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.