Chapter Five: An artist on the fence

“Do what intrigues you, explore what interests you; think mystery, not mastery.”
Julia Cameron

There was time before dinner to do some sketching. I’d enjoyed art class in high school and even before I picked up the pencil I was visualizing the work of art I was about to create. Yeah right. Keep visualizing Davina. This froggy I drew in high school is 30 years old and I hadn’t picked up a brush or pencil since then.

My package of pencils contained an HB, 2B, 4B and an 8B they called THE water-soluble option. I couldn’t remember what pencil gave what effect, so I scribbled in the corner of the page and rubbed my fingers over each smudge; didn’t notice a whole lot of difference. Don’t think I really cared to tell you the truth. I just wanted to draw — to command the artist to come forth — to master the artist within.

I picked up the HB pencil, took a breath and began sketching a tall tree in the foreground, slightly to the left of the clearing. Started at the top and slowly scratched and scribbled down the page, holding my breath while I etched out what I hoped would accurately render the view.

Quickly tired of the tree and moved to the mountains. They soon looked like mountainous blobs of gray smudges on the page. Defeat was shaking its nasty finger at me, “Na Na Na Na Naa Na.” So, I switched pencils.

The pencil followed my lead to sketch two small islands that as you’ll see below, became two mounds of grass in a swamp, rather than two islands in an ocean. It was time to quit before the page ended up a crumpled mass at the bottom of the garden and the pencils became splinters scattered in the bushes.

Though I aspire to be quite zen-like… I have a temper just like my mother had. Thankfully, THAT is one thing I have been learning to master, unlike mother. She was an amazing artist though; painted in oils and water colours, did animal portraits in pastels and charcoal, and even painted commercial signs.

She once helped me make a paper mâché mask of King Tutankhamun and it won first prize in a school contest. It was mostly all her work though and I felt a little guilty about winning. She was one talented lady.

So there I sat, disappointed to say the least. Pencils scattered on the deck and a very inadequate rendering of the magnificent view before me. I told myself that I was expecting too much after so many years and moved to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

A seasoned cook

I know my way around the kitchen and it’s my dream to one day live in a home with the brightest, most spacious and well-equipped kitchen I could ever imagine. I love to cook and pride myself in being able to do three or four things at once while I’m working in the kitchen.

When I have guests over I go to great pains to plan the meal well ahead of time. I want to treat my guests like kings and queens and take pride in creating just the right mood to entertain them in. Cooking is an art and little did I know that I was in for yet another creative pursuit.

Whatever possessed me to buy squash at the Ruddy Potato, I’ll never know. I couldn’t peel it properly because the peeler wasn’t sharp enough. In fact, I could barely saw through the darn squash with a knife.

I persevered, carving the skin off in chunks and when I was finished, the kitchen was a mess. There were squash clippings everywhere. I soothed my frustration by sipping red wine. It worked.

This reminded me of my mother again, in the kitchen one Christmas. While she was taking the turkey out of the oven it fell on the floor. She wasn’t drinking red wine at the time. She should have been though.

That wasn’t a very Christmassy moment. If you’ll recall, I mentioned my mother’s temper earlier… We were able to laugh about this later on and it became a story that was retold every holiday season: “Remember that time mom dropped the turkey on the floor?”

After I finished massacring the squash, dinner came together quite nicely. Massacring the squash eh? What was it I’d said in Chapter One about putting a little tender loving care into my meals? Still haven’t decided if I mastered the squash or it mastered me — think it was a co-active moment.

I wouldn’t have won any prizes for presentation, but dinner tasted good; scallops and mushrooms fried in garlic and lots of butter, with rice, asparagus and of course, pulverized squash.

Chapter Six coming in a few days.

So, tell me a story about your creative pursuits in the kitchen or otherwise. How’s that workin out for ya?

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.

Chapter Three: Another happy landing

“The things that happen to us do not matter; what we become through them does.” Sri Gyanamata

Davina wakes up, showers, eats breakfast, takes the bus to town, buys food, comes home, eats and goes back to bed. Sounds like a smooth ride right? Like everything went according to plan.

As I had been observing from my vacation so far  (and as the next few days emerged), things don’t always go according to plan. On the first day I’d missed a ferry and then locked myself out. But, I was in vacation spirit and going with the flow was becoming pleasurable.

Sometimes it’s those bumpy rides in life that take us to better places, even though it might not seem like it at the time; they keep us well seasoned and awake. With practice, we learn to go with the flow and realize that time emerges of it’s own accord, whether we are on board or not.

As Betsy Wuebker from Passing Thru says, “Sometimes our biggest breakthroughs or rewards come when we stop trying so hard, and surrender to a force, which, I believe, has greater gifts in mind for us than we could ever imagine.”

Stepping into rhythm

The light in the room was dim at 7 am and I lifted my head to peer through the shadows. That precious curtain of trees was standing by in the early dawn hours, holding the space between the earth and sky. Rooted. Consistent. I rolled over and slept until nine. Ah, pure luxury.

Later, I rushed to make coffee after noticing rays of sunlight streaming into the solarium – yoga would wait – the sun wouldn’t. I’d be “saluting the sun” in my own way this morning.

While the coffee was brewing I admired the artwork on the walls. Then, busied myself with raising the curtains I’d closed the night before. Six windows and long strings I had to patiently wind around tiny hooks, pausing to untangle the knots that seemed to come from nowhere.

Breakfast in the solarium was surreal as the sun pelted down, filtered through the glass ceiling. The garden outside was alive with rich earthy green foliage that turned a welcoming face towards the sunlight. I was captured by the stillness yet again.

I sipped coffee, basking in the entire experience until thoughts of the two-hour Killarney Lake hike I’d planned turned my attention to other things. I remembered I still had to take the bus into town to buy groceries and after having finished a half bottle of wine last night, I’d need more of that too. So Killarney Lake would have to wait.

My wait for the bus was an impatient one because I was anxious to get the trip over with and return quickly. After 15 minutes I was pacing back and forth, aware of the time passing away and me not going anywhere. “Killarney Lake. Killarney Lake.” With each passing moment the day was unfolding and my plans were seeming to unravel.

I sat at the back of the bus and enjoyed quite a wild and bumpy ride, feeling slightly nauseous after 10 minutes. I was determined to stay put in spite of the nausea because I liked sitting at the back of the bus.

My sisters and I rode at the back of the school bus when we were in public school. In the early fall I’d watch coloured leaves chase after the bus as it whizzed along the country roads. In the spring we’d bounce around as the bus skipped over potholes.

There was a really good bump at the top of one hill. When the bus hit it you’d fly out of your seat a few inches. One time I flew so high that I crashed down hard and cried out in surprise. The bus driver gave me a stern look in the rear view mirror. The next day I was back in the same seat anticipating another run at that bump.

Today, I had one hour to shop in Snug Cove and the Ruddy Potato was my first stop. My vision of finding a halibut or salmon fillet was not to be, so I settled for scallops, chicken and more lamb.

With time to pass before the next shuttle, the cashier sent me on a wild goose chase to find an Internet café. I’d left my laptop at home in Kitsilano and thought it would be fun to visit Twitter while I waited for the shuttle; to tweet live and in colour from Snug Cove.

Alas, I was disappointed to learn the Friendly Italian coffee shop no longer had an Internet café. Instead I chatted with the lovely man behind the counter. He had gorgeous curly hair and one of those faces that smiled even when he wasn’t smiling. He was practically glowing — a well-seasoned Island Man.

That’s the ticket

There were two passengers on the bus. I sat in the seat behind the driver, who I assumed had again gone for a cup of tea. When I turned around to say hello they nodded and smiled. “Do you have a special ticket?” The man asked.

I waved my yellow ticket and replied, “I have the usual TransLink ticket. You can use it here, as well as on the Mainland.”

He showed me his ticket, telling me it had expired.

“Oh, but you can still use it.” I shared the secret I’d learned a day earlier, and then added smartly, “This is Bowen.” That’s what the locals say.

He looked doubtful and I assured him, “She let me use mine yesterday and it had expired hours before. They give passengers a lot of leeway because this bus runs so infrequently.” Then I put my hand up to my mouth and whispered slyly, “But don’t tell her I said so.”

Sure enough, when she returned he showed her their tickets and I pretended not to eavesdrop. It was one brief awkward moment; what if she’d made a liar out of me? He turned and gave me a knowing glance as he returned to his seat.

The ride home seemed shorter than I remembered, despite making extra stops to pick up and unload more passengers. The bus stopped midway to let a couple off and there in someone’s backyard were three deer.

They were beautiful. One of them turned to look back at us and then nonchalantly continued grazing and pawing in the grass. I was fascinated. Of course I’d seen deer before, but usually in a fleeting glance as they disappeared into the forest with nothing more than a flash of their white tail.

The bus driver announced, “If you can catch ’em, you can take ’em home, for free.” They barely noticed the bus and continued grazing even after the passengers unloaded and the bus pulled away. “They might just as well have been horses,” I thought to myself.

By the time I got home with my groceries and had lunch it was almost 3 pm. A Killarney Lake hike was fast fading from the plans, considering I’d have to catch the bus back towards Snug Cove. I was not too upset: “Mount Gardner. Mount Gardner,” I thought instead.

So, I climbed the hill towards Mutiny Road and access to the Mount Gardner trails. My virgin hiking shoes were about to get dirty.

Chapter Four coming soon.

Chapter Two: Home sweet home — almost

In Chapter One, you’ll recall that less than two hours after arriving at the bed and breakfast, I was locked out.

Though I wasn’t terribly worried my annoyance about the situation had distracted me from writing, and from the view pictured here. I peered through the glass longingly at the ottoman and the keys on the counter, and tried the door again, just in case. It was still locked.

I wasn’t even sitting on the hammock chair. There was a spider on it and another one in a web close behind it. No, I was sitting on the deck with my legs crossed, willing Wynn to return home with a spare set of keys.

I stood up, took the broom from the stairs and swept the spiders away, barely flinching for some strange reason. Then I sat back down on the floor of the deck. Don’t ask me why.

Eventually, I phoned a friend and after we shared a chuckle he looked up Wynn’s cell number on the website. I rambled through an embarrassing message on her voice mail and the call was returned immediately. She had left a spare set of keys hiding in an undisclosed location somewhere in the garden; a note she had already sent me with the email registration instructions. Go ahead, laugh. I know you wanna.

My bruised ego slunk inside and fixed some cheese and crackers, poured a glass of red wine and plunked down on the ottoman… finally! The silence was so great I could hear ringing in my ears. I put my feet up, covered myself with a fluffy orange throw and rested my chin on the back of the ottoman to stare out the window.

Funny, when I was locked out I was staring inside; now I’m inside, staring out. Go figure. My gaze moved from the trees, across the ocean, to the mountains and back again. It was SO quiet!

A spontaneous deep breath escaped my lips and I relaxed even more. Was it possible to sink even further into this cushion? It felt like I had. Though the B&B was elevated about three storeys above ground level the trees still towered above, standing at attention. My attention at that moment was on the deepest feeling of appreciation I’d felt in a long time.

I drank in the view, enveloped by the stillness and the comfort of the warm throw that was draped over me. My appreciation overflowed and big fat tears filled my eyes – I couldn’t help it. I sat there leaning into the view for a long time thinking about nothing at all; just breathing.

Little did I know that I was in for a rather abrupt meeting with a new friend. I stood up to stretch and moved my face close to the window to look down into the garden. What I saw made me gasp and jump back, horrified.

There in the corner of the window was the most god-awful looking spider I’d seen in a while. Very slowly I crept closer to look again; the sight of her gave me shivers. Her body was about the size of four very plump raisins. I was relieved to see that she was on the outside.

The hibachi was gathering dust in the pantry and I chose to leave that dust undisturbed; the grilled veggies I’d planned for dinner became sautéed veggies instead.

I dined on lamb, mashed potatoes and sautéed red and green peppers, zucchini, onion and garlic – lots of garlic and butter. And, more wine. My limit of one glass with dinner had been tossed.

After a half bottle of wine I was glowing and it was time for a movie. I pulled “A Fish Called Wanda” from the shelf and reveled in the goofy sexual encounters between the characters of Jamie Lee Curtis and John Cleese.

Peppermint tea, a couple of pieces of chocolate biscotti and a few Guylian chocolates were the perfect accompaniment. I’d seen this movie before and after they’d gotten all hot and heavy I lost interest, dozing off in the chair to dream of my own romantic encounters.

Visions of a rugged outdoorsy type with broad shoulders and devilish eyes that dance above a playful grin. A strong, intelligent and kind-hearted soul who appreciates and respects nature; a creative, free spirit with a deep, throaty voice that shakes your very soul.

Stay tuned for Chapter Three where among other things, I talk about a Happy Italian and the ride of a lifetime in the back of a bus :-) .