Welcomed by Island Communities

I spent last week on Salt Spring Island which is just off the southeast coast of Vancouver Island in British Columbia.  As my daughter and I explored this lovely place, we experienced many different communities.

Douglas-firs and Big Leaved Maple

We hiked through what David Suzuki and Wayne Grady describe  in Tree:A Life Story,  Douglas-fir communities.  These magical forests are home to Douglas-fir that stretch straight up hundreds of feet to reach the sky, orange barked Arbutus trees that curve and reach for the light, Garry Oaks that live on the edge of the water where light is easy to find, sword ferns that like the damp and low light as well as bright green moss that covers the forest floor, rocks, fallen logs and anything else that stays still long enough.  As we followed the pathways laid out to protect this delicate community, we could see how these amazing plants supported one another and found their own places.  And we felt at home, almost welcomed by this community.

Arbutus trees

Garry Oak on Burgoyne Bay

Moss covered forest floor with Douglas-firs

As we drove along the roads of the island, we saw communities of small acreages where people were raising their own food.  The growing plants were protected by tall wire fences that suggested an abundance of deer and rabbits on the island.  The people had found a way to exist along with the wildlife.

Along the roads and in the town, we found artists and artisans displaying their work in their studios or in galleries.  The artists’ studio tour map helped us find those that were out of the way.  Much of the work expressed a love of the sea, the forests and the animals that lived in them.

BC Ferry behind Arbutus tree

In the many harbours, we found communities of sailing vessels.  Everything from fishing boats, tug boats, sail boats, cabin cruisers and float planes were moored along side each other.  The ever present BC Ferries could be seen traversing the waterways between the islands and their tooting horns were heard many times a day as they approached the docks bringing people and their cars back and forth.

One afternoon, we stopped to eat some pastries from one of the many bakeries, in a park by Fulford Harbour.  The tide was out and we sat in the warm sun on a large log that had washed up on the beach.  A group of boys were playing on the beach, building a sand castle in which they placed tiny crabs, to “protect” them.  I wandered over the wet tidal flats and noticed one of the boys trying to tip a large rock.  I said, in a typically “adult” way, “Are you looking for crabs?”

“Well,” he replied in a matter of fact way, “this is where they are.” 

And sure enough as he tipped the rock over, dozens of tiny crabs scuttled to hide somewhere else.  The other boys came over and declared this “the jackpot!”  They carefully picked up the crabs with sea shells and ran back to the sand castle squealing with delight.

I walked back to where my daughter was sitting, near the sand castle.  One of the boys walking calmly over the sand in bare feet.  The other boys wore boots or shoes.  He looked totally at home there.  The boy approached us and reached into the pocket of his orange fleece jacket.  He brought out a piece of brown sea glass.  “Who wants this?” he asked.  He offered it to me and I took it saying how beautiful it was.   Then he reached into his other pocket and pulled out a large white stone to show us.  “That’s quartz,” I said.  “It’s really beautiful.”  He offered it to my daughter who said that he should keep it for himself.  “Oh, I have lots at home,” he replied casually.    Then he wandered  back down the beach to see what the other boys were doing.

My daughter and I were struck by this boy’s easy generosity.  It seemed that he understood the abundance of the sea and the shore.  Just as they had shared their treasures with him, he was sharing them with us. He easily formed community with the sea and the boys and extended that community to us as well.

It was impossible to feel disconnected anywhere on the island.  The connections were so obvious and we were welcomed into them at every step of the way.  Perhaps, it’s an island thing.  Perhaps, it’s the circle of water that surrounds it, that made us aware of everything within that circle.  Perhaps, it’s the smaller scale of life on a small island that allows us to find our place.  I’m not sure.  But I am sure that I will carry the magic of the Douglas-fir community with me always and the easy generosity of that small boy who was so wise.