Early Sept … Came over today, my first vacation travel with Kitty and me only. We were off for British Columbia, meaning Canada.
Lunch at the Tumwater Café, German reminding me of good Ohio farm cooking — Grandma Hodson’s yet, as Kitty asserted, “But not Mom Moran!”
Yakima Fruit Stand, “Your canning headquarters,” on U.S. 2, Snohomish, on way to Everett
And our luck today, arriving at Keystone ferry as the boat’s in dock, nearly loaded. Expecting to see it pull out, instead the ticket seller said, “Congratulations, you made it — with a minute and a half to spare.”
[That was the state ferry across Puget Sound, getting us to Port Townsend.]
Spent $40 at Imprint bookstore, on poetry, mostly, and the owner called Sam Hamill and told me how to get out to the Copper Canyon Press to be there at 9 the next morning. (Good luck, again.0
That, after (good luck) we had taken the next-to-last room at the Tides Inn, with a room overlooking Puget Sound …
Saw my first seal on my trip, a dog-head in the water until a real dog started barking.
~*~
12 Sept, met Sam at the press, Fort Warden State Park for the arts, beautiful old wooden structures pleasantly restored (wood heat in the print shop) as he set type by hand while I watched. Word of a fine-sounding symposium coming up April 9-13 — Snyder, perhaps.
Sez send him the mss in Oct or Nov … he, too, has had a busy summer. Has an earring, hard wrinkles, tattoos MOM …
luck again … boarded MV Cobo from waiting line, Port Angeles-Victoria. Any later, we would have missed it and had to wait five hours. As it was, a 45-minute wait. Ferry rocking, side to side, hard to walk, even read.
Couples playing cards.
Native next to us: no ear, just a nub of scar tissue. Enough to hold his glasses up.
Outside, sky clears. Coastal clouds low on the mountains.
Seagulls, how can I miss them?
Porpoises.
Whitecap followed
by black shining streak.
Brentwood Inn on Brentwood Bay — $26 for a suite w/ kitchenette
Something so purely out of the early ’50s or even ‘30s.
[In my memories, it’s an inland pond.]
In our room: TV ads remade for Canadian audiences: new accents and no Blacks. On radio, hearing familiar CBC nighttime programs plus daytime classical.
Butchart Gardens, in former limestone quarries ($4/person)
Almost too beautiful, though overwhelmed by blue-haired women and equally stout and frail dim-witted men.
BEGONIAS, ESP. THOUGH ROSES MUST BE SOMETHING IN PRIME.
The English/Scottish traditions so obvious here: everything relatively safe: motels windows unlocked, acceptance of cashiers’ cheques and credit cards with no hassle. But when Kitty dashes ahead through oldsters at the gardens, we hear a mumbled “rudeness” behind us and I thought of the veiled violence of Britain (the righteous or self-righteous stiffness coming down on nonconformists).
“PLEASE LEAVE UMBRELLAS OUTSIDE”
Though most visitors seem to be most impressed by the formal gardens or fully blooming flower beds. which could be located just about anywhere, what I found most stunning was the reclaimed quarry. Photos by Bill Wilson via Wikimedia Commons.
~*~
Missed HIGH TEA SERVICE at the gardens by five minutes ($4/person: “JUST ENOUGH TO SPOIL YOUR DINNER” tea/sandwiches/crumpets) and debated about $8/per buffet later, deciding even with cold turkey, salmon, beef it’s still cafeteria, so rather than wait another 3 hours for the famed lights splaying the quarry and fountains, off we went off to downtown, nosed around (including opening restaurant doors, taking a sniff or two, and returning to the sidewalk. After narrowing our choices to two, we settled on a tiny [modest, dimly lighted, dark red interior] French restaurant — I stayed in English, to not embarrass myself, my tongue tightening up too much even on the menu. [Forget grammar and tenses.] We even ordered a bottle of wine but were served another but excellent label — Ackerman? — food unbelievably fine: salmon for me, lamb for her [what I remember most, though, was her stewed tomato — something I never, ever would have thought could be heavenly] — then mousse au chocolat and good black coffee. Over the meal, her quizzing me about what if she’d have an affair — one of those impossible conversations. [Looking back over these entries, I realize it wasn’t about if but rather resolving the recent past.]
[I suppose this could be rendered as an intense short story or even a chapter, but the development no longer appeals to me. Too much work? Let me file it away under Missed Opportunities.]
Afterward, strolling the street again, I see a tall ridge in the Cascades behind downtown Victoria — not Baker’s profile but high the same way. Back in the orchard again, looking at maps, I’ll see it must be the elusive Mount Glacier. It conforms to configuration. Everything so amazing.
Had wondered earlier in the year about spending time in British Columbia [with my mountaineering focus, meaning the Canadian Rockies] but now, by accident, I’ve done it, except on the coastal side.
Later, viewing a James Crockett Victory Garden visit in the gardens — “nearly perfect” — so enjoyable to see where we’ve been.
13 Sept. — Wednesday, noon
Toured the Provincial Museum on the waterfront today — magnificent presentation, 3 floors: totem poles 4 stories high outside, or cur in half inside — some viewed best from the escalators.
Lodge houses inside with interior totem poles.
So many redheads and blue eyes, the Scottish factor, methinks. Within the museum, bump into a Japanese woman, “Excuse me.”
“You are very welcome.”
(Berlitz embarrassment.)
Mining display has detailing so realistic: cold air blowing in, a dim-lighted air shaft, a rocky passage like a prospector’s worked vein …
Ubiquitous Japanese visitors with cameras, waiting for the ferry. This time, a small one that without a full load, sails tilted on the cabin side.
COASTAL SCENE
A scone, with her tea.
Salmon sandwich, cookie, tea for me.
Clouds. Wet haze. Evergreens. Light gray.
With a yellow Volkswagen
microbus down the ramp
a ferry floats out, away.
And then a Canadian ferry trip from Victoria to Vancouver.
Buffet chattering dishes.
Yet too much to eat, $4.50.
God won’t let you in to Heaven
if you pile up treasures
a single charred mask
in a glass case
stands as an offering
At the beach house tonight, Tulalip Reservation, Turtle Island declaration, so many thick memories for Kitty
Another ten years will Californians be as detested as New Yorkers overrunning so many other states? Loud, obnoxious, insensitive?
LA center of the universe projection:
The world as backlots
even before TV’s
Walton’s Mountain
back before Walmart
~*~
From Spiralbound Cascadia with commentary.
