Living in a big city has its advantages. There's no shortage of tings to do, things to buy, things to see and things to pursue. You can spend years going from one thing to the next, filling up the spaces of your life with distractions.
I grew up in a small town, an island off the east coast of Newfoundland. Having lived and worked in large cities for a number of years, something inside seemed to have diminished. Something else took over - a sense of separateness, of being apart from, instead apart of, something.
When the company in Calgary that had employed me for a decade made me an offer I couldn't refuse, I decided to follow my dream to drive across Canada.
One April 1, I left Alberta, headed west and arrived in Revelstoke, B.C. April 3. I spent Easter with my good friends, the Takkinens (and company) who had gathered at the home of their matriarch, Jean.
My plan was to stay a week, maybe two then head to the coast. But here I am! I wondered why. Why, when I was so excited to hit the road, did I still find myself in Revelstoke? It's been three weeks and I think I've figured it out.
Revelstoke has been the balm on the wound inflicted by big city life. The time I've spent here has allowed me to unwind, to shake off the residue of my old existence and prepare for the adventure ahead.
But it's more than that. It's a small town thing - simple living, knowing your neighbours, chatting with the gal behind the checkout at Cooper's or being acknowledged and spoken to by a woman passing you on Track Street.
As I writer, I observe, I ask questions, I try to figure things out. What I've figured out here is, I am and always will be a small town girl. I'm comfortable in a small town.
I love the fact that there are no fences in this neighbourhood, that the guy next store can drop by to turn the garden soil; or the woman, two doors down, will stop by, with homemade tarts, for tea and a chat.
Since I've been here, I've taken a gondola ride at the ski hill, gone for coffee at Conversations, had lunch at Grizzly's, attended the Hillcrest for the Red Hat Society's almost-monthly birthday celebration and made pancakes for a 7:30 a.m. breakfast date with the neighbourhood ladies.
I've read three books, walked the bike trails above the tracks, got pushed around by that wicked wind two weeks ago down by the river, watched the light change over Mt. Begbie from Jean's kitchen table, and wondered at how very lucky I am to be here.
I've gotten an education on HST and learned about the wine bar controversy (loved the cartoon by the way?) and spoke with a woman at the jewellery store, that's slated to close, who said "I couldn't have asked for a better boss".
So thank you Jean for your hospitality and friendship. Thank you to the neighbourhood ladies for including me in your special group. Thank you to the Romoli night gals for the laughs and the Red Hat Society for inviting me to your lunch and thanks to the mayor for being a good sport and saying yes to the photo.
Thank you Revelstoke for making me feel at home, for bringing me back down to earth and for your simple pleasures and beautiful scenery.
Now that I'm done revelling in Revelstoke, I'm outta here!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Blog #2...View from the Breakfast nook April 8, 2010
It's a heavily overcast day as I look out trying to detect the mountains that I know are there. They've been obliterated by a thick barrier of clouds. I've been in Revelstoke for five days now. The crowd, ten in addition to me and the host, were gone by Easter Monday.
As I look out one of the two narrow windows, I can see Jean's garden and beneath that, the Canadian Pacific railway yards. I've been here many times over the years as part of my family of choice (I call them the Fochers, pronounced Fockers like the movie).
Some things are in bloom like heather, tulips and crocuses but it is early yet. The drizzle is heavy but you have to really look to see it. Every now and then it turns to light snow and you can observe it moving sideways more than falling down.
I walked outside an hour ago and was happily assaulted by the noise of what seemed like hundreds of birds making their melodic racket and I couldn't help but smile, and exhale. It's dreary, overcast and perfect!
Perfect because all that was bringing me down is now part of my past, gone, done, over with. It has been relegated to "lessons I have learned". It is no longer part of my everyday life and I am happy beyond words. Whatever this is that I feel is hard to put into words but saying I am happy is sufficient. Is there anything better than just simply feeling happy? It is enough for me.
So I sit here, at my other mother's table (I've been fortunate to have had several) looking out at this view and watching half a dozen robins look down patiently from their perch, waiting for rain-drenched, plump worms to poke their chubby heads up through the soil so that they may feast and fatten themselves in preparation for the demands ahead.
The wind suddenly shows up . I know this because the trees, tranquil and motionless a moment ago, are now fussing back and forth like a clutch of hens suddenly roused by a rooster. They look annoyed.
The wind moves the chimes in a sudden serenade and I smile and whisper a quiet thank you. It is a good day!
As I look out one of the two narrow windows, I can see Jean's garden and beneath that, the Canadian Pacific railway yards. I've been here many times over the years as part of my family of choice (I call them the Fochers, pronounced Fockers like the movie).
Some things are in bloom like heather, tulips and crocuses but it is early yet. The drizzle is heavy but you have to really look to see it. Every now and then it turns to light snow and you can observe it moving sideways more than falling down.
I walked outside an hour ago and was happily assaulted by the noise of what seemed like hundreds of birds making their melodic racket and I couldn't help but smile, and exhale. It's dreary, overcast and perfect!
Perfect because all that was bringing me down is now part of my past, gone, done, over with. It has been relegated to "lessons I have learned". It is no longer part of my everyday life and I am happy beyond words. Whatever this is that I feel is hard to put into words but saying I am happy is sufficient. Is there anything better than just simply feeling happy? It is enough for me.
So I sit here, at my other mother's table (I've been fortunate to have had several) looking out at this view and watching half a dozen robins look down patiently from their perch, waiting for rain-drenched, plump worms to poke their chubby heads up through the soil so that they may feast and fatten themselves in preparation for the demands ahead.
The wind suddenly shows up . I know this because the trees, tranquil and motionless a moment ago, are now fussing back and forth like a clutch of hens suddenly roused by a rooster. They look annoyed.
The wind moves the chimes in a sudden serenade and I smile and whisper a quiet thank you. It is a good day!
Blog #1....Takin' to the Highway
Let me say how very happy I am that finally this blog is ready to go, as I let out a huge sigh of relief. As always, the 11th hour.
I've been here three weeks and have had the time of my life. It's been exactly what I needed as the following accounts will attest. I enclose some pictures for your viewing pleasure. So, come on along and let's see what's out here in this great big country of ours!
I've been here three weeks and have had the time of my life. It's been exactly what I needed as the following accounts will attest. I enclose some pictures for your viewing pleasure. So, come on along and let's see what's out here in this great big country of ours!
The woods above the tracks in Revelstoke, great walking for those of us with sore feet, like walking on carpet.
The top of the gondola at the Revelstoke ski hill. There was absolutely no snow at the lower level near the lodge. A very bad year for skiing according to the locals.
Jean taking pictures with children playing. Looks like we're on top of the world but really we're barely half way up. Can you image the view from the top?
After mid month, the average temp. was 25 degrees so needless to say things started to bloom.
If you look close enough you can see he's got himself a worm
A close up of Mt. Begbie. The view from the kitchen nook.
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