By Maryanna Gabriel
It has been coming on for awhile. First it was one or two. Now there is
a virulent proliferation. We have become a place of “No Parking” signs. As more
people come here regulation has seemingly had to follow which is precisely my
point. “Salt Spring has changed,” an old friend sighed in a recent
conversation. “Yes,” I commiserated. We stared at each other feeling somewhat
like relics of a passing era. I had taken it as a sign from the universe (there
were so many) and had made an offer elsewhere, further north, the last place
one would expect a meter maid. It turned into a rather expensive fiasco. I am
chastened on many levels. In almost losing ground, I find I have gained it. My
appreciation for this place has heightened. It would seem I am granted a
permanent parking permit as I reluctantly adapt to the growth here.