So Folking Strange - Edmonton Folk Fest 2019

Another year, another exhausting, entrancing, frustrating and delightful Edmonton Folk Music Festival. The strangeness in the title refers primarily to the environment, the physical side of which requires periodic application of both sunscreen and long underwear (as well as bug repellent), while the musical side incorporates a disparate range of musical styles you might think had no place at the same venue, let alone sharing a stage. Acadian, African, Celtic, acoustic, electric, instrumental and a capella, all coming together impossibly well.

The California Honeydrops are joined by vocalists The Hamiltones.

Thursday night I got to see bluegrass veterans Trampled by Turtles, who bring a post-punk sensibility to the venerable style, like an Appalachian version of The Pogues.

If you need a bluegrass cover of  Pixies "Where Is My Mind," TBT have that too.

Trampled By Turtles were followed by St. Paul and the Broken Bones, a soul band from Birmingham Alabama led by soulful vocalist Paul Janeway. St. Paul himself may have topped the festival in terms of energy, no more so than when he left the stage and strode up the ski hill, belting out his tune the entire way with no discernible loss of breath. Astonishing!

My favourite act of the weekend though was one of the interstitials that entertained the crowd between headliners: David Jay, The Spaniard. Jay is an Edmonton lad presented as part of the School of Song, four sets of up and coming Alberta artists who also shared a stage the next day

Using an acoustic guitar and a complex looping system he runs with a set of pedals, Jay blends an astonishing array of sounds and rhythms into original compositions that marry classical Spanish guitar and a heavier rock sound.

I saw The Spaniard onstage three times this weekend; the last time at a workshop session where he got the opportunity to jam with an American bluegrass duo (Tim O'Brien and Jan Fabricius), a wonderful English singer/songwriter (John Smith), a Vancouver blues duo and their vocalist (The Harpoonist and the Axe Murderer with Dawn Pemberton), and a talented trio from Madagascar (Toko Telo). He also played his own version of Hans Zimmer's great Interstellar score.

Saturday night was a great main stage, with Bahamas (the stage name of charming and talented Afie Jurvanen) opening up for Canadian legends Bruce Cockburn and Blue Rodeo, but once again it was an in-betweener who stood out: J.S. Ondara, who moved from Kenya to Minneapolis when he was 20, a mere seven years ago. Ondara channels Delta bluesman Robert Johnson in his look and a mellifluous voice reminiscent of Tracy Chapman.

I came into the weekend with a sense of obligation for my volunteer duties (which involves some very early mornings on Saturday and Sunday but which are completed before a single musician takes the stage) and very little anticipation aside from the two Saturday night headliners.

Thankfully, a wonderful set of teammates, accommodating patrons and weather that was cool and damp (but sporadically sunny and quite warm) without last year's buckets of rainfall meant I was able to spend more time on Gallagher Hill this time around, braving a little exposure to the elements in exchange for exposure to new artists I might not have come across otherwise - a strange and wonderful time indeed. I'm already looking forward to next year!

Pulpitations: "Gifted"

Sometimes stringing together a sermon with a coherent message or theme from proscribed lectionary readings can be a bit of a chore. At other times, the common element might hit you a bit obliquely. as it did for me in trying to distill a message from Psalm 85 and Luke 11:1-13.

The latter is fairly familiar - it's the one where Jesus teaches the followers His (i.e. the  Lord's Prayer), but the bits afterward (seek and you shall find, ask and you shall be given, knock and the door shall be opened) strongly reminded me of some of the Zen readings I had encountered.

I'm not precisely sure how one is supposed to reconcile eastern Buddhism with the tenets of Christianity, but I took a swing at it and worked in a little bit of Professor X and James T. Kirk for good measure. (The readings are pasted in below if you're curious.)

"Gifted"

Did you ever get a gift you perhaps didn’t appreciate at first? I mean, no one really likes tearing into a present under the Christmas tree and finding out it’s socks or underwear. On the other hand though, some of us reach a stage where we see that familiar Stanfields logo and think, “cool; now I don’t have to go out and buy these myself!”

What about a gag gift? Hey, peanuts, awesome! Let’s get into -AAH SWEET CHRISTMAS A SNAKE Happy birthday, sucker! Sure, you’re scared at the moment, and maybe a bit angry, and perhaps you need some bathroom time, but then you’re laughing, and the next thing you know, you’ve left the joke can in plain view on a shelf where you know snacky guests are likely to tear into it.

Or maybe your spouse buys you something indeterminately self-serving, like a bread machine or a snowblower. Your initial impulse might be to see the underlying message as “make me some bread now please!” or “that sidewalk ain’t gonna clear itself.” But when you are in the kitchen a week later smelling delicious fresh-baked bread that you added some dill to thanks to a recipe your sister found online, or outside in a blizzard wearing multiple layers of winter clothing and thinking how this machine is probably saving you from a back injury or some kind of cardiac incident, I bet your attitude has shifted in the interim.

The best and worst thing about gifts is this: it’s that you have no control over them. You can’t say for sure if you will be gifted, when you will be gifted, or what you might be gifted with.

The term gifted itself always reminds me of a certain place from the comic books. I’d be super pleased if someone could guess what it is.

1407 Greymalkin Lane, in Salem Center, Westchester County, New York. Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Home of the X-Men in both the comics and the movies, even if in the comics it is continually getting destroyed, renamed or dimensionally shifted. Currently it is called the Xavier Institute for Mutant Education and Outreach, but that doesn’t tie in to my theme very well, so I’ll stick with the School for Gifted Youngsters.

All the students at Xavier’s school are “gifted” because they are mutants, possessing special traits or abilities that set them apart from the rest of humanity. Some of these gifts are benign or simply amusing, others are potentially devastating in their capacity for harm. Some of the gifted students are distinct, or even monstrous in their appearance, others are indistinguishable. They are all considered gifted, but you can be sure that many of them are not happy with these gifts.

The premise is that students, these mutants, can come to Xavier’s school and learn how best to use their abilities, under the tutelage of more experienced and powerful mutants. It’s a brilliant paradigm for spinning adventure yarns, but also for telling stories about prejudice, coming to grips with what sets one apart and the power of personal choice. Some students leave the school and take up ordinary lives, while others succumb to the temptation to use their powers for personal gain, or to lash out at their oppressors, real or perceived. Still others aspire to join the X-Men- mutant superheroes who, in the words of the comic itself, “use their powers to protect a world that hates and fears them.” As Professor Xavier says, “What you do with your gift is entirely up to you.”

This lesson applies not only to these fictional homo superiors, but to us homo sapiens as well, and for the record, I’m not talking about snowblowers and underwear here.

Take our New Testament reading today: a disciple asks Jesus for a simple gift - how to pray. Jesus delivers, brilliantly, but then rolls into some anecdotes about late night requests for baked goods and the wisdom of not giving children venomous animals to handle at snacktime.

But even before he offhandedly calls his disciples “evil” Jesus gives us a lot to unpack in a very succinct passage, something I feel is one of the greatest and most surprising gifts he gives to his followers. After all, everyone knows how to pray, right? It’s practically instinctual; if you turn onto a rainy sidestreet and see a pair of headlights rushing towards you, or open the washroom door at a national park only to have a perturbed cougar snarl at you, I am willing to bet good money that one of your next three words will be the name of the Almighty or his Son. And possibly the Son’s foster parents, especially if you are Irish or a Newfoundlander.

But that’s not what is being asked, is it? “Teach us to pray, as John did his disciples.” We don’t know how John taught his followers to pray, only that he did. The disciples in both instances are looking for guidance, an acknowledgement from an authority as to what God most wants to hear.

Father, hallowed be your name. - acknowledge God first and foremost

Your kingdom come - may the world become more like His vision of it

Give us each day our daily bread - only here do we come to a physical need

And forgive us our sins - we know we've done wrong, but forgive us, not just me

For we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us - well, we’d sure like to, wouldn’t we?

And do not bring us to the time of trial - save us from judgement, because it is unlikely we will ever be truly ready

Luke’s version here sounds like the Reader’s Digest Condensed version compared to what we get in Matthew, which adds “in heaven” after “Our Father,” “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” plus it changes “sins” to “trespasses” and wraps up with “and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

Hey, did you know that the Pope is looking to change that last part? In June he said, “It is not a good translation because it speaks of a God who induces temptation. I am the one who falls. It’s not Him pushing me into temptation to then see how I have fallen. A father doesn’t do that; a father helps you to get up immediately. It’s Satan who leads us into temptation – that’s his department.”

I think this illustrates the limitations of translation, as well as the value of the various paraphrases of the Lord’s Prayer we like to use - and there’s a new one coming up later in the service as a matter of fact - because it is easy to get hung up on the words and lose the meaning or feeling behind them. It’s like Bruce Lee tells his student in Enter the Dragon: “Don’t think- feel! It is like a finger pointing away to the moon. Do not concentrate on the finger or you will miss all of the heavenly glory!”

Frankly, unless you know Greek, and I certainly don’t, I suppose they are all paraphrases, aren’t they? And Jesus didn’t even speak Greek, he spoke Aramaic. Plus the New Testament has been translated into over 1,500 languages and who knows how many different versions in English, so what does that tell you about the precision of words?

At any rate, regardless of which particular words we use to pray as Jesus taught, some of the themes are hard to miss: once we have what we need -not want, but need - we need to start looking after others around us. If we want forgiveness, we must be prepared to forgive. God will give us the things we need, and as Jesus says afterwards, other things we ask for, the gifts we don’t have yet and maybe don’t even know we need. But God has long term goals and needs us to bring his Kingdom around.

And that Kingdom, what might that be like? Maybe Psalm 85 is telling us:

Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet;

righteousness and peace will kiss each other.

Faithfulness will spring up from the ground,

and righteousness will look down from the sky.

What beautiful imagery!

Thanks to something called “parallelism” in the Psalms, this particular bit of phrasing also tells us that

Love = Righteousness

And

Faithfulness = Peace

In addition to this, there is an alternative translation for faithfulness - it’s “truth.”

In God’s Kingdom, truth will spring up from the ground, while righteousness, or justice, if you will, looks down from the sky. That covers just about everything, doesn’t it? Well, everything except the “how” of it, which brings us back to the Prayer of Jesus, or, rather, the bit that comes after.

So Jesus teaches everyone how to pray, then tells a story about late night bakery requests which is all about the persistence of prayer, or, put another way, not giving up. He underscores this by making it crystal clear that what we need, God has, and He will provide it to those who ask:

Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.

I may have mentioned this before, but the Zen monk Gasan, having this passage read to him, replied, “That is excellent. Whoever said that is not far from Buddhahood.” To me, this speaks to the universality of what Jesus is saying here, the capital-T Truth of it.

So what about that last part, you may be asking yourself, where he calls his disciples “evil”?

(And despite all the truth and wisdom contained in the words Jesus shares here, you know, you just know, deep in your bones, that some of those disciples walked away not thinking about the prayer, or fetching bread in the dead of night, or asking and searching and knocking. No, they walked away muttering under their breath about following some wanna-be rabbi all across Judea and just who in the name of Jehovah is he to call me evil? The nerve of that guy!)

So, here’s the thing.

I’ve struggled with defining evil for much of my life, and as much as I would love to tell you that it’s due to reading Proust or Plato or whomever at a precocious age, it just isn’t true. It most likely started when I was eight years old and saw that episode of Star Trek where Kirk gets split into two people, one hard and one soft. The inclination is to call the hard side, the ruthless side, evil, but as the story progresses, it becomes apparent that the softer, more compassionate self can’t be an effective leader without those elements of his personality.

Years of thought, and lots of comic books and other entertainments that try to address fundamental questions about good and evil, and sure, the occasional philosophical treatise not he topic, have brought me to a point where I finally feel ready to take a stab at what defines evil.

I think evil is selfishness. Unrestrained selfishness. The discounting of others to benefit ourselves.

I know we don’t talk a lot about sin in our theology, but humour me - look at the Seven Deadly Sins (which aren’t actually from the bible but do show up in Shazam!): pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth. Me first, it’s all mine, you’re mine, they can’t have you, I don’t need that but I’m taking it, look at my anger, and I don’t want to do anything. Selfishness.

Like Kirk in that Star Trek episode, The Enemy Within, we all have those selfish tendencies in us. We need them, sometimes, in order to survive; it’s instinctual. Take the sweetest person in the world, put them on a set of stairs and watch what happens when they lose their balance. They flail out grabbing anything or anyone to help them stay upright, even if it’s their own frail granny. It’s not fair to judge people on this behaviour, but it is foolhardy to deny our intrinsically selfish nature. When Jesus says, “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children,” it’s not meant as a slight, just a gentle reminder that we are earthly beings, not divine ones.

But even we, base creatures that we are, know how to give good gifts to our children, which tells us that God, who does not share our human imperfections, has even better gifts for those who ask Him!

For me, this whole passage in Luke breaks down like this: We, the disciples, ask Jesus to teach us how to pray, and he does.

He also tells us why.

Then he explains how looking out for one another should be second nature, like looking after our children is supposed to be.

But we are working for change, both within ourselves, and in the world around us. And change is hard, and it’s easy to get discouraged. So Jesus tells us not to give up, and ask for the things we need in prayer, so we can help others.

Jesus gives us a fundamentally non-intuitive way to look at the world, and God’s gifts to us in it, and asks us to focus less on the getting, and more on the giving. And not the kind of giving you do in hopes of getting later on like some kind of generosity pyramid scheme, but true, selfless giving, like the naked monk who gives his clothes to a thief and wishes he could give more. Or the ‘ungrateful’ teacher who reminds a wealthy benefactor that it is the giver who should be grateful.

I know this is all starting to sound like an extended stewardship pitch, but it isn’t. Well, not directly, anyways. There are all sorts of ways to give, because we have received all sorts of gifts. Sometimes they are a mixed blessing, or a bit double-sided, like in the X-Men. “You’ve a lovely voice, I bet you’ll be joining the choir at some point, won’t you?” “Oh, it’s so rare to find someone who deals with children so effectively. Say, have you met our Sunday School coordinator?”

There are other gifts too, gifts that we need sometimes but don’t have, and Jesus tells us we can pray for those. Not gifts like wings or optic blasts or healing factors, although those would be nifty, wouldn’t they? No, these are gifts like patience. Eloquence. Persuasion. Understanding. Clarity.

Ask and it shall be given. “Change what needs to be changed.” In Latin, that’s "Mutatis mutandis," and I’m not mentioning that to show off, but because it’s the motto of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

And we’re getting it right when we take those gifts, even the ones we didn’t really like at first, and we use it, not just for ourselves, but for each other, and for strangers, and for the wider world, and that, my friends, is what the glory of God, what the Kingdom of God, is all about.

“The Lord will give what is good,

and our land will yield its increase.

Righteousness will go before him,

and will make a path for his steps.”

Truly, this is what it means to be gifted.

Amen

READINGS

Psalm 85 (NRSV)

Prayer for the Restoration of God’s Favor

To the leader. Of the Korahites. A Psalm.

Lord, you were favorable to your land;
    you restored the fortunes of Jacob.
You forgave the iniquity of your people;
    you pardoned all their sin. Selah

You withdrew all your wrath;
    you turned from your hot anger.

Restore us again, O God of our salvation,
    and put away your indignation toward us.
Will you be angry with us forever?
    Will you prolong your anger to all generations?
Will you not revive us again,
    so that your people may rejoice in you?

Show us your steadfast love, O Lord,
    and grant us your salvation.

Let me hear what God the Lord will speak,
    for he will speak peace to his people,
    to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts.
Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him,
    that his glory may dwell in our land.

Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet;
    righteousness and peace will kiss each other.
Faithfulness will spring up from the ground,
    and righteousness will look down from the sky.
The Lord will give what is good,
    and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness will go before him,
    and will make a path for his steps.

Luke 11:1-13

The Lord’s Prayer

He was praying in a certain place, and after he had finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” He said to them, “When you pray, say:

Father, hallowed be your name.

    Your kingdom come.

    Give us each day our daily bread.

    And forgive us our sins,

        for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.

    And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

And he said to them, “Suppose one of you has a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; for a friend of mine has arrived, and I have nothing to set before him.’ And he answers from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door has already been locked, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.

“So I say to you, Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake instead of a fish? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Two Stories from "Zen Flesh, Zen Bones," compiled by Paul Reps.

9. The Moon Cannot be Stolen

Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing in it to stea1.

Ryokan returned and caught him. 'You may have come a long way to visit me,' he told the prowler, 'and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.’

The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away.

Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. 'Poor fellow,' he mused, 'I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.'

53. The Giver Should be Thankful

While Seisetsu was the master of Engaku in Kamakura he required larger quarters, since those in which he was teaching were overcrowded. Umezu Seibei, a merchant of Edo, decided to donate five hundred pieces of gold called ryo toward the construction of a more commodious school. This money he brought to the teacher.

Seisetsu said: 'All right. I will take it.'

Umezu gave Seisetsu the sack of gold, but he was dissatisfied with the attitude of the teacher. One might live a whole year on three ryo, and the merchant had not even been thanked for five hundred.

'In that sack are five hundred ryo,' hinted Umezu.

"You told me that before,' replied Seisetsu.

'Even if I am a wealthy merchant, five hundred ryo is a lot of money,' said Umezu.

‘Do you want me to thank you for it?' asked Seisetsu.

"You ought to,' replied Umezu.

'Why should I?' inquired Seisetsu. ‘The giver should be thankful.'

Betwixt the Butterflies and the Slugs

We haven't always had the best luck with private campgrounds in our past, but Whiskey Creek RV Campground turned out to be a delightful spot to camp for a week. It's less than ten minutes from Qualicum Beach and Coombs, on an acreage sized lot off Chatsworth Road. There are other houses in the neighbourhood, and a farm or two, but the lot next to the campsite is undeveloped, and judging from the intermittent chainsaw sounds, the owner is either meticulously clearing the land or harvesting timber from it.

There's only 16 sites and some are more open than others, but we had a bit of bush on one side of ours, and a fence separating us from the woods next door.

There was plenty of room to bring the picnic table and fire pit in closer to the Bride, and to set up the camp kitchen (packed away in this picture).

The campground was tidy, the washrooms were clean, and the hostess, Joy, a delight to deal with. I'd actually booked a site in Oceanside, but it was pretty much in the town and right next to the highway to boot, so I cancelled it once Joy returned my call to say there was an opening here. Plus, the seventh night's stay was free.

The washroom building and dishwashing station is on the left, with Joy's cabin/office on the right.

There were notices about wolves, bears and cougars in the area, but the garbages weren't secured and the recycling bins full of pop cans were fairly accessible, so I think it was just to keep people from doing anything overtly stupid.

Not to say there was no wildlife - near the end of our stay, a deer swang by for a visit.

And just before we left, we finally saw the enormous slugs we had expected to see earlier. First the invasive black slug, the first we'd encountered:

And then the banana slugs we'd spent so much time fruitlessly looking for on the Amphitrite Trail in Ucluelet.

Yeah, not exactly charming, but kind of cute in their own way I suppose. Certainly not something we'd come across back in Alberta!

Butterfly World in Coombs has a much prettier collection of invertebrates and was a wonderful place to get out of the rain one afternoon.

There was a large tortoise named Samson and a bearded dragon as well.

And a tremendous collection of orchids.

Perhaps most delightfully of all, they had a pond full of turtles out back.

For what is essentially a tourist trap, Butterfly World was a tranquil space in which to wrap up one of our last days on Vancouver Island.

Dads and Crawdads in the Little Qualicum River

Our campsite at Whiskey Creek was only a few minute's drive from Little Qualicum Falls Provincial Park, and since the day after our beach excursion had ahint of warmness to it, Glory and I took our swim togs along.

Not that I am too much of a scofflaw or anything, but when we had visited there in 2009, we had left the trail at one point and found an amazing swimming hole formed by the fortuitous placement of enormous pieces of rock, downstream from both the upper and lower falls. The sides were a little slick and steep to be bringing in two small girls with little swimming experience, so we abandoned our attempt to swim in there fairly quickly, and I have dreamed of returning there ever since.

Sadly, the water levels were not as generous this time around but since my fencehopping ability has diminished in the intervening decade, so it may have been a blessing in disguise.

So instead, we trekked up the trail, past the lower:

and upper falls of the Little Qualicum River.

It's a gorgeous spot, with good trails and stairs in the steep bits. Despite the humidity and ever-present threat of rain, it was not too buggy, either.

It got up to about 24 degrees, and by the time we had climbed up past the upper falls, I was drenched in sweat, and eager for a chance to cool off. Eventually, we came to a bend in the river, just before it takes another turn and picks up speed before turning into a proper waterfall. It looked familiar, but I couldn't be sure it was the same spot we had swum in a decade earlier - it looked smaller, somehow.

With sweat pouring off my brow and no better opportunities in sight, I ducked behind some trees and put on my swim clothes, while Glory trotted off to change in an outhouse just down the trail.

Thankfully I had picked up a pair of river shoes (or water socks or whatever you call them) so my increasingly tender tootsies were able to make it across the gravel beach and into the water without incident. Once there, however, the size of the rocks increased dramatically and were impossible to stand on due to their slickness.

Oh, and it was cool. Like, 5-7 degrees kind of cool. I didn't have a thermometer with me, but I have drank many a beer at temperatures warmer than that river and thought, "mm, that is a cool and refreshing beverage." With a wide and unstable stance, and my right foot wedged under a particularly large stone, I was uneasy about taking the final plunge into the briskness of the river, but there was nothing else for it, so I leapt in.

By the time Glory arrived, I had acclimatized quite a bit and was finding my time in the river quite enjoyable. I hadn't bothered with the flippers and snorkel I had brought, but was doggedly perusing the river bottom. I was certain this was the same spot, but the rocks had looked more colourful, and had been positively teeming with crayfish that I hadn't yet seen. At 12-15 feet at its deepest, I felt certain it had been deeper too, but then, the mid-island had been dry most of the spring and summer.

Glory's entry into the river was just as apprehensive as mine, but more surefooted all the same. Eventually, she too took the plunge, but lacking my insulation, she did not find it quite as comfortable as I had.

Still, she borrowed my mask and was excited to see a fish (presumably a young salmon) shortly after that.

It was a little tricky extricating the straps of my mask from her hair, but when I joined her in looking underwater at the freshwater fry, I was thrilled to finally spot the crayfish I had come to find. 4-6 inches long, with white bands crossing their claws, they appeared to have vacated from one side of the river to the other over the past ten years. Since crayfish can't live in polluted waters, it is always a blessing to see them where you are swimming, even if they are a little creepy and vaguely menacing looking. (They are also astonishingly fast; Audrey reached out toward one in the shallows and it darted back perhaps 18 inches in the blink of an eye.

We swam in the river for perhaps half an hour before I came out to dry off on a nearby bench. A group of hikers smiled when they saw me, and asked if I'd had a dip. Still unsure of the legality of my immersion, I nodded, but replied, "If it's a ranger who's asking, I fell over while looking for crayfish!"

Once we were dry, we made our way back out the parking lot, checking a trail map and determining that where we were was a completely legitimate swimming spot.

You know what? Honestly, I was a little disappointed.

Reunited On the Island - Qualicum Beach, Coombs and Ucluelet

Family vacations are becoming more and more challenging to arrange; last year Fenya went off to China on a school trip while Audrey, Glory and I travelled to Drumheller, and she will be working full-time at the UAlberta ombuds office for the next year, with no real vacation time to speak of. 

Thankfully she had banked up enough hours in May and June to entitle her to a couple of days away from the office, so we split the cost of airplane ticket with her and flew her from Edmonton to Comox on Thursday night. It was a bit late when we got back to our campsite at Whiskey Creek, but it was grand having everyone together and our first full family night in Bride of Frankentrailer. 

The next day we lazily explored Qualicum Beach and caught up with Island Mike and his wife Kelly, who Audrey and I've chummed around with on and off for a quarter-century or so. We took a stroll in the amazing heritage forest not far from their house and enjoyed a wonderful supper with them. 

On Saturday, our laziness almost prevented us from visiting the Qualicum Beach farmer's market, but we got there in time to get some fresh salad greens for that night's supper and some blueberries for snacking. I also found a delightful honey liqueur called krupnik brewed right on the island in Courtenay, and the girls found some jewelry as well. We also made a trip out to the Coombs Country Market, home of the (in)famous Goats on the Roof.

Here we found a brilliant peach vanilla vinaigrette for our salad and some buns for the bratwursts we had brought for supper. Grilled over an open fire at the campground, and served with mixed greens and a fancy dressing, it felt like a true feast.

The following morning we arose on time for once and piled into the Flex. We headed out to Ucluelet on the west coast of Vancouver Island, stopping in Port Alberni for some breakfast sandwiches. It took about two-and-a-half hours with the construction stoppages, but we still got in before 11:00. We drove through the town to get the lay of the land and ended up at an entrance to the Wild Pacific Trail. With adequate time and decent weather, we decided to check it out, despite the grim warnings contained in the signage.

Right from the start of the trail there are things to check out, including the Amphitrite Lighthouse.

And even on an overcast day like this, some of the seaside vistas were a sight to behold.

The trail itself took us through some of the gnarliest rainforest, with moss-covered stumps and wildly twisted roots exposed by high winds and tidal actions.

 

We returned to the Flex for some pepperoni sticks and cheese curds before heading back to town, stopping at a scenic former church that now contained a coffee shop and will eventually be home to a microbrewery. From there we made our way to the Ucluelet Aquarium, a catch-and-release enterprise staffed by enthusiastic and knowledgeable young people.

Sadly, they had just released the only octopus they had managed to capture so far this season, as she had doubled in size in under a month and had become far too big for her tank. Thankfully there was still much to see, including a wolf eel and a number of young jellyfish.

We toodled about Ucluelet a little more that afternoon before supping at the Raven Lady food truck. A group from Calgary had set her up, specializing in oyster dishes and offering free shucking lessons to passersby. Full of seafood and marvellous chips, we headed home.

Monday was Fenya's last day on the island, and we would need to leave the area by 3:00 in order to get her to her flight in Comox on time. Surely that would be enough time to visit the beach to she could get some surfside action in?

Well, yes, but since it never got warmer than 16 degrees, it wasn't exactly sunbathing weather. Thankfully, Glory was not about to let a little thing like cool weather prevent her from having her bathing beauty moment, which the rest of us enjoyed from closer to the shore.

I was disappointed at not being able to swim (and from watching a crow fly off with a zip-loc bag full of Jelly Bellies that had been stashed in the cupholder of my chair), but we still had a good time beachcombing and collecting driftwood. We even managed to get the beans back, although only one of us was willing to eat what the girls termed "crowbeans" and it wasn't me, surprisingly. 

We headed back to camp with enough time for Fenya to change and shower, then got an order to go from Bigfoot Burgers, a restaurant close to our campsite with amazing french fries. Wolfing them down on our way to Comx, we reflected on what a gift it was to able to spend some time together in such a wonderful environment, so different from where we live. 

Even though they are sure to become rarer as the girls leave school and enter (and re-enter) the workforce, I am confident there are more excursions like this in our collective futures - I just hope we don't have to wait too long until the next one!