The Dry

It's been hot and by all reports, it's becoming even hotter towards the weekend.

There are many wildfires burning right now, in British Columbia, and today there were reports of a lightning Storm once more hitting the interior of the province. Parks in Vancouver have prohibited all barbecues and smoking...and people are confined to pathways only.


The Province is dry everywhere. In the Interior here, I can smell the Forest, during the day's heat. It is the smell of Fir branches, just before they ignite, in a bonfire. The Forest is tinder dry...any animal who wanders through can no longer count on stealth as branches and leaves break and crackle.


At night, lying sleepless in the heat, I feel as if there are bricks lying on my chest...it is hard to breathe. It rarely cools off; this morning at 7AM the temperature on the deck was already 21C.


It is difficult to believe how cold it was just a few months ago...I saw a photo I had taken during one of our icy spells and shook my head...was it really that cold?


The heat is enervating. I find Sun's rays to be very strong...much stronger than I remember them to be on the Coast. Perhaps it is my age, or perhaps it is global warming or even the clarity of the Cariboo's Air...but I can no longer challenge Sun's intensity and wander outside in the middle of the day.


Once upon a time, I could continue gardening, for instance, even during the peak of Sun's heat. But now, the strong rays of Sun penetrate even my trusty hat.


I find living here one of the most challenging things I have done, so far. The beauty of the central interior of the province to me cannot be denied, but there is a price to pay for the privilege of enjoying it.


For an Island girl, one used to misty, rainy mornings, I find what I call the Dry really difficult to handle. And even as I know the Island is also undergoing a heat wave, I dream of those Ocean breezes wafting through the house, at the end of a hot day.

I miss the feel of the moisture Wind carries from the Ocean on my skin. Here, we have a whole cabinet devoted to creams and lotions for dry skin care and eyes.



Weather is extreme, in the Cariboo. It is cold and sunny and dry in Winter and hot and sunny and dry in Summer.Yet, if one had an unlimited supply of Water, one could grow almost anything here during the Summer...the long days with Sun as a companion help to grow plants to enormous heights and widths, much quicker than on the Coast.


Learning to conserve Water has taught me much...both in how to do it, and then noticing when the plant actually needs it. Nature has helped where I faltered; Leaves on the plants here, even among similar species, are much thicker, glaucous, and in some cases, smaller than those growing in my gardens on the Coast.


Rarely have I seen flowers bloom with such gusto as I have this year, even with far less moisture than I am accustomed to giving.Plants will adapt to conditions presented, if I stay out of the way.


Yes. It is a challenge, living here. A challenge and an opportunity, if I leave myself open to it. There were many inherent fears I have faced, on moving to the Interior...as an insular Island inhabitant for most of my life, I am not sure where boundaries lie, here in this vast Land and endless, blue Skies, fierce Storms and unbelievable Cold.



Learning to face fears always propels me forward upon a path, and if this one appears to be rocky, meandering, with too many tricks upon it...well, it is gratifying to know I am acquiring knowledge from it.


Just as our Lucky is gaining acceptance of his fear of Thunderstorms, I will gain acceptance of my fear of Lightning and Forest Fires.

I will have the opportunity to practice this afternoon, as it appears another Storm is near.


Hot and dry...with Thunder and Lightning present.


Time for the Serenity Prayer.

An Anniversary Storm

A year ago today, my Dad died... taking his final journey alone, as we all do. Within hours of his death, however, I felt him with me. And as today wore on, once again I felt him close by.

In Thoughts On My Dad,
I write about my relationship with him.

On this day, the anniversary of his death, a Storm is raging. It seems fitting, somehow, that the extreme weather seems to punctuate the vast difference in my life from a year ago.

I am writing this by hand, as I sit in Dad's chair by the fire. The power keeps going off, and I hesitate to use the computer during Wind and Rain's vicious assault. I have a lovely, aromatic Beeswax Candle lit, and it flickers a little as the flame catches a draft.

I feel a little like a Writer from the past, with my Book and Pen and Candlelight.

This morning, just as I awoke, Lightning pierced the darkened sky. I closed my eyes, in immediate self defense, but not before the Light pierced deep into my brain. The Lightning before and behind my eyes became a rhythmic orb, vibrating within me even with closed eyes. And then came the long, low rumbling of Thunder...at first sounding as if he had just woken in a grumbly mood...and then taking on strength until he totally enveloped the world with his roar.

The house shook! The dogs whimpered and barked, scurrying for cover, beside themselves with fear. Graham and I were no longer sleepy. And the thought raced through my mind that Thunder sounded a great deal like my Dad, at times. Was Dad perhaps sending me a Good Morning?

The power is off now, seemingly for good, this time. It has flickered on and off, with loud bangs in the distance, for awhile now. I hear the familiar whine of the fire trucks, ambulances and police as they race through the Storm.

The dominance of Wind's power is becoming frightening, even to me, who revels in very strong, shrieking Wind. Trees whip back and forth high in the air, almost doubling over before the fury of the Storm. Wind drives sheets of water through the air, picking up moisture even from the saturated Earth.

My Dad and I once watched a Hurricane from the living room window of the home where I grew up. The Storm exhilarated him; I remember how happy and open he seemed with me that day. We shared that stimulating, thrilling joy at the power of Wind. This special memory is important to me; there were all too few of them, it seemed.

The power has been off for hours now. Our covered Glider-Lounge, Patio Tables and Chairs and various potted plants took flight, as I watched in astonishment from the kitchen window. Held in the arms of Wind, they were gently laid to rest about fifty feet from where their place is. Even the glass from the Patio Table sailed through the air, landing softly, intact, on the concrete sidewalk. I feel I am being guided through this long assault from the Storm.

Telephone lines are down. I have placed candles on many surfaces...the table, counters and shelves. I hear the house creak, reeling from another punishing gust of Wind. I fear for Grandfather Tree; he has been hit by Lightning twice, over the course of the years...will his strength hold through this onslaught?

A year ago, my father died, unleashing a storm of change, in all of his family's lives. It seems fitting to have a wild Storm on the anniversary of his death.

The Wind and Rain have not abated. I am hearing stories from neighbours that the highway going into Port Alberni, where Mom lives, has been closed. I am hearing stories about flooding...3rd Avenue, the main "drag", is flooded, with cars and logs floating in the rushing 'river'. Many main roads are closed, due to horrendous flooding. The people have been assaulted by Hail, Snow, Wind and much Rain, as have we. I know there is no power there.

I last spoke with Mom early this morning, before phone lines were cut off. She had been without power for a couple of hours at this point...it is now pointing towards late afternoon. And it is now that I cry for my Dad...I yearn for his bull-headed strength.

My mother's chair is electric...and the chair was left in an upright condition. A belief she has that one can, under no circumstances, move to a bed during the daytime, left her sitting in that position. With no TV, her daytime companion. Another belief that one does not read during the day leaves her with very few options. Mom is clinging to her routine, I know she is, even if I can't reach her. It is her security blanket.

Perhaps my Dad was bull-headed for a reason.

I cry, too, for the restrictions that have appeared in my life, with the responsibilities I have taken on with my Mom. It has enriched my life in so many ways; but it is hard. And tiring.

Sometimes, I become overwhelmed. In this moment, I want my Dad back, just so that he could shoulder these responsibilities once more...

But the light returns...Wind is abating somewhat. I have cleared the drains at the road; our house was almost flooded, at one point. A watery Sun peeks out for just a moment...a return of Strength and Hope.

I laugh at myself...are there not so many gifts I have been given, as I seek to form a relationship with my mother and therefore, myself? These are far more numerous than the tiredness and the restrictions on my time. A little give and take...

Thank you, Dad.