Back in B.C. - Canada

 

I am back enjoying BC and here it is September.   I was camping in a friend's trailer, parked in their yard at the lake on KooCanUSA, when the new snowfall on the mountains reminded me of a time, years ago, before all those sunny Septembers in far away places.  

My birthday on the sixth of September has always marked the beginning of change. September in Canada more clearly defines the start of a new year than January- the dramatic change in weather, the start of the school, routine.

It was cool this morning, as though mother earth is fighting the new weather patterns, working hard to keep things 'normal'. However, chaos is fighting back and the weather man says we are in for another hot week - or two. 

Our schools have been in the center of debate this summer- when they will open, who they will open to.. even why they are even necessary. 

 And routine is almost impossible.   The Covid pandemic has made visits with family and friends short, and uncomfortable.  Schools are open, but nothing about them is routine.  Travel is limited and today they announced that nightclubs are closed, bars have to keep the music down and hours are limited.

Maybe it is because I turned 64 this year that I see the change, I feel the disruption.   But it was interesting to discover this bit of a blurb that I wrote almost twenty years ago, on my computer. This was written though younger eyes, when the new century was just beginning and I was starting on a new adventure on my own. 

I am going to start posting some of my writings from 2001. I was heading to Hartly Bay on the North West coast of BC to teach at a very remote school for ten months.  It is a bit sappy.. but hey, so am I.

Change

 

            Cool mornings along with the sight and smell of fresh snow blanketing the top of my husband’s Grandmother’s Big Bull Mountain, always signaled a new year.  In the Rocky Mountains, September even smelled of change and opportunity.

            Canada, well where I lived at least, has four distinct seasons, and each brings it’s own special treat.

Winter sneaks in under the guise of fall.  We wake up one morning and all is still; absolutely quiet. Before you even look outside, you know it will be there; that cold, blanket of white.

            Long after the excitement of the season is over, the snow starts to melt only to reveal the mud and dandelions of spring. There is the gradual arrival of the birds as the sun smiles down on the crocuses, desperately attempting to break through those last, stubborn patches of snow.  Spring sneaks into summer and the longest day of the year catches us by surprise and then is gone, like it was never there.

Canadians spend much of their summer worrying about it’s demise. We are always left just a little bit disappointed that it didn’t stay longer this year.  We are always hopeful that next year will be different.

            Before we know it, there it is: that snow on grandma’s mountain.   

            In the East Kootenay you knew the September was well underway when expensive holiday travel trailers were replaced by older four-wheel drives filled with gun racks and hauling campers. 

It is time to move back inside. After the parties at the lake and dinners on the barbecue, there it is, waiting for us on the calendar.  I flipped up August and there it was: all those pictures of colored leaves and snow crested mountains, sitting above 30 boxes of packing. September marks a new year – well, for me at least.   

Although it was still summer when I received the offer of a one year contract teaching grade 3/4/5 on a remote Indian Reservation half way up the province of B.C., it was September when I began my journey north.