Memory is an odd thing.
I was walking through Guildford Mall yesterday and stopped to look at the new Santa Claus display, which included a reindeer that lowered its head and folded its right leg, mechanically mimicking a bow: my mind rewound about fifteen years to a family holiday at a Bed & Breakfast on Hornby Island.
A magical moment happened on the way back home from Hornby [but a few other bits and pieces passed through my mind before I arrived at the moment…
As we shopped in the Artisan Village, my eldest daughter, Bailey, wanted to know where the Mall was. When I informed her that we were at the only place that could be considered a mall on the island the look on her face became an indelible memory.
While waiting for the ferry from Denman Island to Hornby, my youngest daughter, Brynne, found a smooth piece of graphite about the size and shape of a small loaf of bread and I found the skull of a small rodent. I still have the skull, but I have no idea where the chunk of graphite is (perhaps it is still under the seat of the car, traded in long ago).
On Hornby, we strolled along the seashore, admiring the splendour of the naturally sculpted sandstone beaches.
We visited many cottage-business pottery-shops; at one, the artist gave our daughters a bit of clay to sculpt with.
There was very little fresh water on the island and the B&B had a sign over the toilet: If it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down.
The woman at the B&B told us about a possum that was in her garden: it frightened her and she hit it hard on the head with a large shovel. She thought it was dead and went to get her husband; however, when they came back it was gone].
As I said, it was on the way back home that the magical moment occurred (to get back to the mainland you have to take a small ferry from Hornby to Denman Island, another small ferry to Vancouver Island, and a large ferry from Vancouver Island — known to Lower Mainlander’s as The Island — to the mainland). It was twilight and, as I was driving along the country road that cuts through Denman, I saw something on the right side of the road: it was a small doe, so I stopped in case she was about to bound in front of the car. Then I noticed her fawn. The doe waited until the car came to a complete stop, then she gave me the most graceful bow I’ve ever witnessed, and then she and her fawn crossed the road.
I looked across to my wife, Catherine, and asked if she’d witnessed the same thing. She had. We drove in silence until we got to the next ferry terminal.
I’ll never forget the magic of that moment when the doe looked right at me, tucked her left leg under her chest and bowed low, until her nose almost touched the ground. She rose up with an air of majesty, flowed across the road with her fawn, and the two of them vanished into the brush on the other side.
..
.
For those interested, some tourism information:
.
.
.
db johnston
almost falling 