I tried to wait it out for a while. When I woke this morning it was dark skies, pouring rain, and high winds. By noon, the rain had let up a bit, and I headed out. Of course, I had to go to the ocean to see the waves. If I am going to be wet and cold, I want some storm views to go with it. I actually considered heading to a less protected coast to really see the sea whipped up, but I had work to do. When I drive somewhere, I want at least twice as much time on land as I spend in the car. Otherwise, it doesn’t feel so much like walking as a road trip.
Miserable. It really was miserable. I had a rain jacket on, and tried to add an umbrella. It didn’t have it fully open before I realize there was too much wind, and I returned it to the apartment . My jacket is good, and it kept me dry, but, like any hood, this one bugs me. I only kept it on when the rain was pounding down, so my head was wet.
Kenna didn’t mind a bit. In fact, today was the first time I felt she was making peace with water that moves. People were not as chatty as usual, probably just getting the dog walked, or their daily walk in, and heading for shelter. We did find three teens, unconcerned with wet enough to be posing for pictures on a rock in the surf. One had a mishap. I didn’t see, as my back was turned, and she was out before I turned around and got the hood out of my eyes, but the scream was an unmistakable dunk-scream. No harm done, though, as they came up and made a big fuss about Kenna, and had me take a picture of the three of them.
I am quite obsessed with noisy surf. I think it is a beautiful sight when waves smash into the shore — nothing shocking there. But the fascination with the noise of waves crashing and pebbles rattling is so unlike me. I despise noise. I turn myself inside out to have quiet. I rarely play music, would no more consider having the TV on in the background than to run down the street naked. I drive, even thousands of miles, and never turn the radio on. But I am completely happy listening to the roar and crash of the surf. I know it is louder than other sounds that make me nuts. But with a warm day, a lawn chair and a good book, I could spend hours right beside that cacophony. It feels meditative.
I managed to get myself soaking wet, making the exact same mistake I make every time I see big waves (see the images), and decided I had better head for home. The top half of me was dry, so I was probably safe, but I once came close to hypothermia after a dunking while canoeing, and will never forget how fast I became incapacitated. One minute I was fine, the next minute shaking so hard I thought I was going to need help to get the wet clothes off and the dry ones on. I managed to get dry on my own, but the lesson will remain with me forever.
I found a short street I had not been on before on my way home. One place has a normal corner lot, but the owners have set up a little permaculture system. If I had this climate to work with, I would be so happy with what they have done. I’m guessing they raise a lot of their own food. There are hoop row covers, trellises for climbing plants, raised beds, a water-collection system (though I’m hard pressed to understand when they use the water they collect — summer I suppose), and ducks.
I was talking later to some people who thought they would be allowed chickens, too, unlike Winnipeg. But this magnificent yard had no fruit trees. I’m curious about that omission, when this island is perfect for apples, cherries, pears, kiwi … the list goes on. I would love to see it in the summer. Everything is pretty much shut down now, even in this gentle climate, but they should be up and running again starting in February, from what I have heard.
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