Salt Spring Island, Canada & San Juan Island, USA
Jagged as the teeth of a saw, the US/Canadian border slices through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and zig-zags across an archipelago of islands hidden behind the massifs of the Olympic Peninsula and Vancouver Island. On the map there is a distinctive line but we sailed within their midst, ignoring their political leanings until formalities of customs and immigration brought reality to the situation.
Crimson light spilled across the water and over a tiny islet painting a strip of conifers with pink and gold. Rapidly the gold regressed to gray as if the world had pulled a blanket across the sky in order to slumber slightly longer. The sun bent down to peek beneath the covers and reveal the pastel tie-dyed lining of the quilt speckled with the silhouettes of a murder of crows. It played along the coast of Salt Spring Island caressing the sensuous red-barked trunks of Arbutus seductively reaching from between the deep green conifer shades and lying on golden grassy carpets.
On both sides of the border brilliant golden faces captured the sun earning their common name. On one side they sat on a polished table-top, their pollen dusting the wood with a magical pattern. On the other side they stood five feet tall beside a busy sidewalk, sharing their space with red-berried mountain ash. Both reflected the glorious warmth of this late summer day that beckoned us outside to explore the streets of Fulford and Friday Harbo(u)rs.
If the flowers within the vase could talk they would tell of splendid views from a house nestled on the shores of Fulford Harbour on Canada’s Salt Spring Island. Although inside the ambiance was that of the out-of-doors. Windows framed the scenes outside and doorways framed the art within. This melding of the natural world with the needs of human kind told of the love of the owners for our planet and its diversity. Birgit and Robert Bateman welcomed us into their home and shared their creativity.
South of the line on San Juan Island, the sunflowers peered over a busy marina at Friday Harbor where sailboats and cruisers came and went, their activity reflected in the mirror-like water. We strolled the streets and visited shops or stopped at the Whale Museum. Meanwhile back at the ship a strange ritual drew a crowd. The Captain and his officers, a deckhand or two and the entire galley crew danced around the dock holding hands with squirming crustaceans as they delivered them to a bucket strangely labeled with “Death Row”. The end came swiftly and the meaty portions went from the bucket to a pot. And thus we gorged ourselves at dinner on crab accompanied by ribs and delicious potato salad. To add to the festive atmosphere a bright orange orb appeared in the sky transforming from hemisphere to slice to whole. As the color faded to gold, the not-quite-full moon sidled up to brilliant Mars and together they lit the water.
Jagged as the teeth of a saw, the US/Canadian border slices through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and zig-zags across an archipelago of islands hidden behind the massifs of the Olympic Peninsula and Vancouver Island. On the map there is a distinctive line but we sailed within their midst, ignoring their political leanings until formalities of customs and immigration brought reality to the situation.
Crimson light spilled across the water and over a tiny islet painting a strip of conifers with pink and gold. Rapidly the gold regressed to gray as if the world had pulled a blanket across the sky in order to slumber slightly longer. The sun bent down to peek beneath the covers and reveal the pastel tie-dyed lining of the quilt speckled with the silhouettes of a murder of crows. It played along the coast of Salt Spring Island caressing the sensuous red-barked trunks of Arbutus seductively reaching from between the deep green conifer shades and lying on golden grassy carpets.
On both sides of the border brilliant golden faces captured the sun earning their common name. On one side they sat on a polished table-top, their pollen dusting the wood with a magical pattern. On the other side they stood five feet tall beside a busy sidewalk, sharing their space with red-berried mountain ash. Both reflected the glorious warmth of this late summer day that beckoned us outside to explore the streets of Fulford and Friday Harbo(u)rs.
If the flowers within the vase could talk they would tell of splendid views from a house nestled on the shores of Fulford Harbour on Canada’s Salt Spring Island. Although inside the ambiance was that of the out-of-doors. Windows framed the scenes outside and doorways framed the art within. This melding of the natural world with the needs of human kind told of the love of the owners for our planet and its diversity. Birgit and Robert Bateman welcomed us into their home and shared their creativity.
South of the line on San Juan Island, the sunflowers peered over a busy marina at Friday Harbor where sailboats and cruisers came and went, their activity reflected in the mirror-like water. We strolled the streets and visited shops or stopped at the Whale Museum. Meanwhile back at the ship a strange ritual drew a crowd. The Captain and his officers, a deckhand or two and the entire galley crew danced around the dock holding hands with squirming crustaceans as they delivered them to a bucket strangely labeled with “Death Row”. The end came swiftly and the meaty portions went from the bucket to a pot. And thus we gorged ourselves at dinner on crab accompanied by ribs and delicious potato salad. To add to the festive atmosphere a bright orange orb appeared in the sky transforming from hemisphere to slice to whole. As the color faded to gold, the not-quite-full moon sidled up to brilliant Mars and together they lit the water.
