It is the second day of July. Last night the holiday fireworks resolved into a mere two huge explosions. Then all was quiet. I hope there were at least a few survivors. This morning it is raining, a beautiful steady warm rain. The doors are open and I listen to the music of water gurgling in the downspouts. There is a lovely aroma of freshness. We need this, desperately. There were a few hours of precipitation last week, the stream beds did not swell at all. Now this. I swear I can almost hear the parched earth soaking it up. More please! This blog will be a simple photo essay about life in my little patch here on Vancouver Island. Rain or sun, bring your hat.
Is Popeye aboard? This surreal vessel holds, for me, a cartoon-like appearance. This old sea dog can see the old girl is near the end of her life. I first met her two years ago far up the coast and was inspired to write a five-page poem about the folly of dreams turned nightmare. A former North Sea beam trawler, she bears evidence of attempts to turn her into something she can never be. As the dream fades, the rust and rot advance, a sad ending indeed. But, never mock another man’s dream…An Air Tractor 802 Fire Boss. That really is their name and they are purpose-built from the ground up with it. A clone of crop-dusters with a wonderful PT6 turbine, these ones are equipped with amphibious floats designed to scoop up water as the aircraft skims the surface of a lake, river or the ocean. That water can then be mixed with fire retardant before it is dropped on a wildfire. This old pilot would love to fly one of these. An exacting skill set is required, but it is a flying job that must be fun. These aircraft are part of a squadron of water bombers used to help contain a recent bush fire that threatened several homes on the mainland. Things ended well. Folks are back in their homes, the bombers are off fighting one of the many fires burning elsewhere in British Columbia and Alberta.Fly United! This pair of mating Crane Flies landed beside the barbeque where I was cooking supper. Then they flew away, still coupled. They are commonly called ‘Mosquito Hawks’ but they are not at all predatory. The big one one had a wingspan of almost two inches. ALWAYS keep some sort of camera handy! I used my cell phone.Wink! A remnant of old growth forest. Those watching eyes are notches where a faller inserted a spring board to stand on while he hand-sawed through the tree, cutting it off about the flare of the butt. Then, after a fire, a dam was built to store creekwater for the old local coal mines. Jack loves wading in this particular pool.DAd? Can we go for a walk…sometime today? Jack waits as patiently as he can while I sit and write.Much better!After the rain. Jack savours puddles and new scents brought by the rain.Drip. Precious jewels after a long dry spell.The sinus headache. That came to mind as I photographed this mutation on a wild rose bush.Oregon Grapes. They make an excellent jelly preserve. Despite our late spring, berries seem to be a month early this year. The Blackberry crop this year will be stupendous.Aqua Apples. An old feral tree beside a local fish hatchery pond produces a burgeoning crop.Profusion. Wild peas colourfully mark the advance of summer.Buddha rocks! This lovely carving sits beside a local hiking trail. I wonder how many folks ever notice it.The Salmon Stone. Some talented soul makes lovely carvings on random stones throughout the area. This one sits beside a fish ladder. The background noise is of rushing water tumbling down.Art among the bushes. This sculpture looks amazingly life-like at first glance.Border Closed! A grand effort to a now-abandoned half vast project.The Portal. Holland Creek, overflow from our local water supply, passes through this old tunnel and then trickles into the sea.The Stink Eye! Jack has a pensive moment.Feathers in the stream. There were several wing feathers, an eagle must have been preening nearby.
“ For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out. James Baldwin.
