Red Cedar

Winter comes much earlier in the interior than it does on the coast. This dormant wasp’s nest was positioned by the road near our cabin, disturbed only by the paper thin wind that comes up off the lake in late October. Normally, there would be snow on the ground by now, but the last few years haven’t been like that and the lakes don’t freeze as early either. That means a lot less hunting activity in the area (which used to peak when the snow fell in October), and so we had almost the whole lake to ourselves this past weekend.

I’ve been on my own a lot lately – when I’m travelling, when Brian is in the city, even at the cabin where I took long walks alone while the guys were out hunting game – so even though things are busy, I feel like there is lots of space in which to turn myself around. When Brian returns home after a few days away, that space allows me to fully enjoy our time together and be present, which is an interesting effect of this change to our life together. I sense too that patterns that are more pronounced will emerge with the seasons as we adjust to having more than one home necessitated by work – the fall is always busy for both of us, the summers not so much. I’m observing how it all feels right now, which is that we are quietly settling into new routines while taking care to spend time with each other and match our lives up as much as possible. Our home on Gabriola is a true sanctuary for both of us – giving us an anchor – the place we both most want to return to no matter where we’ve been and what we’ve been up to.

I feel myself getting quieter with the change in weather, so even though I am out in the world alot, the days when I am home are very much about tending the fire and indulging in the treats put up in the canning cupboard this summer – not to mention long and deep sleeps in the total darkness that envelops our home at night. It’s  month five since we moved and I’m sure I do not know all the ways in which this will change me, and Brian – though I do like the direction we are going together.

On my way home from the cabin outside of Princeton, I encountered these elk on the side of Mine Hill, also known as Elk Ridge. I have driven this highway dozens of times and never encountered a single elk – but today there was a whole herd there, thundering beside the road. When I got out of my car to take pictures, they ran up the hill – which means I didn’t get very close shots. But still! They were mesmerising, and majestic. I cried from the beauty of them as I continued on my drive in the early fall morning. If you look closely at the photo you can see the bull, of which there is only one per herd. He is surrounded by his “harem” – who he will spend August to December with in order to mate with and protect them. In my photos, I count 24 cow elks, which means that this bull is at peak breeding age – between the ages of 4-8.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen or heard elk – but the I’ve never gotten photos before, nor have I seen a herd this size in such detail!

I posted the other day that my time is not my own right now and that’s just not the truth, nor is it how time works. I’ve been turning this one over for the last few days and in my meditations – the notion of the time being, or of being time – and I hope to write more about this shortly. In the meanwhile, I am at the cabin, awash in the turning from fall to winter (which comes early in these mountains) – taking lots of long walks and photographs.

A lot of my time these days is on the road. I have to say, I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would, but my time is very much not my own at the moment. I took this photo earlier this week on the way to Vancouver, looking down over Gabriola Island.