Anderson Bay, Texada Island B.C. 1984
The kids were doing our laundry, they had a plastic bucket and a specialized plunger that looked like a broomstick with a small jet engine on the end, and they were working it. Lynn and I were cooking some gourmet hotdogs over a twig fire and necking, discretely. Becky had just turned six and that gave her, as she saw it, two years seniority over her brother. She was determined to make the most of it before his birthday undermined her authority. Forest kept examining the business end of the plunger, keeping his peace and trying to figure things out. Thirty years later, that still describes him well. Becky decided song was needed and began praising the venue in high, pure tone, meter irregular and rhyme, optional. Finest concert I've attended.
Continued below
We had crossed Georgia Strait that morning, it had been rough, the kids giggling and
screaming at the waves from the fore hatch and Mom was a little anxious. I was enjoying the trip thoroughly, I'd built a strong little ship and the fates would smile. When we cleared the straits, we found a little cove and went ashore in the clorox jug, as we had christened the plastic dinghy. Baths and lunch in a glade with a stream. Dappled sunlight made green by the leaves, our house and magic carpet at anchor, looking at home as a gull awing. A stray thought; I believe we could have made worse choices, than this.