WATER FALL

BY: JEAN LEJEUNE

Now that we’ve journeyed together through politics, environment, history, the Universe and the future (remember? It belongs to the kids, we  filled our faces and left the table without paying the bill…) it feels right to look around here a bit.

It seems like just last week I wrote about the nip of crisp fall air on the cheek and nostalgia for the summer past.Now, in mid February, we have crocuses blooming and frantic searching about for the Frisbee. This will be news to no-one but it is an amazing place we live.

Geoff and I saw three pairs of salmon spawning in Deer Creek. Deer nibble the wild flowers on my lawn. Last fall I saw a deer balanced upon it’s hind legs biting an apple from a tree.  Heron snoozing upon one leg listen to the soft ringing of my mandolin…. I know they are listening because the moment I stop playing, they fly off giving voice to the proof that birds come from dinosaurs.

I wandered to the waterfall, slipped on a mossy log and fell in. On my back with the waterfall on my face, I looked up and saw Jim looking franticly at, I guess, me. It seemed uncalled for but I guess I understand why he looked so distressed.  If only he could have seen from my view. Brilliant white water in dazzling sunshine exploding on my face, I simple could not remember a more amazing, delightful mind-blowing cleansing experience.  It was short but oh so sweet. Sure I got water in my gum boots, but I loved that water like never before.

Anybody who is not overwhelmed by amazement at such a winter has clearly never wintered anywhere else in Canada. In Calgary if you fell in a waterfall February 1st you’d be dead February 2nd.   In Saskatoon if you saw a crocus it would be May. Late May.  Maybe even June.

In Calgary we would grasp at such tiny straws of enjoyment, the deft strokes of the windshield scraper,  the lovely Sorels and ski parka by the back door to take out the -30o garbage.

I am bedazzled. I love it here. Thanks for having me, Salt Spring.  I feel so grateful I have to own up…. My name really isn’t Jean LeJeune.  And Calgary, know that I’m going outside in my bare feet now.

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