A Journey to Spirit #4: Memories

We visited with neighbours and family, and there was a consistent influx of friendly folks dropping by simply because they couldn’t drive up the Island Highway without visiting the Buss Stop.

By the time I was eight, my absolute favourite thing was to go fishing with Boo. I always felt so privileged to get the invitation for the 4am wake-up call because I understood that having kids along was extra work, and most of all when fishing. To walk proudly down the highway to the river together with rods and bait, to make our way to the sixteen foot wooden outboard before the crack of dawn was a special thrill. So I made it a point to learn quickly, and watch and listen intently.

Out on the salt water, the sun beginning to light up the eastern sky, and the water as smooth as a glassy mirror that time of day, I’d watch as Boo trimmed the fresh herring just right and slipped it into place inside a clear acrylic cap fastened with a small piece of tooth pick. He was meticulous with the bait making sure there would be lots of action on it and that it resembled a small injured herring perfectly. Boo could catch fish when no one else was.

He’d watch the horizon and the play of the wind on the surface. He’d read the weather and the tide, the current and the light. He’d watch the birds in particular. He pointed, “Where there’s gulls, there’s herring. Where there’s herring, there’s salmon.” He took the time to explain how the secrets of the salmon worked. We’d troll and we’d mooch and we’d rest with the roll of the boat. Such was the cycle of life.

“What are you doing, Boo?” “Pulling weeds,” he replied. “How can you tell if they’re weeds?” He grinned, “Cause they’re the ones that keep coming back!”

I noticed a rather large and perfectly round rock about the size of a five pin bowling ball nestled in the flower bed as if it belonged there. I asked naively, “Are you going to leave that rock there?” He nodded yes, and I just had to ask, “How come?” His wrinkled, friendly face with the near toothless smile turned up toward mine, and said, “I have to leave it there to grow some more, and then one day we’ll have rock soup.” From then on, I was always very careful when soup was the dinner fare, first checking the pot on the stove very carefully for rocks.

The Buss Stop would fill up to overflowing at Christmastime. In the tiny little kitchen, with the flat iron stove blasting away, a massive twenty-five pound turkey would be cooking to perfection. The hot water tank in the closet would groan and growl from the heat of the stove, and whoever was standing at the kitchen sink was in charge of running the hot water until it stopped. Plumes of cigarette smoke wafting away, voices filled even the smallest crevice and a chorus of laughter could be heard floating upon the wind for miles. We loved each other…always.

There was something very magical about it all. I treasure that I always felt welcomed and included. I partied along with the rest of them, even into the early morning hours, never being shushed off to bed or told that children were to be seen and not heard. I told my own funny stories, and was appreciated for the same. I remember watching closely as the grown-ups gestured wildly to bring each story to life. And with reckless abandon, Boo was often the center of the folly. His favourite make-do costume was the ‘Flying Nun.’

Roars of laughter would burst forth and tiny happy tears would slip down our faces. I still recall how my cheeks would hurt and how that strange sharp pain in my side would bend me over as I tried to catch my breath. The quiet that filled the house when everyone had left was almost sad.

Even as a child, I knew how valuable each celebration, each day and each night had been, and how much I always looked forward to the next day. It would turn out to be the laughter that gave me the most comfort and filled me with the best memories. And to this day, more than anything else, it will always be the gift of laughter I miss the most.

…to be continued

Photo Credits

The Boat – by 123rf/T.Kuptanisakorn

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