Thursday mornings at 9:30 we meet next to the fire station and confer about where to hike. There are lots of good hiking trails on this forested island, thanks to volunteers who establish and maintain them . Linda Weaver and her husband Ross are in charge. They seem to know every trail on the island. Last Thursday we headed out Pulteney Point Road, a logging road, along which you see many poles with numbers on them, referring to the locations of the hydro stations. One is Pole 39. There were six of us.
As an urban person I love these outings, enjoy being with people who can identify trees and distinguish edible from poison mushrooms. Bushwack was of course a word I had encountered before coming here, but I had to laugh the first time I heard one of my fellow hikers use it on the trail. Speaking of bush, this is logging country, not a land of pristine forests. There is something about the disorder represented by this forestscape that appeals to me, the growth of fungus on the disintegrating trees, and the moss, its softness, the way it clings and drapes itself over the dead wood. Deterioration, showing the effects of time.
The sunsets out here are also spectacular. Last evening I sat on my friend Milan's deck, and we enjoyed a glass of wine and talked about God and the world -- but not about the issues that people are tearing their hair out about in the U.S. presently, and also tearing into other people about. Across the water, below the mammoth clouds was Vancouver Island. And in the distance a lone fishing boat.
How fortunate I am to be here. I would not say that this is a "serene" place. As everywhere, there are disagreements among people, vexations, and so on, but the quiet of a small island with only a few hundred inhabitants is profound.
