6. Island Thyme Reflections

Chapter Six: Another time & another story

I was in bed before 10 pm and after writing one page I stopped, feeling less than enthused. I distracted myself by flipping through Wynn’s library and became interested in a book entitled Bowen Island – Reflections.

From the moment I set foot on Bowen Island I had felt something familiar — an unexplained connection. I’m not normally interested in reading about history, but I was intrigued by the opportunity to read about Bowen Island’s early days in the Edwardian era. First published in 2004, this book was filled with pictures dating back to the late 1800s.

I have since contacted the Bowen Island Historians but was unable to obtain permission to use the photos I wanted to show you. So, I’ve found some on Flickr that are very similar. They will escort you and I down memory lane quite nicely.

And so, surrounded by luscious pillows in my cozy bed and with chocolates by my side, I turned each and every delicious page of that book, an “extensive photographic archive collected by the Historians over the past 37 years…”

The photographs revealed a simpler way of life. Though, I imagine they didn’t see it that way. Quaint cottages like the one pictured below spoke to me of good wholesome family life — an idealistic notion that I’ve carried with me since I can remember.

Bowen Island (with a current population of near 4,000), once served as a fishing ground and resting place for the First Nations people of Squamish on their voyages up and down the coast. In 1860 it was named after James Bowen, a British Rear Admiral, and in 1874 the island welcomed its first white settlers.

Hunting was prevalent – lots of deer and grouse, as well as trout fishing, salmon and herring. “…a government report from 1902 states that fish were so plentiful, they could be ‘raked out of the water…’”

Three major shapers of this island were early commercial logging, steamship ferry service and pleasure craft of cottagers and day trippers. Hundreds of mainlanders visited the island in the summer months to attend formal picnics and beach parties, dressed in their Sunday best. I just love how stately these people look — proud.

I was fascinated reading how bricks were manufactured from blue clay found north and south of then Terminal Creek and were used in the construction of what later became Vancouver’s City Hall.

Amazing how much we don’t realize or appreciate when we’re caught up in the business of our everyday lives. How aware are we of the footprints we are leaving behind us?

I turned the pages slowly, admiring the black and white photographs. It felt as if I was looking through my own family photo album, though I recognized no one, surmising that everyone had since passed on.

Real thyme

Time passed and carried me to sleep. I awoke in the early hours of Wednesday morning to the sound of heavy rain. It was still dark outside and I guessed the time was around 3 am. Soft, comforting shadows blanketed the room and I dared not stir them by turning on a light to check the time.

Nestled in bed with senses as smooth as silk, I sighed with contentment, pulled the blankets closer and drifted back to sleep. I awoke at 7 am hugging my pillow.

Rain continued to pour down and I lay there listening for a while longer until reluctantly, I folded back the blankets and stepped into the cool, dimly lit room. In minutes I was running a hot bath where I lavished in lavender scented bath salts. Was this all real I kept wondering, or was I still dreaming? Did it matter?

The rain poured down all morning and for most of the early afternoon. It was obvious that once again, hiking was not on the agenda. Mount Gardner wasn’t going anywhere, but I would be in three more days. I hoped the weather would co-operate.

I spent hours reclining in the ottoman, toasty warm under two throws, journalling, resting and sometimes just staring out the window at the rain. I hadn’t felt this content to not have to be anywhere or do anything for as long as I could remember. I was acting just like Spider.

Spider was still sitting in her corner of the window, barely having moved for the last two days. I’m not fond of spiders, though I have a great deal of respect for them – I won’t kill one. Mom used to tell us that if we stepped on a spider it would rain, but that wasn’t why. I just couldn’t kill a spider.

I had thought this spider to be pretty hideous at first, but became accustomed to seeing it and would glance in its direction frequently to see if it was still there. I was comfortable enough now to sneak a close peak in the hopes of catching it actually doing something. I’d miss it if it left.

The rain was incredibly loud that afternoon, coming down in torrents, pouring from the eavestroughs. The sound gave me shivers of comfort. It reminded me of my childhood and the storms we’d experience on the farm on Granite Hill Road in northern Ontario. Again, a simpler time by comparison to life as I knew today.

That old stone house had an aluminum roof and sometimes during a storm, I’d climb up the wooden ladder to the attic and sit there listening. The sound was both deafening and delightful… and exciting. I felt safe in that attic, despite the raging storm outside. There were shivers of comfort then too, if I recall.

Today I felt fulfilled, blanketed by two cozy throw blankets; completely content to allow Island Thyme to continue weaving me into its story. After the rain stopped I decided to visit the beach.

More to come in Chapter Seven.
Are there particular times or places you are drawn to for no apparent reason? What is your story?

Photo Credits from Flickr.com:
1. Smabs Sputzer
2. Lovedaylemon
3. Lovedaylemon

Tagged as: Bowen Island, Bowen Island History, Edwardian era