Island Time and Terminal Ends
Departing in departures
This April, we had 7 glorious days on Vancouver Island to visit my Ma and Pa.
As I wrote this, I was curled up on an awkward, torn, and well-used piece of public seating in the Vancouver airport. If you think about how many asses that have been planted on these chairs it’s kinda sick. Why does my mind go to these places? I do not know.
Navigating a 4-hour layover. I am surrounded by other weary and electronically absorbed travellers awaiting their flights.
My husband is wandering around as he does, especially in airports. He does not know how to sit or be still in any way. He goes missing for large amounts of time, wandering. I joke with my friends that I’m a travel widow. Airport widow, resort widow, beach widow.
He’s gone. And I’m left to my own devices.
Peeing is stressful, those bathroom stalls just aren’t big enough for a human and their suitcase. I don’t want to be that one asshole in the wheelchair access stall when someone truly needed it. God forbid you move around too much and trigger the motion sensor flusher. When those toilets flush, they are ferocious, a gal could lose an eye from the off spray.
This trip had me struggling with my oversized shoulder bag, a roller suitcase, coffee, and a sandwich. That’s true talent right there, I’m sure most of you can commiserate at one time or another. There are airport waits, I’m stuck babysitting his luggage as well. Then it’s just to much of a pain in the ass to go anywhere at all. And there I sit, defeated. Feeling stabby, hungry and raging with a full bladder.
We typically make our way out to Parksville in April. All airport woes aside, it’s one of my favourite things our spring trips to Parksville. That time of year on the island is so beautiful. Flowers are in bloom, trees are full of leaves, and the smell of wet grass, is intoxicating when you’ve been deprived for months on end coming out of our long prairie winters. Saskatchewan is typically still melting off the white stuff. Any grass patches peeking through are still dead and brown. The dog shit in our backyard blends right into the landscape, wet and mucky.
The short flight and sudden injection of spring make airport struggles worth a much anticipated fix of ocean and mossy humid forests. The Pacific coast draw me in like a moth to a flame.
Sucker for all things ancient and foresty one of my favourite walks is Cathedral Grove in Mac Millan Provincial Park on Vancouver Island. Although touristy and laced with well-worn designated paths, it's archaic (in Canada’s terms) and ginormous presence is spectacular, with its towering Western Red Cedars and Douglas Firs.
Giant lush ferns sprawl over the forest floor, and the droopy moss dangles from the branches like webbed tinsel. Sunlight pierces through the canopies of giant cedars, some over 800 years old. Forest bathing and tree hugging in this place is next level, and there is no lack of forests to submerge yourself in on this island. I hugged a few of these giant leafy guardians, with their permission, of course.
Cathedral Grove is not far from the market Goats on Roof in Coombs. Literally, goats hang out and graze on grass growing on the roof. Its amazing! And its’ like a candy store for adults. A real old world market. So much food and eclectic quirky decor, knick knacks you never knew you needed- but now, have to have. It’s hard to do it justice. You just have to go and see it for yourself. Apparently it was too early in the year for the goats to be on the roof. So no photos on that one sorry folks.
My parents’ house is a 2 km walk to the ocean, and this scenic rocky beach that is a breeding ground for eagles. One year, we watched sea lions sunbathing on a rock, as eagles circled above learning to hunt. Just a typical Tuesday on the island. Sea lions, and seals are common in this place. Low tide can have you walking out for miles thats when I do my shell collecting. Bwahaha. Brad loves it when I bring more shells home, almost as much as when I bring home more rocks and drift wood, sorry not sorry.
In my family, moving to the island seems to be a stage of life, a rite of passage. My grandparents moved to Victoria from the land of living skies later in life. My grandpa’s brother and his wife moved out there as well. When aging became a thing, my parents also moved to the coast.
I wonder if we’ll decide on this geriatric generational move? I have to admit, escaping the dark and bone-chilling grips of our merciless prairie winters does seem more than appealing. Will there be a moment in time that pushes me like a migrating bird to the place where I can bask my winter-beaten, wrinkly skin in the lush and humid tundra of Vancouver Island? I’ll keep you posted.
Departing in departures.
The morning of our flight to Parksville, I walked down the hall towards my departure gate. I had to make a bathroom stop before I was stuck with both of our luggage. . Brad had wandered off for coffee or breakfast, maybe both, here we go again.
I was Halfway to our gate when I was stopped by airport security. He tells me abruptly that I cannot go on any further; there is a medical emergency. He then went about setting up some pylons and a makeshift bright yellow gate that stretched across the open hall, making sure no one else was getting through. I look past him and I could see paramedics doing chest compressions on someone laying on the ground. It was upsetting witnessing another human experiencing what I assume is one of the worst days of their life. It’s too early for this trauma. my brain wasn’t ready to process.
I then realized I had heard some kind of emergency alarm go off about 15 minutes prior. Meaning this person had already been in distress for a while. Myself and the people around me watched in shock and sadness. Another 20 mins pass, and chest compressions are still happening.
Emergency personnel start preparing the patient for transport, loading them on a stretcher with IV bags dangling. As they push the stretcher past where I am standing. I could see this poor soul was an elderly Asian woman. Her arms were bound straight up above her chest, to allow the automated compression machine, I’m guessing. One of the medics was bagging her to provide oxygen as they disappeared down the hallway.
The colour of her skin and the length of time they’d been trying to revive her had me feeling she was likely not going to make it. With heavy heart I think about the family that she was going to visit, or had spent time visiting. All the loved ones she was leaving behind. Did she have any inkling at all that something wasn’t right that morning?
What a way to start the day. Departing in departures, at the Saskatoon airport.
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Hi there, I’m Tam Dayle, born and raised on the Canadian prairies.
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It was a fun trip!!