4. Alluring Pathways Through Thyme

Chapter Four: “You are here”

PRELUDE

We are here — coming to the close of Day Two. You know what? I find myself wondering what possessed me to write a series of 11 posts about MY vacation. What makes MY vacation SO important that I NEED to tell the story? Who cares right?

I mean, what’s really happened so far? I missed a ferry, got locked out, took a bumpy bus ride, met a happy Italian and a big spider. Definitely not movie material.

What I do know is that I’d forgotten how much I enjoy just telling a story for the sake of telling it. It makes me happy. And it fascinates me to see the story becoming more than I remembered it to be.

Even though these posts are based on the journals I kept while staying at Island Thyme, thoughts and feelings continue to evolve as I reflect on the experience.

The story keeps unfolding and though I was there for those five days and you weren’t, through this writing even I don’t know exactly what is going to come next. It just goes to show how time changes everything.

So, lets march on shall we…

The path forward

Up the hill I marched. And up, and up and up. It was a continuous climb along a quiet road surrounded by, you guessed it, trees. They towered towards the sky and interestingly I didn’t feel small in comparison. On the contrary; I felt tall.

I couldn’t believe how quiet it was. After having longed for this for weeks I was rightfully appreciative. Aside from songbirds and the wind (and me gasping for breath), the only sound I could hear was my footsteps on the pavement. Occasionally I’d pass by a residence and a dog would bark from behind a fence or screen door. I’d see their silhouettes and would “woof” back to them. That made them bark louder… and me smile.

I was quite breathless by the time I reached Mutiny Road 10 minutes later. Turning left led me to yet another uphill climb, this time over a rocky path. The rocks provided good leverage though and I persevered to the “You Are Here” sign, brushing past it with a brief sideways glance. Maps and I don’t get on real well; they never take me where they say they will.

There’s something alluring about a path in the woods. Even as a little girl I couldn’t resist following the paths I found in the forested areas around the farmland pastures. I’d leave my sisters behind and they’d end up going home, leaving me to wander alone to my heart’s content.

With my senses more alert, I floated down this path seemingly swallowed up by the forest. I soaked in the stillness, embraced the solitude. My footsteps sunk into the soft ground like I was walking on a thick carpet. The air smelled foresty with scents of cedar and earth. I felt like I was intruding.

After a short time, I found myself feeling tired from the run into town, a late lunch and the uphill climb. The afternoon was getting on past 4 pm and I decided not to go any further. I was content to not force any agenda. And you thought this was the big Mount Gardner hike! We’re just warming up kids.

The return trip was much more pleasant given that it was all downhill. My canine friends greeted me as I passed by the second time. I spent the next half hour exploring the garden back at Island Thyme.

A seasoned love

“The greatest gift of the garden is the restoration of the five senses.”
-Hanna Ri

Wynn’s own words describe her garden beautifully:

“Meandering paths and stone steps lead you down slopes to a quiet green oasis of moss among the trees….

Outdoor ambient lighting showcases the garden at night highlighting the giant cedars, gnarly bonsai pine and stone feature walls.”

I adored the raw beauty here and rested on the stone steps. Appreciation seasoned my thoughts.

While resting in the garden my grandmother was foremost in my mind. The one person I’d loved more than any other – even more than my mother. That was just the way it had worked out. We were close on many levels and shared an unspoken understanding.

She’d been gone for almost 18 years. When I think about her I am surprised at how much I love her even now, after she’s gone. I’d visit her often in North Bay after I’d moved to Toronto. Her wet, cold kisses on my cheek would sadden me when our visit was ending.

After her death, I’d find myself feeling regret at not realizing how much I’d loved her when she was alive, wishing I had told her more often. But I soon realized that I had loved her as much as I could then.

I have grown to love her more, years later. Love continues to grow over time and through the seasons, beyond the human form. It was only too fitting that my thoughts would turn to Margaret’s memory, sitting in this beautiful garden at Island Thyme.

Stay tuned for Chapter Five when Davina tangles with a sketch pad and a series of HB pencils. Yes the artist’s way is about to be revealed.

Tagged as: BC Bed and Breakfast, Bowen Island, Vacation