Category — Photography

Michael and Madeleine, January 2011

Vancouver, Sea Bus at dusk.

One thing I will surely miss, when we depart for Toronto next spring, is our vast living space. We’ve been able to host the Marchioro family (2 parents, 3 kids, a Swiss student,) my island mom’s group (6 moms, 6 babies and room for more) and five friends (plus Michael, Madeleine, Brittany and her boyfriend) last weekend for brunch and a creative afternoon.

A day of peace, was the invitation. I met the ladies at the dock and delivered them, along the twisting cracked-pavement road, then up the dirt driveway to our house nestled deep in the woods. We lunched on warm cinnamon buns, eggs, sausages, bacon, fresh fruit, OJ and Ethical Bean coffee. Then we gathered around the coffee table each lighting a single tealight.

We turned our eyes to the flame as I shared Jesus’ words:

I am the Way, the Truth, the Light.

The weekend before the power in our house went out for more than 13 hours. At 9 o’clock I tiptoed into our bedroom with a lone candle in hand. The tea light cast no path, it simply enveloped my palm, my wrinkled knuckles, in its warm glow.

There was no path. As far as I could tell there was no room. Only the floor. Only the candle. Only me.

I was taken with the thought: God, Jesus, never called himself a path. Never directed us to a path. He called us to himself. He called us to the Light. THERE IS NO PATH. There never was. There is only Him.

Out of this focus on Light, on our Creator and Guide, we took to the bins of paper, the typewriter, the paints, and scissors and canvases. It was a rainless sky day, so I took to the porch and, with the lap of Pacific as my playlist, put the finishing touches on two paintings I’ve had in process for the last month.

Thank you, Steph, Marisa, Sara, Julia and Wendy (a day early!) for coming. I wish all days looked this beautiful.

The day you walked I cried. Four, seven, fifteen steps from piano bench to coffee table glass. All smiles. Head up. Pure concentration. Feet rising from confident heart in your frame, tall.

You deliver toys with intention. One shelf to another. Shelf to table. Table to shelf. One by one. Back and forth.

These are our days. Dishes drawn from cupboard. Filled to full. Devoured. Floor swept, face washed, dishes cleaned. Placed back behind wooden doors for hours. Repeat again.

We pass the deer and her two fawns to deposit our things in the garbage shelter. Keep the lid tucked on. Keep the wood top latched. Two bears have swam to the island. Two bears we don’t want to meet at our door.

The recycling depot is a place to make friends. Kids dive in the newspaper bin, giant. “Its because we don’t have a swimming pool,” smiles a mother carrying a bin of mixed plastics. Yes, just the ocean. But it’s fall and it’s cold and winter is nipping at our heels and we’re thinking of carrying in the firewood to start heating this enormous house of glass.

Later, at the Knick Knack Nook, the island thrift shop, we comb shelves for treasure. We deliver our things to the counter. You — a small rainbow-coloured xylophone (you carry the mallet,) the God made friends book, a pair of slippers and a pair of gloves for infant hands, a photo holder, a walkman for listening to the tapes recently dug up, and a lovely sweater — for when you are a bigger girl — from Marks and Spencer, no less.

“That will be $3.70,” the nice volunteer sing-songs from the counter. But I only have plastic. They even take cheques she informs me (only on the island!) but I’ve left them at home. I offer to go to town to get cash if they could just hold my things…

“Oh, I’ve got it,” she says, drawing a 10 dollar bill from her wallet. “This is a perfect Bowen moment,” she chuckles, handing me the money. “Just drop it by for me anytime. My name is Lyn.” And with that, she’s out the door.

A perfect Bowen moment, indeed.

We’ve been welcomed to the village. I may never want to leave.

Sitting down to write, here at the dinner table, the Pacific laid out before me, sipping tea while baby sleeps and indulging in a slice of carrot cake from Whole Foods reminds me of the way I felt during my first days working on the second floor at the CBC. Awe. Am I really here? Somebody pinch me.

Our dream really has come true.

The days so far have been filled with mother meet-ups and visiting with the Cowper family. We’ve sipped tea outside Daniel’s handmade house and entertained around our dining table.

Matthew comes by for a swing on a porch every day or two. We borrow their hammock.

I wandered into the Bowen Island Family Place last Tuesday and was enveloped in this intimate island community. This is one of my greatest joys as a mother: the instant community that forms around children. Two days at Family Place, a dozen introductions later, and a lovely mom named Victoria invited me to her mom’s group. I got thoroughly lost on my way there. Luckily Madeleine napped as I crisscrossed the island, finally making my way to Caroline and her daughter Katie’s beautiful home. Caroline, a former campaign finance lawyer from Washington, DC, bare-faced and effortlessly beautiful, welcomed me at the door. Her husband John, who owns an amazing travel company, came in to say Hi.

Bit by bit I am piecing together people’s stories. I’m hungry to know why people live here, where they’ve come from, how they make it work, what other roles these devoted mothers fill. One, a recent transplant from New York, left a career as a social worker and is writing copy so she can stay home with her little one. Another a forestry worker, another a teacher. Some from Toronto, Vancouver, many new to Bowen, just like me.

I plan to get back into the writing saddle while we’re here and have connected with three potential part-time nannies for Madeleine. One a student hopeful for a career in childhood education, one a composer/musician recently moved from Brooklyn, and one a mom with a daughter two months older than Madeleine. We’re taking the week to decide. I can’t wait to have two solid days to sit with my books, pen and MacBook and create.

It feels right in every single way that we’re here. Everything is flowing. A friend of mine, a deeply spiritual person, gave me this advice many years ago: Follow the way of peace. Now, not every part of of our life at present is peaceful (we’re unpacking boxes while the three of us nurse colds and we’re cranky, oh, and I killed the largest spider I have ever seen this morning) but at every turn peace is meeting us.

It’s like I can hear God saying “Yes.”

happiness looks like…

Madeleine’s first birthday party this weekend, at Burnaby’s Foreshore Park. Photo taken by Julia Heinenon.