Date With A Bathtub

By Maryanna Gabriel

"There are times when my spirit, weary and worn,
Longs for the peace of a dry canyon morn,
To rise from my sleep, dreamless and deep,
To the canyon wrens song."
              - Bright Angel by Susan Osborn

Date with an outdoor bath tub. 

I found myself in desert canyon country, not quite lunar, but close. It was extremely hot and tumbleweeds and sage brush decorated the roadside. I was by the Thompson River in Spence's Bridge, population 150, and have just slowed for a big horned sheep. I was happily renting a house for the night that had been built in the 1800's and where British ethnobotanist James Teit lived. This man recorded much of the local indigenous Thompson culture and was a part of land negotiations during British colonization. It seemed the perfect segue. There is a

Kettle Valley

heat here that is wilting and I have gratefully retreated to the cooler recesses of the house. Apparently the trout are running. The trout are running? That is what she said. I tried to be polite as my hostess informed me that I should check the tree outside for black bears before I depart in the morning. "Oh," I mouthed silently as I mentally moved my schedule up for my bath from starlight to twilight. I went outside and nervously looking around I tried to destress from the day's drive as I gratefully inserted myself into the hot water and examined the trees. A train came by. Whoo whoo. The geography seemed to vibrate. I suppose one gets used to it. I noted the different whistles and variations in the way a conductor could make the sound. I was happy our commerce was so viable, apparently the country is moving a lot of goods. That's good, right? Do people really sleep through all of this? At least I never lived here. Hmmm. Could I? So there you have it. And I was not torn limb from limb although she really had me going. Apparently I have not gotten over the bear that ripped the tent apart when I was doing archaeology up north. Much later, after visiting my family in Alberta, I meandered west through the Kettle Valley and caught up with a pumpkin patch. Nope. I never lived in the Kettle Valley either. I was glad to catch the ferry to the Gulf Islands and home. Enough meandering. I had revisited some of my past. Time for a glass of wine and a good book by the fire.