Home again, home again

We got home last night on the 8:30 ferry, after a very long weekend away in Oregon. We spent a wonderful few days with family that we love, doing things that were fun, and yet, when we pulled through the ticket booth in Horseshoe Bay, I felt an involuntary sigh of relief flood through me. Home. Twenty minutes on the ferry, a few minutes of waiting at the dock, two minutes of driving, and life can continue as normal.

Now, normal is a relative thing. We have friends visiting us from California, and I think that they don't find much "normal" about our life at all. A first visit to Bowen is often surreal - it's 8:15 p.m., and someone wants a latte, but, oh well, not on Bowen. Or the desire to buy ice cream at the grocery store off island - well intentioned, but it would just be cream by the time we got home. We live in near the Cove, so I try to walk as much as possible and drive as little as necessary. Up and down the hills, nothing like the flat lands of southern California.Of course, to me, all these are the reasons I love Bowen.

When in the States, Chris and I tend to go on shopping binges, because it is simply so EASY to jump in the car and hit any number of cheap and easy stores. But by the end of two days of this kind of "let's just go and see what we find" kind of instant gratification, I always feel emotionally bloated, and ready for a break. On Bowen, we spend almost nothing, we buy little, and we make do. So, we can't get a latte at night, we can't run to the Superstore when the fancy strikes, going to a movie on a whim is a thing of the past. So what? We get to go for walks and pick berries until our hands are stained and our tummies are full. Everywhere we walk or drive, we run into people we know and love. Probably, this isn't normal by anyone's standards. But I find it pretty fabulous, nonetheless.

Happy INDEPENDENCE Day!

We bought our 4 1/2 year old son Sterling his first bike. I was thinking we'd buy him a great tricycle to try out on, but Chris and I miscommunicated, and next thing I know, I've got a beaming son, showing me the bike that daddy picked out. And a helmet to match. Joy knows no end.

We're staying in a hotel in Oregon, and, sadly, that hotel room is shy on bike building tools. Daddy and Sterling went outside to build the bike and ride it around the parking lot, but alas, the attempt was a bust. "Mommy, I can't even wait for tomorrow" was the mantra for the next 24 hours.

By the time we landed at our cousins house (replete with tools), he had almost forgotten, and got lost in a squirt gun war. But the bike got built, Daddy was a hero, and Sterling discovered independence. Up and down the country road he went, helmet on, face earnest and legs working hard. He loved it so much that most of the 12 hour drive back to Bowen was spent worrying over when and where he'd get to ride it again. When he'd get to show his best friend. Telling the waiter at the restaurant that he had a new bike.


Finally, we ended up on the ferry, and since it was half empty, there was an entire lane, dedicated, it would seem, to bike riding. What bliss.