The Bard & Banker - Robert Service

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"There's a race of men that don't fit in,a race that can't stay still..." -Robert Service 

Robert Service

A  Victorian beauty of a building caught my eye in the same historic section on Government Street in Victoria. After checking out of the Bedford, I rolled along with my suitcase to The Bard and Banker. It was a bank for decades, then a Christmas shop, and now it is a restaurant, named after our famous Canadian bard, Robert Service.

When Robert Service left England at 21, he was drawn to the wild west. He worked in this bank amid all the excitement in Victoria that was the gold rush, from 1896 to 1903. Later he was to work in the Duncan area (across the pond from me) before going to the Yukon where his poetry

made him famous. I have seen his cabin in Dawson City, perched on the edge of town. I sat on a stump outside the open door while an enormous rook crowed rudely. Robert Service went on to live an even more varied life. The earnings from his publications made him wealthy. He hobnobbed with the rich and famous in Europe, married, had one child, and eventually died at 84 in his home in France.  

The breakfast menu at the Bard and Banker was an appetizing one, and I enjoyed sitting back and gazing at the architecture, thinking about this intriguing man. 

Haunted Fan Tan Alley

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

Continuing with the birthday theme, I made my way to Il Terrazzo, one of my favourite restaurants, the kind has old brick work, propane flame, and tasteful plantings. Being a country girl, I tried not to feel nervous about the approaching dark. This entailed a walk through the historic Bastian Square to the infamous Fan Tan Alley. The narrow alley used to house opium dens, gambling, and prostitutes, during the good old days when the gold rush brought settlers to the wild west. The alley is named after a gambling game that was illegal. 

The story goes that people hear footsteps, turn, and noone is there. Author, Shannon Sinn, in his book The Hauntings of Vancouver Island, writes that it is the murderer, not the victim, who people report seeing. A prostitute named You Kum, used to sit in the window, and was said to have been very beautiful. She had a frequent visitor named Ah Heung. He proposed marriage to her twice. It was said she did want to marry him, but she was already married. The two often argued. One day, in a fit of jealousy, he flew into a brutal rage. He stood in Fan Tan Alley and when she leaned out her window, he severed her head with a long curved knife. He was jailed then condemned to hang, but before that could happen, all shaved and combed, he hung himself with a noose made from his own shirt.  The ghost of an Asian man covered in blood revisits the grisly scene. People get into the most frightful muddles, don't they?

Looking over my shoulder anxiously, I arrived intact. The squid and shrimp in a rich passata over polenta was exquisite. I just about passed out eating a sumptuous slice of hazelnut cheesecake. 

"It feels like my birthday," I said to my server. 

"Every day at Il Terrazzo feels like a birthday," he replied. 

I have to get off the island more often. 

The Ghost Of Lady Churchill

 By Maryanna Gabriel

With flooding and storms, I kept a promise to myself. As my birthday last summer consisted of recovering from a back fracture, this was my treat. I took the ferry from Salt Spring Island to Victoria, to spend the night in a vintage hotel, The Bedford Regency. There are a section of buildings along Government Street which are absolutely charming. "Any ghosts?" I asked. The lobby was definitely dated. A young woman at the counter was forthcoming. The Bedford, built in 1910, did have ghosts. I listened, fascinated. Back in the day, after the building was commissioned to house a stationary business, it became The Churchill Hotel. She said Lady Churchill had witnessed the brutal murder of the man she loved. The trauma was so great she had committed suicide. Apparently, she can still be heard singing from her old room. 

Undaunted, I checked in and then wended my way to the Garrick Head Pub which used to be Garrick's Head Saloon. It is one of the oldest pubs in Canada, dating to 1867. I had the clam chowder and studied the old wood floor, and wished some of the history was featured more prominently in the décor. A man named Mike Powers who was murdered over 100 years ago, is reputed to be seen sometimes warming his hands by the fire. It was not advertised the pub was where prisoners used to have their last meal. Condemned by Judge Begbie, otherwise known as the hanging judge, they were hung in the gallows across the way in Bastion Square.

I suppose faffing about where ghosts hang out isn't terribly birthdayish, or Christmasy for that matter, but I was loving it. Fortunately, Lady Churchill refrained from humming a few bars during my stay. 

Solstice Lemon Honey Cake

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"Et lux in tenebris lucet - 

the light shineth in the darkness."

-Victor Frankl

The darkness is a cocoon I enfold myself into as we approach solstice. This is such a delicious, moist cake that I thought I would share it with you. It helps....  adapted from a recipe I found on the internet. If you have a flavourful honey it really makes it good. 

Solstice Lemon Cake 

Whisk wet ingredients until smooth:
3 eggs
1 1/2 c. olive oil (good quality and yes this much)
1/2 c. sugar
1/c. honey (this really makes it)
1 1/4 c. milk or buttermilk
2 tsp. vanilla
zest and juice of two lemons

In another bowl mix dry ingredients:
2 c. flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt

Add to wet ingredients and place in a 9"greased spring form pan. Sprinkle with sugar (this is important). Bake 350/50 minutes and shake a bit of icing sugar onto the top. 

Forest Bathing In My Atmospheric River

 By Maryanna Gabriel

My first thought upon waking up is that I need to dig a ditch in the driveway. The "atmospheric river" is upon us. Water is still streaming down our road and my driveway seems to be a nice little drain. This is all due to the strip logging up on the mountainside. Funny thing about language. Who ever heard of atmospheric rivers before?

The Japanese are big on "forest bathing", or shinrin-yoku. It means there is therapeutic benefit to walking among trees. There are whole courses on it and even therapists who offer guidance through the process. Who knew I could have been capitalizing on this concept over the years. With all of the first growth on the property, I missed a great opportunity. I suppose it is not too late. One would have to be prepared for the river streaming through the sky though.

So I am forest bathing in my atmospheric river. 

Ho Ho Ho - North Pole Business

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

It is that time of year where the North Pole is getting busier and Santa recently had an important missive with the largest list yet. A few years ago it was only a candy cane. This year there are many items laid out in a graph.

Graph? Yes, graph. Am also worried there are no colours layered into the letter. On the good side there is some concern for the Claus's health and this is positive. So the elves have been at work. 

There apparently has been not enough snow in the North Pole, so snowstorms are not a problem, but lately there was an Aurora Borealis which has helped the elves enormously with the the additional light in the sky. They have a lot of lists to check but I am not sure they are using a graph system. Maybe my grandson could get a job there. He wanted to help Santa last year. 

I am trying to think what else Santa might need to know from my neck of the woods but I am guessing he probably has it all figured out. I love this time of year.

The Great Flood of 2021

Ditch work being done at midnight outside my house. 

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

Serves me right for quoting Julian of Norwich in my last post. 

The great flood. Well, things were really rocking and a'rolling here. After I went to bed, I could hear chainsaws and clunking noises, then engines revving. At about midnight I gave up and traipsed out to the street in my dressing gown to see what was the matter.

What was the matter was my neighbour had engaged a cat and they were madly ditching, while a river of water from the intense downpour coursed down our road. 

Salt Spring Island is a bit of a mess and so is my yard, but I am slowly cottoning onto how widespread the flooding has been in some places. I am very sorry that the folks in Merritt in the interior of British Columbia had to evacuated, and that people were trapped on the Trans Canada Highway. 

Embracing Cosy

 "All shall be well, and shall be well,
and all manner of things shall be well."

-Julian of Norwich

By Maryanna Gabriel


After two and half months, I have come to the end of an edit. All forty four chapters, a huge
accomplishment. For some reason words seem to jump out of place when I am not looking. So it is a big pause for me right now and a happy one, especially given all my assignments are starting to come back with the best possible marks. The end of the tunnel is in sight for my Master's degree in creative writing. 

Pain Aux Raisins

It is a day to dress like a duck. Or week rather. Instead of "wind warning", or "snow warning", the weather says "rain warning". Rather than feeling glum, I am embracing cosy. This means making a huge attempt to get out of my fuzzy dressing down and turning on all the little Christmas lights. I have two strings alone in the living room, a cheerful way to light up the gray.

Then there is catching up with old friends with a call which has been nice this morning. And making pain aux raisons. But mostly, I am looking forward to writing my international Christmas cards. 

All is well. When in doubt, bake. 

Lifting One's Stuffing

  By Maryanna Gabriel

With thanksgiving coming I have been feeling peculiar. Mostly because I miss my family. When I was young I would curl up with a good book and the world would fall away. To my surprise I have done just this. My studio is my happy place, cozy with pillows, flowers in a vase, and wood beams. Not only have I been reading one of my favorite authors, but I have been napping. Such pleasures I could only fantasize about when I was younger and not possible if preparing a massive turkey dinner.

Then I understood multitudes are in the position I am in. Many are feeling strange this weekend. Like Christmas, it is supposed to be a gathering of those near and dear. My thoughts went to the Dalai Lama and the practice of tonglen, where one joins energy in compassion for those in the same space. Funny thing.  I immediately felt better. Sending out compassion lifted my stuffing. Off now to make a pumpkin pie. 

Getting Published - I Believe

 By Maryanna Gabriel


I have been researching publishers and making inquiries about whether or not they would be interested in my book about the Camino. Such endeavors can be arduous so it was with some surprise I recently had three publishing houses look at my book proposal. To my even greater surprise, I heard back from two. The latest response arrived a couple of days ago and was complimentary. "You write beautifully." Gosh, awfully nice to hear. My book was not what they were looking for but it was encouraging to be given the compliment. 

One has to keep trying and putting one's best foot forward. If no publisher expresses an interest, I will self publish. There has been positive feedback from my beta readers which has also been encouraging. At this point there is so much vested with three years put into it, it makes my head spin. I believe. 

Maybe if I sprinkle tinker bell dust around my writing table. 

The Silence Of Gold

 By Maryanna Gabriel


A gold nugget has been kicking around my jewelry box for years. It came with a note. "Belonged to your great grandfather..."

A jeweler informed me that it was too soft for him to do anything with. Recently I discovered an assayer and gave it to him to price out. To my surprise it was worth almost two hundred dollars. "I'll take it," I said. It can go towards my tuition, an amount which is killing me. I wonder what my great grandfather would have thought if he knew one day he would help his great granddaughter with her education. 

Nobody in the family talked about him. My questions were met with pursed lips. I think he abandoned my great grandmother with three sons, but it is a mystery. There is no photograph or birthdate. Just a name. When I did the family tree I tried to find more information but the trail went cold.

I wish now I had been persistent and asked more questions. Maybe he panned for gold in the Yukon and hung out with Diamond Tooth Gertie and that is how he got the nugget. Or maybe he was a gambler and the nugget was payment. Whatever the answer, I will never know. It must have been quite the scandal at the time for me to have been met with such silence. 

Back Pain

 By Maryanna Gabriel

There is an older woman with shoulder length white hair who walks up and down Rainbow Road. I see her often. She is well dressed and looks like an interesting person. The thing is, she is bent forward from her waist hunched over in a permanent crook. 

Today as I stopped at my mail box, she passed me. 

"Your back must hurt," I said wanting to get to know her better. In her hand was a sheaf of fall leaves. Her intelligent blue eyes shone seemed luminous. 

"It does," she replied. 

"I hurt my back and I take something for it. You can get it at the local pharmacy."

 She had no idea which pharmacy and was sure she was on Vargas Island, which let me tell you, is a long way from here. Oh dear. This conversation was going sideways. I wrote the name down on a piece of paper along with the location of the gentlest chiropractor I know.

It was as though I had handed her a mysteriously valuable piece of information if she only knew what it was for. Alzheimer's. For sure. I spoke as calmly and as reassuringly as I could. She refused an offer of a ride as she wrapped my missive carefully around her leaves saying she would study it and get in touch with me about it. 

Sometimes I worry this will be me in the future, my back not healed, my hair snow white, bent over in pain, as meaningless bits of my manuscript float about my head, like some incomprehensible Dead Sea scroll. 

I hope the angels are looking after her. They are so busy these days. 

On Earth As It Is: Walking The Camino ~ Book Trailer

I made a book trailer. It seemed like a huge accomplishment. 

Caring

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"Blessed be those who have loved you
Into becoming who you were meant to be" 
-John O'Donahue

I am not sure why, but I think birthday cake helps with accidents. Falling off the ladder was not that great - quite rough actually, but I am starting to feel better. As it was my birthday, I had to make the most of a compromised situation.

There have been many surprises. Some really caring responses for one. It is blowing me away. I had no idea. I also have been given a lot of chocolate which is always a good thing. There have been visits to the house too, which has totally surprised me. And little gifts. And my friend Martha sent the most beautiful birthday present. It is a handmade sewing kit accompanied by a celebratory tile. It is a celebration on account of me reaching the end of the manuscript.

A friend visited yesterday. She said the fall was a message. I think she is right. I have been writing about trauma and like the famous author, Maya Angelou, I relive the experiences when I am writing so that I can get it all down, although I am still not sure what hurling myself off a ladder is supposed to signify. No point in committing hari kari just when I am getting somewhere.

The considerations shown in so many ways are the absolute best, and the icing on the cake. 

Back Story

 By Maryanna Gabriel

I have come to the end of my book. At least I think I have. It's a wonderful feeling even although there are a million things left to do. Gosh, darned, just as I was just starting to relax, what did I go and do? I fell off a ladder and really hurt my lower back. I am so lucky I didn't break any bones. No more swimming with the beavers. 

Am wondering if there is a connection between hurting my back and mulling over my back story. Back. Back story. Back to back. Get it?

Alright, alright. Enough of this. Easy does it old girl.

I guess I forgot to spread my wings. 

Blood Red Sun

 By Maryanna Gabriel

It is feeling apocalyptic these days. The smoke from the fires to the north have covered the morning sun rising over a nearby lake on Salt Spring Island. I'm not going to lie. It hurts. 

Then there is the heat wave. Today it is cooler. Not to mention the efficacy of the vaccines lowering just as everybody is madly visiting.

I work hard on keeping things alive - stalwart garden friends of green are drooping sadly - am just keeping ahead. Feel blessed to live here compared to so many, but suddenly what was fixed seems fragile. 

Can we go back in time? Say 1976? It was all so innocent then and I was not worrying about the elephants. 

Somewhere I read a story about a man riding a train in India that was passing dead bodies. Have I already written this? I am getting a deja-vu - I digress. A fellow passenger said why are you smiling? "I am looking at the white flowers up the mountainside and thinking how beautiful they are." Meaning it is how one looks at things, I suppose. Not that I want to stick my head in the sand. Out to the road I go and pick blackberries, then down to the garden to find the last of the rhubarb and into the jam pot they be for a fine finish to left-over polenta pancakes. It is a beautiful life. 

August

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"Some people don't understand that sitting in your own house,

 in peace, eating snacks, and minding your own business is priceless."
- warrior_goddess_training 

Beans In My Garden

Where does everybody go in August anyways? It's so quiet. There is something so marked about my birth month, the ripening of corn, the deepening of shadows, the buzzing of insects, the smell of ripening black berries, dry grass, the cooler nights. The light changes slightly - more golden. The runner beans are madly growing in the garden and there seems to be a new zucchini every time I look. 

Have I ever spent an entire summer at home? I don't think so. Lots of adventures have been quietly tucked away in my mental archives so I am totally okay. The inflated prices, the forest fires, oh, and that weirdo pandemic thing, I can forget for a time. Not that I have actually been vacationing in my backyard. But the good news is I have come to the end of my book. It is a huge weight off. There are still about a billion more things to do on it but I am telling myself I can enjoy the moment. It's August. 

Swimming With The Beavers

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Well the island is flooded with tourists. We almost forgot what it is like here on a long weekend. Ganges in chockablock because today is Market Day. I have learned to adapt. I never go to town on a Saturday morning and for my lake swim I wake up early. It is usually quiet but only if I arrived at dawn.

Sometimes a Bald Headed Eagle surveys me from a tall dead tree but yesterday I was surprised by a quickly moving form in the water. It had a large head, too big to be a mink. Maybe it was an otter. Do otters live in lakes? I made as little movement as possible and studied him. Suddenly, he saw me and veered, and then dove. Slap, went his tail. Then it came to me. A beaver. A brief survey of the shoreline confirmed what I was looking for - the beginnings of a lodge. Close to a high traffic area too. Not the best choice of location but then maybe he was a cosmopolitan sort of fellow. One wonders how far he has traveled and from where. 

Modern Homesteading

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

It is the time of year when the garden is producing and decisions have to made quickly. Here are a few of mine, shared to inspire. Once one gets going it is easy. 

Oil. Add good quality olive oil to everything. 

Sundried Tomatoes 
Enter: garlic, baby onions, whole pepper, lemon peel (thin slices) and olive oil. The marinated oil  is delicious straight from the jar onto a salad with fresh lemon and black pepper. 

Red Peppers
Enter: red peppers, thinly sliced garlic cloves, basil. First roast the peppers until blackened then peel of the skin and thinly slice. Alternate.

Pickles In A Jar
Enter: Cucumbers, red peppers, onions. Soak in water with course salt in the fridge for a couple of hours. To make brine use equal parts vinegar to sugar and add pepper corns and mustard seed. When cool, place the vegetables in a jar, add brine, then refrigerate. No other cooking necessary. I also added dill. The brine is wonderful for poaching salmon, any other fish, or eggs, or for adding to a slaw dressing recipe. 

Day Twenty - Wahooo!

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"Anyone who says writing is easy, isn't doing it right."
-Amy Joy

The book. Focus, focus, focus. 

After more than two years of intermittent progress, I have just had twenty days straight, working five to ten hours per day on the manuscript. I can finally feel I have the bones down, more than just the bones actually. I could be onto tendons, flesh and hair. I can't tell you how good it feels. I have even written an ending I feel good about it. 

I have lots of middle bits left but at least I feel like I know where it is all going without being mired in the middle. Wahoooo!!! Dream of a lifetime nearing closure. Not sure if I have any friends left though. 

Boat Explosion On Salt Spring Island

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

Not the most relaxing walk. 

I have been working hard with the writing. So I scribbled this note to myself last night and left it on the kitchen counter to make sure I did it. Today, for some reason I did not park where I normally do. I drove to the ocean and parked where I never do. Definitely weird given the theme of my last blog. 

With a loud BOOM, black smoke spumed from a boat off of Hudson Point. I could see pleasure boats turning and stream towards it but there was nothing they could do. That guy is a goner. As I stood and watched, the smoke funneled upward like a tornado. The air reeked. 

Along came the fire engines. Four of them. I didn't even know we had that many on Salt Spring Island. The ambulance came without a siren or lights on. Not a good sign. They all converged at the spot I normally park on. Thank goodness I was not caught in the middle of it. 

The odd thing is, this is the fourth emergency call in a very short time. First the lumberyard went up in flames, then a resort quite close to where this accident is caught on fire, and now this.

It is a relief to come home to my peaceful forest without much excercise, but at least I managed to find some raspberries on a roadside stand. A bit of comfort. 

Writing and Synchronicity

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"There is no rule on how to write.
Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly;

sometimes it's like drilling rock
and then blasting it out with charges."

- Ernest Hemingway

I am up at dawn, listening to eagles up on the mountain as I write. 

The heat has abated, thank God, with a wave of deaths in it's wake. Tears welled up as I saw the drumming at parliament in Ottawa for Canada Day, something about the passion of the singing. The situation is unconscionable. I am beavering away on my manuscript after working terribly hard to clear the decks so I could get to it. A series of assignments are now completed. Now it is a question of focus. I am so grateful to at last concentrate. The book requires a lot of thought and is with me day and night. I am worried I am going to be interrupted. Ten or so hours per had now ten days in a row and I have made encouraging progress. Dean Koontz writes this is his style as well, to live with the story lest the finer details of character and plot drop away. 

There are weird coincidences around the writing that are quite striking. I read a part of the book out loud to a friend who is referenced in it. Just as I said a "shirtless man appeared on the path" a shirtless man actually did appear in her yard. A beautiful looking man at that. We stared at each other. What are the odds?

Again. I had a renter break the door to the fridge in the cottage. The next person to stay was a refrigerator specialist. He was able to help me with a specific application. What are the odds? He and his fiancée are the loveliest people. A conversation with them yesterday helped spark some missing pieces I need to slot into place with the writing. She even noticed the synchronicity and said it was all meant to be. It makes me feel as though I am on track and although I am alone on this writing mission, I am not really. 

Heat

 By Maryanna Gabriel

This is the view from my deck. Lucky me. It is supposed to be the cool time at dawn. Normally it is temperate. Normally. 

Already, I have managed a few forays with watering and laundry and already I need to yield. The air is like soup, and not the thin kind. It feels as though I am inside a plastic bag. No air. Half of western North America is suffering with this record breaking dome of heat. One of my science fiction novels about the future seems to be coming true. I cannot imagine trying to wait in a ferry line up right now let alone negotiate travel of any kind. 

 It is the still point around which the day revolves. 

The Tell Tale Dectector

 By Maryanna Gabriel


"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."
- Edgar Allan Poe

 

                                                                                                     
As the lumberyard rises from the ashes, I am remembering my father scaring us to death by reading Edgar Allan Poe's, "The Tell Tale Heart" right before bedtime and then pulsing the flashlight through the orange curtain after he said goodnight until my brother, sister and I screamed for mercy. 

Which brings me to my hallway, speaking of screaming. I have a smoke detector that beeped through online zoom classes. Sometimes if I adjusted it's location it would stop, but at critical junctures of conversation it would start up again. It has been driving me batty.

I frantically searched for a manual and could not find one. The alarm was wired in and cost a lot of money to put into place. Was. Notice the verb tense. The day came when I had to do a presentation and silence was a priority. With firm resolution I got my snips and cut. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. That will stop you. If I die in a fire I will just have to deal with it later." The logic of this might need some work. 

Lo. It continued to beep. How is this possible? I hid it under the couch. Could still hear it. Into the depths of the underwear drawer. Could still hear it. I got out a magnifying glass and read the fine print on it's little chirping underbelly. A battery. Of course. But why? Over the battery cover it says DO NOT REMOVE BATTERY or  COVER WILL NOT FASTEN. I briefly considered drowning the thing in a bucket of water. 

As I see it there is no choice, it is in the shed on the farthest reach of the property, still chirping its relentless heart out. I have not solved the problem though. Wires dangle in the middle of the hall. Somehow the smoke detector has to go back on. All very Poe. 

Salt Spring Lumberyard Burned

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


Our lumberyard burned. I slept through the fire engines. I am just up the hill and can hear Ganges noises well. But I have been tired, coming out of sessions in two writing schools with homework to prepare for a residency this week.

So when I got up to catch a ferry at dawn I was totally unprepared. When I saw the scene with smoke pouring out of the roof, I gasped and grabbed my heart. It was a shock. Apparently there were huge explosions as the paint went up. With the fumes, the fire just roiled along the building roof. It was unstoppable. 

In such a brief time, so much can change.

Tonight I went to take a closer look and Windsor Plywood is manned with a security guard. It is to preserve the integrity of the scene for insurance purposes. Islanders were driving by to see for themselves. About every five minutes people were stopping to stare or chat. The lumberyard is a fixture and to have that fixture gone, well, it rocks the community. Of course, the owners are already working double time with a temporary office. A tent is coming so the trades can keep going.

I was wondering if I would still get my account bill. Yup. I checked. It came in the mailbox today. Guess I better pay it lickety-split. 

 

May Flowers

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight."

- A Midsomer Night's Dream

Exciting family news. A son has been born to my first born daughter and I am overjoyed. This morning I was lost in my garden and it seemed as if the day had the same sentiment. The happiness of growth. 

Helicopters Flying Over Mount Erskine

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

Helicopters have been going back and forth across Mount Erskine where I live on Salt Spring Island. One was flying particularly low, moving methodically back and forth. I was working in the garden tried not to get thrown off my bean planting with all of the thudding through the trees. They were looking for something.

I squinted up through the canopy of green and stared at it. The helicopter was huge and the colours seemed vaguely familiar. Then it came to me. It was the same banding as on a squad car for the RCMP. Well, it must be something important to bring out such a big bird.

I asked a couple of people what was going on but nobody knew. Later I noticed the article on CBC news. A sociology professor from UBC, Sinikka Gay Elliott, was missing. Her car had been found a block from my house. The local news exchange said our Country Grocer was donating sandwiches to the Search and Rescue and locals were asked to stay out of the way to let the pros do their work unhindered. In nearby Portlock Park, tents were assembled as hundreds gathered, looking for her. Search and Rescue came from Duncan and Port Alberni and beyond. I heard from a friend yesterday, it was thought she was depressed. 

It could have been suicide. Or, she could have been hiking and injured herself but it was not a good sign we were on day three without finding her. A cougar could have gotten to her. Or maybe she was abducted and goodness knows what. 

Well, yesterday, they found her. No foul play suspected. 

Mother & Pimms

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

It is Mother' s Day. I am writing a book as some know, and am at the part where I am describing my last visit with my mother. I sat down yesterday to the computer to tackle the edits and began to retch. She died over ten years ago and still it is hard. Mothers are our very blood and bone. 

Given that my daughters are far away, and no invitation for High Tea at The Empress Hotel is forthcoming, I decided to have a bucket list experience in a quiet kind of way. Reading British novels is a favourite past time and it seems the characters are forever sipping Pimms during late afternoons in English gardens. I have always wondered what it tasted like, so yesterday I bought some, thinking I would give it a try. 

Oh dear. I must not be making it right. Think marmite that has water added to it, with an alcohol level. The taste was alarming - I don't really like it. Now I have a whole bottle of the stuff. 

Red Dress

 By Maryanna Gabriel

I am proud to say red dresses are flying here on Salt Spring Island, a symbol of an indifferent society, giving voice to a gender and race that has been voiceless. In Canada, thousands of First Nations Women have disappeared.

In British Columbia there is a highway east of Chetwynd, and south of William's Lake, where wild rivers and snow capped mountains overlook a road that is particularly bad, nicknamed The Highway Of Tears. Author Jessica McDiarmid has documented the stories in her recent book, raising the alarm there is an "elephant in our national living room". No longer possible to ignore how little is being done to stop the murders, these red dresses deserve redress. 

Rainforest Flying Squad - Warning Explicit Content

 By Maryanna Gabriel

All the work needing to be done on the property has been overwhelming. I put out an ad for help and had the nicest young man respond. For three days we worked together and I was impressed that he arrived on time - always an accomplishment on Salt Spring Island. He was considerate and worked hard. Every penny was worth it and so I tipped him.

As he left, he told me he was going to a protest. A company is logging old growth forest in a sensitive area. I know the region well, a beautiful part of Vancouver Island not far from Clayoquot Sound. Protests years ago saved this delicate region which was eventually made into a park. Being a lover of trees and all too familiar with the desecration of Vancouver Island, I had a funny feeling as he was leaving. 

"Take care out there. Look after yourself," I called out. He turned and nodded thoughtfully. 

I thought he was very brave. That was a couple of days ago. Today he is on the CBC news. Listen to these loggers make racial slurs and threaten him. Of course, the news version is all bleeped. 

The young man is part of a movement called Rainforest Flying Squad. The group has launched an appeal to the British Columbia courts against Tree Farm Licence #46. "Teal Jones’ primary method of logging is clear cutting, ensuring the loss of biodiversity. They have stated their intention to cut “all available old-growth until it is exhausted.” https://laststandforforests.com/

I should have tipped him more. 

Twilight Zone

By Maryanna Gabriel

Saturday morning is market day on Salt Spring Island, a time for a local inhabitant to proceed with caution with the crowds. Normally it is impossible to wend one's way into town and errands on a Saturday morning are out of the question. I braved it.

It was like the twilight zone. The streets were practically deserted as the recent travel restrictions have impacted visitors. A quick glance at the stalls showed me the vendors were all set up. However, nobody was there. It felt so eerie. 

It is always good to retreat to the garden. The Dogwood, the flower for British Columbia, is in full blossom. It feels soothing to stand under.