A HOME WITH A VIEW - February 24, 2018

At the beginning of 2014, when I realized that for many reasons I was losing the ability to walk, I fought back by finding myself a place to live that looked out on the beauty and power of Lake Superior. I was determined that if I had to sit, I would enjoy the view. When Carl was ready to join me, we decided to make full-time RVing our lifestyle. I now have numerous choices of indoor positions with a view, the vistas change as often as we wish and I have endless opportunities for short walks accompanied by my canine companion and supervised by my human partner. This morning I throw open the window by my bed and lean on the windowsill to watch the first light of dawn pinken the peaks at the far end of Seton Lake. The water is an unearthly shade of turquoise, made so by rock flour in the glacial melt, and as the sun brightens the mountains the colours comes alive in shades of emerald and jade. This beauty is so profound that it draws a visceral response from my body; I want to feast on it, fill the emptiness in my soul till it can hold no more. When we drive, I am able to keep my passenger window open most of the time because the overhang of the RV body creates a quiet spot by my door and shelters me from rain. The air is so cold and clean that it could be sipped through a straw and like Manny, I drink in the scents around us savouring the tang of crushed cedar and sage bush, the iron smell of approaching snow and the tobacco of dried grass wet then warmed by the sun. A river where salmon spawn is vaguely fishy, a warm funk rises from the steaming coats of the equine roadblock we encounter and in Squamish, the aroma of food on the grill precedes us into the restaurant where we splurge on a night out. Here in the mountains it is not the sounds that are so noticeable but the absence of sound that calls your attention. After driving through the high mountain passes between Lillooet and Pemberton with all the ear popping of changing altitudes, we pull off for lunch beside the Birkenhead River at the north end of Lillooet Lake. Once the engine noice fades away, it seems the only sound I hear is my own heartbeat. The river slides glassily by and the sun shines in warmly through the window but all is silent. This silence is pierced by the clomp of a fisherman's boots as he passes by, tiny hisses of snow sliding from roadside rock cuts and the piercing call of a stellar jay in the pines. When we decided to marry, Carl and I agreed that if we had ten good years, it would be well worth the investment. This week marks the beginning of our eleventh year and the adventure continues with our cross-Canada travels. The difference is that where once the road ahead was unending, the opportunities limitless, I now say to myself, "I may never pass this way again." Perhaps that is why the experiences seem so intense. Perhaps that is why my soul feels like a dry sponge soaking in the sights and sounds and smells around me. Perhaps at some level I am storing away this treasure against the time when my memories are all I'll have.