My Favourite Bench

I was thinking the other day, when down at Tyee Spit, that it was  an absolutely perfect place.  My favourite bench, snuggled into the side of  a tree. If it could speak ,what would it say.  It peers over the edge of the shore by Painter's Lodge, right into  the passage.  It is one of my favourite places to be.In 1792, Captain Vancouver first sailed into these waters. I wonder what it would have been like to have stood here.

   Shortly after Vancouver's visit, the Euclataw tribe attacked the Salish in the area. Almost wiped them out. Those that were left  migrated to Comox, about 45 minutes south of Campbell River. The ones that stayed  from the Euclataw became known as Weweakam. They settled here. Probably with the same view of  the sand bars, and estuary. Today, as on most nice days, there are tourists in fishing boats, by Painter's Lodge. They carry bags of things. Things to take on Fishing charters.They are the most fun to watch. Tourists tend to stand up in little boats. The boats rock. The tourists teeter.....

               From that bench, at the end of the path, on one side is Painter's Lodge,  and on the other I can see my favourite house. It perches as well. On the rocks of Quadra Island. I wonder what kind of storms it sees. It looks like it's humming....

 Back at the house, Spencer, the neighbours' cat, stuffs himself into one of my moss baskets. He likes it filled with dirt that he can scoop out and make more comfortable.  He turns himself into a ball and dreams. He usually gets dirty paws. He waits for us to come home.

 On a blue day my favourite bench is shaded. The eagles skim overhead, and the beach and sky stretch out into nothing.

 Just one guy with a kite, pulling with all his might against the wind. And my grown daughters,on our day off,  who still like to teeter, themselves, on fallen logs, pock marked and rotting. We tend to come down here to escape the chores and errands that await. Back at the house. Where the neighbours' cats are.

 Back at the house, Spencer wonders where we are. He looks in the kitchen window. Hellllllllo. Everything has an echo....

 Meanwhile, we walk the beach of rocks. The sky pulls us  like taffy, and everything and everyone seem so far away.

 Except, back at the house, Spencer's brother, Smokey, has joined the vigil. We're not there.Helllllllo.

   Then it's a chance to run under the kite, that is whipped by the wind.

 And the kite surges on. In the quiet, with only the wind for company. And there's just us. On the field, away from the beach , and the tourists, who are far off in the corner  by Painter's Lodge. They seem to be deciding on whether or not to take out one of those small boats. The boats that make them wobble like weebles.

And then the bench is alone. I wonder if it will see any of those tourists  fall in this time. Splash. I wonder what that bench sees  when we're not here.....