home again, home again

ahh.
it wasn't as shocking as it was on our short trip here in september, all these cedar and fir forests, islands, ocean, mountains. i had been in the city for almost a year straight aside from the odd day trip to the gateneaus, but this time the spectacular view of the coastal mountains and howe sound was tunneled in my mind since leaving. closer to flocking from montreal, less need to distance myself from the joy of this place.
yesterday, we woke up to a blue crisp sky and my ma said, now, we're spending this day outside because we likely won't see the sun again for a few weeks. we drove to bonniebrook and walked along the pebbled beach where the ocean isn't scattered with islands but wide open with a view of vancouver island. the sun was warm and we sat on logs and basked in it. we drove to roberts creek and had lunch at the gumboot, then carried on to jean's, the food co-op tucked in the forest somewhere off the highway. it consists of a big cooler room crammed with local organic veggies, and another small room for chocolate, crackers, bread. it's a very personal encounter. jean works six days a week; there's never anyone else to total your costs and see what you're eating this week.
when i was a kid organic food was undervalued and almost non-existent, even in a place like this. there was one place to buy good produce: nancy's makeshift food stand consisting of her westfalia van, a tarp and a little scale. nancy with her black and white curly hair. i can remember so many days sitting on the sidewalk in lower gibsons next to nancy's big dog, waiting for my mum, not appreciating the lengths she (and nancy!) went to to give us great food. many years later when other people started catching onto the notion of not eating food covered in pesticides, my mum no longer seemed so nutty to people.
we drove back to gibsons, to the strip mall to pick up a movie and some extra groceries, some wool socks, then to lower gibsons. ahh. i took the baby to the fair trade store and the old japanese man played the singing bowls for us like he always has. it's great to be home.
today is back to being dark and damp and grey. i'd forgotten, or more likely was never very aware of, how dark and damp it is here. all the houses have traces of moss on the siding, fungus and damp maple leaves line the ditches. a week or two ago alex and i sat up talking about how we are moving back to bc, and likely to the coast for the spring and summer and i told him i was a little nervous. i had never thought i'd want to come back here, had never really valued my roots, and some strange, mysterious, dark associations linger when i come home. i've never understood where these feelings come from, but i always knew i wasn't very happy as a child. alex told me, you come from a very beautiful but also terrifying place. there are dark forests with cougars and bears, at your back are jutting mountains and at your feet is the pounding ocean. it's terrifyingly raw; there are no distractions from your mind or nature.
i'd never thought of it that way but something fell into place when he said that. i felt relieved somehow. i lived a very isolated childhood in a neighbourhood removed from town, a backyard of endless mountain and forest where we were always poised to flee back to the house if the trees crashed and cracked too loud, if the birds suddenly went too quiet or the cats suddenly spooked.
i think if we ended up living here for a while or somewhere like it i would always make sure to have the warmest, most open home i could. that was lacking somewhat in this house and i think it's important to counter the wild with community.