Gila’kasla

Gila’kasla (Gay-la-key-us-la) means welcome in the K’òmoks language.  I moved to the Comox Valley in April and I respectfully acknowledge that I live and work on the unceded traditional territory of the K’òmoks First Nation. It’s the time of year when there are long sunny evenings and the longest day, June 21^st which is also National Indigenous Day.

The Comox Valley is a beautiful and special place that seems to attract artists, foodies and athletes. Famous residents include the writers Alice Munro and Jack Hodgins and the artist EJ Hughes among others.

 I’ve met a lovely group of tennis friends from all walks of life.  I ride my bike along farm-lined roads under the stern gaze of the magnificent Comox glacier. The local riding routes are filled with peek-a-boo views of the Salish Sea and only a few courteous cars.

For a few weeks, the Snowbirds who were training out of the Comox Airforce Base gave morning acrobatic performances.

 

I am living on the shores of Comox Harbour and the site of an ancient midden, the Great Comox Midden. When the tide is low there is evidence of First Nation fishing weirs from over 1000 years ago at the Courtenay river (the confluence the Tsolum and Puntledge rivers). Archaeologists estimate the  Coast Salish have been in the Courtenay River Valley for over 4000 years.

My new neighbour tells me that the resident eagle that I see daily has been nesting in the tree overlooking the house for over twenty years. Sadly he hasn’t seen the eagle’s partner in a few years.

Each morning, white-tailed deer wander through the garden and forage about.  Two small white spotted fawns occasionally gambol across the lawn unmindful of their anxious mother. The fragrance of lavender and the drone of bees fill the air.  It is a delight to have a garden again and I have been waging war on holly, morning glory, thistle, brambles, ivy and vetch.  The cats busily murder a daily vole or rat and sadly on occasion a small brown bird.

I spend hours watching the ancient estuary tide go up and down and the parade of sailboats, kayaks and SUPs milling about the harbour. Ecstatic voices ring across the water on the still evenings. On a rare big wind day, the swooping kiteboarders hurtle across the white caps. The Bybrook stream runs by the house and my eagle visits there nearly every evening at sunset to fish. He is often accompanied by a Great Blue Heron.

 I have been unpacking the artefacts of my own life – clothing, china, books, linens and keepsakes from my own childhood and my children’s – items that have been stored away for the last ten years. I’ve been setting up what I hope is my last home. That Abbey Road album I’ve unearthed is fifty years old now and I can’t remember who bought it. Is it mine or my brother’s? The Moody Blues one is definitely my sister’s.

Meanwhile, my internal and external writing spaces are in complete disarray. Or perhaps they are in transition?  I hope to regain my stride and visit with you all again soon.