt like I could see for miles. I wanted to stay out there forever. Bliss.

1. How much fun I had with such an excellent group of friends and family. Love you all:)

Overheard on Hornby Part 3 – The Lesson

As a parent it is sometimes next to impossible to know when to step in and fix things for our kids. I learned a little lesson the other day on this subject. Here it is.

On our last day on Hornby the girls had been sent upstairs to their room to put it back together after a severe dismantling. The two beds had been taken apart and rearranged into a ‘limousine’ and the resulting mess looked a lot like an earthquake had struck.

So up went Sofia and Zoe. I’ll just mention here that Zoe was experiencing some sort of pathological grumpiness. Actually, she was beyond grumpy and into the realm of psychotic. I followed them upstairs and went into my bedroom to pack up. I heard the following conversation between Sofia and Zoe: 

Sofia: ‘Zoe please pass me that piece of wood’

Zoe: Silence, then the sound of a board being dragged. Then a loud sigh.

Sofia: ‘Zoe could you please pass me that other piece of wood’

Zoe: ‘Sofia! you are asking me to do too many things at once I can’t do all these things at once I just can’t! Stop asking me to do all these things!’

At this point I stood up and prepared to save the day with some sort of diatribe on how It’s not OK to talk to your friend like that blah blah blah. I’m sure I would have sounded just like the teacher on Charlie Brown. But before I got to the door, I heard this:

Sofia: (after a pause) ‘Well you’re being really helpful…’

Zoe: (after a longer pause…)‘Sofia I’m really sorry I said that stuff to you. I was feeling really grumpy and overwhelmed and I shouldn’t  have said it and I’m really sorry’

Sofia: ‘That’s Ok. Could you please pass me that piece of wood’

I was so proud of both of them! Sofia for staying positive in the face of such thundering grouchiness, and Zoe for recognizing her friend’s kindness and apologizing for her own shortcomings.

Good thing I didn’t interfere. The kids are alright!

Overheard on Hornby Part 2 – stress management 101

It’s taken me some years to understand that while it is always nice to travel with just the immediate family, travelling with another family (or two) with kids the same ages makes things so much easier. It somehow reduces the stress. Stress has a way of pooling, if you know what I mean. And when it pools, it concentrates, forming dense pockets of nastiness that frankly are a hazard. I’ve slipped in more pools of anxiety than I care to talk about.  I’ve come to expect them in certain places, like the kitchen on the day you are meant to leave on a trip. Or the car on Monday morning. But the worst is when you encounter a stress pool hidden in places you just aren’t expecting, like in your bedroom or when you are out for dinner. There you are enjoying yourself when all of a sudden, someone snaps at someone else, or something is lost and can’t be found or someone’s needs aren’t being met and BLAM there it is collecting right in front of you in some sort of Dali-esque manner, dripping off the table. If you aren’t paying enough attention, chances are you will step right into that bad boy and there goes your day.

My point is that when other people are around, it’s harder for stress to stick. it gets trampled by many happy little feet, or wiped up by an extra pair of helping hands. Cracks and sharp edges are smoothed away by laughter and joy so that its mean little fingers can’t even get a handle hold. We declare ‘whatever’ to be the word of the week and defy stress to even get in the door. “W-dot-e” said my friend Heather. 

So this past week on Hornby has been an exercise in banishing stress, made all the easier by the beautiful hot weather, and the natural beauty of the Island itself, but achieved mainly through the good will of a group of friends. Many a happy hour was passed on the deck under the umbrella or in the hammock while the three girls played together on the lawn. If one of the group was perceived to have been in the kitchen for too long, she or he was ordered out, given a drink, and told to sit down and relax. If someone wanted to go for a bike ride or out for lunch, then off they went, no muss no fuss. Teenage boys hung out with the little sisters, meals were prepared communally, dishes done together, laundry an adventure undertaken as a team, bikes borrowed, music shared, smiles exchanged and laughter a force to be reckoned with.

So to you, stress, I say Whatever. W-dot-E, better luck next time, thanks for coming out, sorry it didn’t work out for you this time, don’t call me, I’ll call you, and shut the door behind you on your way out. Now, where did I put my San Pellegrino and yes, Sofia, I would love to push you on the swing.

Until next time…