Went to town yesterday.  Needed Brussel sprouts for Thanksgiving.  My son is coming up this long weekend and he is very traditional when it comes to Turkey dinner.  No variations on the theme are tolerated.  White sauce on the sprouts, two cans of cranberry sauce, real stuffing and, well, the specifications list is pretty detailed.  We even have dessert specs.  We find it easier to comply even if it means an extra trip to town.

It’s funny what a ‘trip to town‘ means.  When we first planned on coming up here, I used to say to my Vancouver friends, “Hey, don’t worry.  We may be moving up there but I’ll be commuting down here all the time.  Monthly, probably.  Definitely every two months.  Can’t imagine not getting to town every two months.”  Well, building took a lot of time and habits changed somewhat.  More to the point, urban life lost all it’s appeal.  We now haven’t been to town in 18 months. 

Of course, ‘town’ also changed.  Vancouver became ‘the city’ and ‘town’ quickly became Campbell River.  We fully expected to go to town in Campbell River every week.  Had to.  Shopping.  But, after awhile the trek became a bit arduous and the ol’ homestead had more allure than did the ferry lineups and Save-On.  Our rhythms and habits changed some and, next thing you know, we are going to Campbell River every two weeks.  Then, with a bit of a 7th inning stretch thrown in, we started to make it three weeks.  We fully expect to go to town every three weeks at the very least.

It’s been over a month since we actually went.  Yesterday, ‘town’ was Heriot Bay on Quadra Island.  I confess: if I never went to Vancouver again, it would be fine by me.  If I went to Campbell River no more frequently than every three months – maybe four – it would even be better.  I like it here.  I may even like it here a bit too much………..

One of my neighbours is so reclusive, he rarely leaves his place.  He gets out now and then but it is clear that he prefers staying home.  He has plenty to do.  Things to build.  Books to read.  He even has a computer.  But, if he had his way, he’d likely never leave except to get more building materials and books.  He’d buy beer, too.  I am not so sure that that is 100% healthy but I must admit to understanding the feeling. 

It’s a weird kind of protective device.  Very primal.  When I was hit by the outboard motor and the blades cut into my scalp, I felt pretty wounded.  Hot gooey liquid squirting from the top of my head didn’t help.  I wanted out of the water and into the boat shed where Sal and I were staying.  I remember distinctly saying to Sally, “Never mind calling the Coastguard.  I don’t need them.  Just let me get back to the shed and I’ll just stay there”. 

Of course, Sally did the right thing and I was attended to quite properly by all involved.  Being hit by a 20 hp outboard motor in the head as it traveled over me at close to 20 knots has had no measurable or lasting effects whatsoever.  Honest.  I am almost 100% sure.  Kinda.   But the basic instinct was to ‘hunker down in a cave and lick my wounds’.  It doesn’t get more primal than that. 

I just might have a bit of ‘hunker residue’ left in me.  

We have some people up here who hunker.  And I get it.  It’s not quite healthy but I get it.