Pen 'n Paper Mama » ocean

being afraid… or letting You sweep me out into the depths of You!

Norma Hill — Mon, 10 May 2010 19:57:06 +0000

10 May 2010

Oh, Papa! I just can’t go on like this!

I’m afraid!

I feel like somehow I’m getting way too far from where You want me.

Or maybe I’m just getting into deep water and fear that I’m going to be swept away.

I remember when I was a child, maybe 9 years old or so, and my family and a lot of friends were at the park at Woods Lake, where the creek emptied into the lake. The children were playing in the water close to shore, the dad’s were playing softball in the nearby field, the mom’s were setting up lunch on the picnic tables, and the older kids were playing water volleyball out in the deeper water next to the drop-off.

There really weren’t many kids around my age. I didn’t want to play with the little ones by the shore, and the water where the older ones were playing was too deep for me. Still, I tried to swim out their way, hoping they’d notice me and let me join in. They didn’t.

So I was paddling around by myself, until suddenly I noticed that I was way out past the big kids – and being swept by a strong current farther and farther out. I was terrified. I was not a strong swimmer, and could not break free from the current. I realized I was just a little kid, myself. I started to yell for help, but everybody back there were having fun, and they were making a lot of noise of their own, so they didn’t hear me.

I was splashing wildly, but only getting weaker and farther from shore. All I could see before me was a seemingly never-ending stretch of water, with waves that seemed to be getting larger and larger. And the safe shoreline was getting farther away and smaller by the moment. By now I was sobbing and hopeless.

And then, unexpectedly, a strong pair of arms encircled my shoulders, and a young man, whom I had never seen before, was pulling me out of the current with sure, strong strokes. He held onto me until I was safely close to the shore, and could stand up. He asked me if I was alright, and then swam off. Somewhere. I didn’t see him again.

Father, right now I feel like I did back then, when the current was pulling me out. I feel as though I am caught in a great current and am being swept from the safety of the shoreline. From the safety of friends and family. I have wanted to be “grown up.” I have wanted to follow You out to where the “big kids” play. But it seems as though, somehow, You’ve drawn me past the drop-off, and into the deeps. I’ve sensed it beginning to happen, but have always felt, perhaps, that not only are the big kids nearby, even if they don’t really want me around, but that I can always retreat to the safety of the shallows, and safely into the arms of family and friends.

And suddenly, I realize that You are calling me farther on. And all I can see is the vastness of the open water, and the height of the larger waves, away from the quiet of the bay. And I am panicking. I am thinking, “Oh no! I’m really just a little mama. It’s all I’ve ever really been good at, and I haven’t been that great even doing that. And now I’m really getting too old to even do that; my own children are mamas now… I have no strength. I’m too old for this. I have to get back to shore where it’s safe. Maybe I can just help set the tables for others.”

And yet. I am pretty sure that You are out here with me. In front of me, actually, in the depths, calling me to follow.

Still, the waters out there look so wide and far away and lonely. And I’m not a good swimmer. And everybody else is back there on the shoreline, safely splashing and playing in the shallows and setting up picnic lunches. Oh, Father! They don’t even seem to see me being swept away. They don’t seem to notice that I’m missing, at all. I want them to see me, to care, to rescue me, bring me back to safety and security.

And yet, again. You are out there, beyond me, way out in the wide waters. Calling me to look forward, to You. Not back to the beach. And I do want to trust You. Obey You. Follow You.

Only, Papa, I feel like I have no strength, no plan, no energy. (And hardest of all, no companionship).

Yet I do know, in my heart of hearts, that I can trust You, You alone, always, to fulfill all those needs for me.

But I also can’t see anything out there at all except water. I can’t even see where the current itself is heading. So I have no idea of even what general idea I might be swept.

And Papa – oh Papa. Do You have any idea how it feels when all the people I love, all the people who’ve been the core, the center of my life, just don’t even seem to see what’s happening?

(Maybe this is just part of yesterday’s “mother’s day” feeling? When my own mama was gone. And my children are mamas themselves now, and the special day is about them now! And even my baby, who really did spoil me lavishly, hug me wonderfully, is a man now himself, and I know he is already moving on….) (And for various reasons, it seems, I’ve pretty much lost contact, lost the security of, my “church friends” and my “work friends” too… )

Papa… I feel so alone. So way out in the water. I hear You calling. But it’s hard to really let go of all that “security” back there.

Is this what it means when You spoke of how we have to be prepared to leave everything, everyone, to follow You?

It seems like, in Your word, that people in Your family, in Your church, back in the day, were close together, meeting daily, visiting house-to-house, eating together, learning together, working together, travelling together to spread Your good news. (But sometimes You did send them out, alone, didn’t You?). And now – now I feel like we live such fractured lives. So many people, but everyone so busy. Nobody really knows anyone….

Yesterday I saw some little old ladies here and there. Out walking alone, sitting in the park alone. On Mother’s Day. And I said, “Happy Mother’s Day” to one as she walked past me. But then I wondered if that was the wrong thing to say. Because maybe she was feeling even lonelier than I was. I wanted to run and hug her. But I was afraid. Afraid that perhaps both of us would stand there in the street and hold each other and cry.

Oh Papa.

I really do want to follow You. Into the depths. No matter what.

(Even though it is awful hard not to keep looking back when you hear everyone back at the shore laughing and calling out to each other, and eating and having fun together.)

But Papa, that’s how it was for little Christian, in that children’s edition of Pilgrim’s Progress. There he was, leaving his home. Alone. To follow the hard path You called him to, in that letter You sent him. And later on, when he passed through that city, and the other children were dressed in bright colors, and having fun, and calling out for him to stay. But he kept on going. For awhile, he had Faithful with him. But Faithful lost his life for You. There were times of rest, when he was cared for and encouraged and nourished by members of Your family. But always, You soon called him to travel on. Alone so often. Still, later, before he crossed to the Celestial City, he did have the joy of seeing some of those he’d left behind, coming after him, following Your road too.

That is the journey You call us to, isn’t it?

…. Later ….

Oh, Papa! You’re speaking to me. Encouraging me. Thank You for that email prayer list: I am reminded once again how very blessed I am! And how much more difficult are the paths You call others to. And thank You for that article a friend posted a link to, on facebook. About the amazing – totally unimaginably awesome and amazing – universe.. You truly are so much greater, so much more in control, than I can possibly imagine!

And thank You for Your words, quoted at the beginning and end of that email prayer list. So encouraging!

“May our Lord Jesus Christ Himself and God our Father, who loved us and by His grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good deed and word.” (2 Thess 2:16-17) (and those words in response, from the prayer-list writer: “we’re all waiting for the Lord. Let’s keep our eyes on Him and our trust in Him. Praise Him for His sufficiency and His goodness.”) And then those other words from You: “God takes the time to do everything right – everything. Those who wait around for Him are the lucky ones.” (Isaiah 30, The Message).

………….

Oh Father! Please forgive me for panicking. You ARE in control. I am not being swept away, alone, in fear of drowning, with no one to notice and care and rescue me.

Instead I am being swept into the immensity and wonder and awesomeness and endless amazing perfect love and care and fulfillment of all my being – indeed, of all that is: You! My Lord, my God, my Creator, my Savior! Almighty God, everlasting Father, Prince of Peace! Praise Your Holy Name!

Thank You, Papa. I love You! Amen!

…. Reading Matthew 5 to 7 …

Oh my goodness. These words of You, Jesus, are amazing! Father, You are truly calling us to radical living – living that is only possible, even in the smallest, beginning ways, IN YOU. And yet You are calling us not only to beginning ways – but all the way. To perfection. Just as You are perfect!

So yes, we have to leave the shoreline. And get caught up, swept up, into Your mighty current. Without reservation, without looking back to our old loves, our old safety nets, our old small pleasures, our old dependencies.

And allow You to sweep us forward, out into the depths. Where we can see no hope, no landing spots, no flotation devices even. Nothing except You. Even in (most of all, in) the most stormy moments when we are tossed about in giant waves and are cold and shaking and feel like we are going down with no hope of rescue. And even You don’t “seem” to be there.

And yet. You ARE. And You are teaching us, giving us the space and opportunity we need, to trust fully in You. Alone.

It’s a funny thing. So many times I have stood on the ocean shoreline and looked out toward the great Pacific ocean. And it is gray and misty and wind-blown and stormy. I can see nothing but a hazy distant horizon that I know goes on and on and on…

And yet, I find myself dreaming, longing to set out in a little vessel. Hoist the sails and let the waves and currents sweep me away to wherever they go. To “far Cathay” or “the Bay of Benin, the Bay of Benin” …. Far-off, mysterious, unknown shores, imprinted in my imagination from stories and poetry heard in my childhood.

And that poem calls out to me over and over: “I must go down to the seas again, To the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship, And a star to steer her by”…. (Masefield).

And now, Father, now You are offering me that opportunity, to set sail on uncharted seas, with only a single star to steer by – You!

And after all that dreaming and longing – I find myself panicking. Afraid!

But oh, Father, I do want to leap in, even without a boat beneath me. And get swept into Your mighty current. Into the uncharted adventure of living in Your love. No matter when it takes me, no matter how stormy and cold. Even if no one else goes with me.

“Though none go with me, Still I will follow …. No turning back, no turning back.” (We sing so many songs about You, with such enthusiasm… And then one day You ask us to truly mean, to step out and act upon, what we’ve been singing all along.)

(Hmmm…. I’ve just suddenly gained a much more “sympathetic” viewpoint of Lot’s much-maligned wife.)

off to Vancouver Island!

Norma Hill — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 22:51:26 +0000

April 13 to 16, 2010

I was worrying about the cooling system in the car… but asked Papa to take care of it – and He sure did! Thank You!

Before I left I got an email from a good friend. She is reading my church journey blog and her comments were so encouraging! Thank You, Lord! Please bless her – and grant her rest and refreshment from You.

Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit – we really do need each other – You and each of us, of course… but us family members, too, need each other.

I had an awesome stroll on the beach on Wednesday with my daughter. We collected some nice shells, and I found a large dried sea anemone shell, in good condition, which is rare in that area! And of course I took lots of pictures. Beautiful day – warmer and more late-spring-like than anything we’ve had at home so far this spring!

I also had a wonderful time sitting out on their apartment deck, soaking up the beautiful sunshine, while I read in the word, and journaled, and visited with my daughter and grandson. (The other guys – hubby, son, and son-in-law – all sat inside and played video games. Ha! Us outdoor folks certainly had the best time, eh!).

On Thursday, my little grandson (a year and a half old) went out for a lovely walk around the neighborhood… and then more sitting on the porch with my daughter and grandson… and then all of us to the beach for a hot dog roast. I was really craving a bonfire-roasted-hot-dog! Unfortunately, my daughter can’t eat red meat, so she brought along “veggie dogs” for herself… and my hubby, being helpful, roasted a hot dog for me – a “veggie dog!” It sure wasn’t what I was expecting, lol! I don’t eat a lot of hot dogs and such – but enjoy them for a treat – as long as they are real meat! Oh well, I manfully swallowed it down – and then cooked a REAL hot dog! Much better!

After we got home from the beach, everyone else was tuckered out and laid down for a nice long afternoon nap. Except me. The outdoors was beckoning! So I went out for a brisk hour-and-a-half walk, down the long hill to the beach, along the shoreline (where I gathered some tiny dried up crabs for my grandson in Alberta-land where they don’t have such treasures!), and then back up the long hill again. My daughter was concerned I might have overdone it and would suffer from sore muscles the next day – but I just felt wonderful!

The smell of the ocean is intoxicating! At first it was really sunny, but started to cloud over, and later it rained a bit. Even the coastal rain and wind is intoxicating! Up until I went for that long walk, I was feeling kind of sad, like the trip had not quite been complete somehow – but that walk cured me!

In the late afternoon, my daughter and I sat out on the porch again, even though it was now gray and windy and starting to rain, and just enjoyed soaking up the fresh coastal air. Awesome!

Friday, we had to come home. It was gray when we started out, but by the time we got to the ferry, it was beautiful and sunny, and I went out on the deck several times to enjoy the bracing wind, and take pictures. We stopped at IKEA on the way home, and dreamed about furnishings we’d like for our little place… Maybe it’s a good thing we have a wee car and can’t drag home things we have no money for, eh!

Papa, I want to live on the Island, so much…

Norma Hill — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 05:11:28 +0000

July 03, 2009

A whole week has passed! Trip to the island, home, visit with Pastor P again, Canada Day airshow and fireworks, save everything from my computer (including bookmarks, email, and all my blogs and websites) on my portable external hard-drive, so my son-in-law can totally revamp my laptop! ___ and ___ stayed over, wonderful visit, my son started his new job, hubby is back to work tonight, I read the latest Above Rubies magazine (came in the mail today), downloaded the trip photos/ deleted and sorted them/ uploaded some to fb and lots to flickr, have done some daily Bible readings, but no writing or epistle reading so far today. I am tired! Oh and I counted my steps for the walking route I do with my son: 6200 steps, and the beach front route (but not the KVR trail and bluffs): 5800 steps! So I am definitely getting my 10,000+ steps! There is no Tuesday or Thursday coffee this week… seems weird….

Been thinking lots about things like moving, street ministry, possible missions (like Esperanza or Mercy Ships), even about attending church.

I cried the night before and off and on during the day when we came home from the island. I want to do what YOU want, Father… but I have such a longing to live on the island. Hubby says maybe I should get a job, and he can pick up casual work at first and may be able to work into full time.

___ and ___ wish we’d come out to Manitoba and work with them in native ministries and stuff!

Sonnet

Norma Hill — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 17:53:12 +0000

February 19, 2009

Tonight was the monthly Penticton Writer’s Group meeting, and the challenge for this month was to write a sonnet. Since I missed the last meeting, I didn’t know what the challenge was… so emailed the lady in charge – and consequently had very little time to write a poem in a format that I haven’t tried since I was in high school, over 30 years ago! Since I was in a rush, I decided to make life easy for myself, and turn a story I had written previously into a sonnet. Well, it turns out that while I got the format (3 quatrains and a couplet, and English sonnet ryhme scheme abab cdcd efef gg, and iambic pentameter) more or less right, I didn’t quite “get” the need for a “hook” when moving from 2nd to 3rd quatrains, and I totally forgot I was supposed to include metaphor! Finally, when I read my effort to the group, they all agreed that my 8th line should have been my beginning line! Yikes! So I am going to try and rewrite the thing, putting in a hook and using metaphor — and moving line 8 to line 1, which of course means I’m going to have to pretty much rewrite the sonnet, seeing as how that will totally affect the rhyme scheme etc. Oh well! I like my effort anyway! So I’m going to put it here as it currently stands. (If you want to see the “story” it’s based on, you can check it out at my website

Yon island, gray-shadowed, calls in the mist,
Defines far horizon’s long ocean reach.
In sky, heavy silver-lined clouds, drooping, list
O’er rippled waves seeking home on the beach.
The boom of the waves, the call of the sea,
Black raven’s brisk hop, eagle’s lofty sway,
Red splash of wild berry, dune’s sandy lea,
On the gray-green ground of a rain-splattered day.
Chill windy hours on a long lonely shore,
Wild joyous freedom, wonder, beauty, all.
Alone, not lonesome, with nature I soar,
Drawn in, heart open, to Creator’s call.
Far island, lone shoreline, and rich tidal fen,
Mystery, deep longing, you call me again.

I love weather!

Norma Hill — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 22:39:50 +0000

I love weather! I also love sleeping outside, no matter how windy and rainy it is. I believe this goes back to my earliest days. I was less than a month old when I returned from my summer-holidays birthplace in warm, sunny Summerland BC to our home in the blustery, misty isles of Haida Gwaii (or Queen Charlotte Islands, as we called them then). Perhaps it was because we lived in half of a very small duplex (so small we had to share the tiny bathroom with the folks on the other side!), not to mention the fact that apparently I was an awfully squally young lady for the first 3 months or so of my life; at any rate, my mom immediately began setting me outside on the porch in my buggy for my afternoon naps. Now this was no doubt comfortable in August and September, but when October arrives, south-easters begin to whip up, bringing many days of wind and rain. In Masset, our Haida Gwaii community, winter winds are often above 100 kilometers per hour, and even days which are considered to be light breezes have gusts of 50 or 60. Not only that, but a single day in Masset can easily (and often does) bring multiple changes in weather, from calm to furiously windy, sunny blue skies to mist to fog to downpours to sunshine streaming through it all, hail, snow, glorious rainbows, and beautiful sunrises and sunsets. I happily slept through it all!

Furthermore, our little house was a one-minute walk from Masset Inlet, which empties close-by into the Pacific Ocean within sight of the Alaska Panhandle! This, then, was my introduction to weather. Every day, year-round, I would have my naps out of the porch, sometimes accompanied by the local free-range cows who often wandered into yards and up onto porches!

Not only did I sleep outside in the daytime, but my parents had quickly developed the habit of going for a late-afternoon walk nearly every day, as this was the time of day when the weather was most likely to let the sun poke through the clouds, resulting in beautiful sunsets. Now these weren’t short walks around the block. We would often walk down to Old Massett, 2 or 3 miles to the north, or out to the military post on Tow Hill Road, or even to Limberlost for a picnic, a good 2 or 3 miles to the southeast. We did not have a car, so walking was our way of getting around, and we did a lot of it! In snowy times, I would be pulled on a sled; the rest of the time I traveled in my buggy, and as I got a little older, often walked as well.

To get to Tow Hill Road, we had to cross the bridge, off which were the local fishing docks. Of course, I was a tiny tyke at the time, and as I walked across the bridge, my viewpoint of the world was slightly above the lower rail of the bridge side-rails. Many years later, when I returned to Masset to teach in the same school my parents had taught in, I walked out onto the bridge one day, and sat down beside the rails, dangling my feet over the edge, and my arms and chin resting on the lower rail. As I gazed out over Delkatla slough, my viewpoint at the same level as when I was a toddler, I had a sudden and very unexpected flash of memory, extremely clear and detailed, of the slough as it was when I was a child. It remains imprinted in my mind’s eye to this day!

When I was two years old, we moved from Masset to Revelstoke. Revelstoke is a gateway to the Rocky Mountains and Rogers Pass, and is famous for its snowfalls. We lived in an old, high-ceilinged two-story house, on the upper floor. To get to our upstairs apartment, one had to climb a long, dark, steep outdoors stairwell. Every morning in the winter, my dad would get ready to head to the school to teach, but most mornings, he would have to first grab the shovel, and dig his way out to the road, where snowplows were also clearing a path.

It wasn’t long before the roads and our sidewalk were deep channels in the snowbanks which grew higher day by day. This wasn’t such a great thing for my dad; by the time he got out to the road, his arms would feel like limp spagetti! One day, after he got to school, at the very beginning of the day, a student behaved in a way which in those days warranted the strap, so my dad sent him to the office. Unfortunately, the principal was absent that day, so the secretary came and got dad, and told him he would have to administer the punishment himself. The student dutifully held out his hand, and dad took the strap, lifted his arm, and brought down the strap onto the outstretched palm with a resounding – plop! He tried again, and the same thing happened. By this time the felon, the school secretary, and several other passers-by were struggling desperately not to crack up. Realizing that his limp-spagetti-arm was not going to do the job, my dad quickly hung the strap up on its nail, and beat a hasty retreat to his classroom, as rolls of laughter echoed down the hall behind him!

For us kids, though, the snow was wonderful. Every day we would go outside, clamber up the steep banks, and slide down, whoosh!, on the backsides of our slippery snowsuits, or, if dad was home, he’d load us on the toboggan, and we’d go for an even faster ride. The snow would eventually get so deep that the people who lived downstairs could see nothing out their window but snow. At those times, my parents were grateful that we lived upstairs with a great view and winter sunshine streaming in the windows, despite the long haul up and down the outside stairwell every day. Of course, in the spring, all that snow melted, and one of my few clear memories of Revelstoke was my mom rushing around the house looking for my brother, and, not finding him there, running out onto the top of the stairwell, with me close at her heels. I remember so clearly gazing down that long, dark, steep passage, to see my little brother happily sitting in the spring sunshine, waist-deep in a great puddle of snow-melt, splashing and laughing to his heart’s content!

When I was five, we moved to Rutland (now part of Kelowna)in the sunny Okanagan, near my birthplace of Summerland. While we did have snow in winter, sometimes even a couple feet, and heaps of snow in the mountains where ski hills like Big White operate successfully, the valley itself is especially known for its beautiful blue lakes, it’s semi-desert climate, and of course its long, hot, generally dry summers. Before irrigation, trees were only found along creeks and lakeshores. But the soil is generally very fertile, and it wasn’t long before the Okanagan became an agricultural center, especially for orchards (and more recently, vineyards).

However, above the orchard levels, there were still many barren hillsides, and in the winters we would drive as far as the roads would take us, then climb up the long slopes, and come flying down on our toboggans. When I was about 14, our family took up skiing, and we spent nearly every weekend of the winter months on the local ski-hills.

In the summer, we went to the beach nearly every day for a swim, and many days, my siblings, my friends, and myself, would stick a peanut-butter and jam sandwich in our pockets, and head for the hills. As long as we were in a group, nobody worried about us, and we’d often be gone for many hours. When we got hot and thirsty, we’d take a dip – and a drink – in an irrigation ditch or flume! Many Sunday afternoons, from early spring to late fall, our dad would load the whole family in the car, and we’d literally head for the hills, where he’d drive along narrow, twisting, treacherous dirt roads, and trails too unmarked to even be called roads! We’d hike, wade in mountain creeks, explore abandoned old trapper’s cabins – all thanks to the dependable and pleasant Okanagan weather.

The Okanagan is often referred to as a “four season playground” and so it is. I have never been able to say that I prefer one season over another, for growing up in the Okanagan, each season was distinct. Fall features cool nights, but with pleasant “Indian summer” days, and glorious displays of autumn colours. Winter is cold enough for snow, off and on, but not bitterly cold, except for the very odd winter when a two or three week cold snap might occasionally freeze the lakes. Spring blows in with chilly March breezes, but April brings rapidly warming weather, and the wonderful scents of new green growing things in healthy damp soil. And summer is wonderfully warm, sometimes quite hot, and because it is rarely humid, the sunny Okanagan doubles it population with tourists in the summer months, most of whom head directly for the beautiful blue lakes. Although the days are hot and sunny, sometimes in the evenings there are wonderful displays of thunder and lightning, with cool gusts (and sometimes huge blows, usually short-lived) of wind, and sudden downpours which create great puddles and then disappear as quickly as they arrived, leaving behind a wonderful fresh scent, replacing the dusty dry-pine scent, which builds up in the long hot days, and never fails to bring to mind my favorite childhood memories.

Since I have grown up, I have lived in the coastal climate of Vancouver, the north-coastal climate of Haida Gwaii yet again, and the arctic climate of Inuvik. Today I live back in the sunny Okanagan, but my heart is longing once again for the ocean, with its salty sea-breezes, winter storms, and frequent changes in weather that I have always loved.

(This story is in response to the question: “How did weather affect your early years and the way that you and your family spent time?” on the “OurStory” web site. For more stories like this, feel free to check them out at ourstory.com or go to my website and click on the “About My Family” link. Enjoy!)

I must go down to the seas again…

Norma Hill — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 03:07:00 +0000

I wrote this in my journal the other day as I sat on the ferry crossing from Vancouver Island to the mainland…

I am surprised how “open” the water is here. Islands are quite far off in the distance, just dark grayish shadows along the edge of the horizon across the expanse of water. The day is very gray, thick pale gray cloud cover with the water a cold slate gray, smallish ripply waves with white specks scattered here and there…

Of course on the map the little islands look closer together, and the pictures on the tourist pamphlets are always taken on bright sunny colorful days.

Still, I enjoy looking out across the water. It always makes me wish I was on a smallish boat just heading out to see where the seas will take me. I always loved those lines: “I must go down to the seas again/ To the lonely sea and the sky/ And all I ask is a tall ship/ And a star to steer her by.”

Even back home – I always think of the beaches of Haida Gwaii as “back home” – even back home I think I most loved the windy gray days along the shore line, the wild loneliness which at the same time felt free and joyful – the kind of place where “civilization” can be forgotten for a few moments and one is alone – and yet no lonely, but rather one with – the wild beauty and wonder of creation… and somehow very close, undistracted, with the Creator. Even sitting here on the ferry, next to the kids’ play room, with lots of people around, I can still gaze out at the sea, and feel drawn out into its aloneness… feel it calling me, drawing me.

I that what I feel drawing me back to the Misty Isles, I wonder? Just the call of the sea, the boom of the waves, the wind swooshing through the tree branches, the croaking call of the raven, the swooping widespread wings of the eagle, the bright red spots of huckleberry and wild strawberry standing out against the gray-green background of a gray, windy, rain-splattered day?

It surely does have a draw which I have never experienced in the interior, even in the grandeur of great mountains, or the blue freshness of Okanagan lakes, or even the endless rolling stretches of Arctic tundra or prairie lands.

I brought along a new sketch book and pens, pencils and charcoal… but I do not know how to draw, to capture the sea… I think I need to be out there sitting on a rock on the shoreline, hearing and smelling it, feeling the cold dampness, being drawn into it with all my senses…

I don’t really want to go home to the Okanagan… even though I can go outdoors there, it isn’t the same as a windswept ocean beach. Lakes are somehow too tame… even when they whip up into sudden storms – like when the wind blew my niece Jamie’s graduation picnic literally to pieces! But still it lacks the broadness, the wild, all-encompassing sense of an ocean beach (away from the “civilizing influence” of homes, businesses, roads all along the shoreline)

I so much miss the smell – and taste – of the sea.

I (personally!) don’t want to move to just another inland place…

Lord??? (Your will be done)…

There is a slight general brightening in the misty sky in the direction from which we have come, yet the island shapes in that direction have disappeared into the mists (I can understand the term “mists of time” when I see this), and the water just seems to go on until… well, until it does what? Falls off the edge? Just stops? Bumps into the wall of cloud which seems like a great upside-down-bowl enclosing the world? Even with the grayness, it does look like there is a sharp edge, an end to the water, and yet it feels like it must go on forever to unknown mysterious lands of… who knows? Sea monsters? Strange people and customs? The land at the end of the world? No wonder people used to be so superstitious… sometimes it seems sad that we have “lost” our sense of mystery, of longing, of wondering…

For more stories and articles and pictures on Haida Gwaii go to my website