[11/30/2001 2:44:39 AM | Chris Corrigan]

Here is something I've been meaning to write about.



Ever since we arrived here on Bowen we have followed with interest the life cycle of the Western White Clematis, aka Virgin Bower (Clematis ligusticifolia). It's a native plant that climbs anything, sometimes reaching 10m or more. They grow all over the place, colonizing Douglas-firs and weaving around Ocean Spray and salmon berry bushes. They have a little white flower that blooms in July and stays bloomed until September at which time the seed heads form on long tendrils, tripling the size of the flower.



By this time of year the seed heads are mature and have grown fluffy and huge. They catch the sun and from a distance look like massive cherry blossoms. Right now this is the state they are in. There is a huge one growing up a tree on our neighbour's front yard which we can see from the living room window. For most of the day the sun shines through it lighting the whole thing up. Caitlin says they seem to take whatever light there is and multiply it, so that in the twilight they fairly glow.



Here is a photo of one in all it's seed head glory:

Winter is creeping down the mountains. Today was crystal clear and pretty cool. The snow on the North Shore mountains was breathtaking, down around the 1700 foot mark. There was a dusting on Mount Gardiner too, but the snow on Mount Apodaca yesterday, lower at 1500 feet was gone after rains last night.



Clean cool air, gllistening water, everything perfect.

Right now I'm in a period where I can do most of my work on the island, which means steadying the never ending writing assignments with some ritual break in the day. Either this takes the form of the Globe and Mail cryptic, playing some flute tunes, or, more frequently, wandering down to the Cove for the midafternoon siesta.



There is a period in the middle of the day where almost nothing happens in the Cove. The ferry takes a 2.5 hour break at lunch and so there is hardly any car traffic down there. That's when I love to go to The Snug and douse myself in a latte and maybe their soup of the day. And it is always interesting in there. Today, just as I was about to leave in walked my friend Bob Doucet and we chin wagged for a while about working from home and so on. Then Andy Hilhouse joined us, stopping in for a somoza on his way home to North Van after his weekly teaching stint at Island Pacific School. Running into friends in the coffee shop is just about the finest way I can think to pass the afternoon by.



The other reason I love walking lately is that I get to watch winter creep down the mountains. There is fresh snow on the North Shore mountains almost everyday now and it is getting lower and lower. The air is growing crisper and the light is starting to get that wintry lemony tint about it. It's just spectacular in the still afternoon air to watch this season descend from the alpine down to us. Our first snow fall cannot be far off. We're within about 3000 feet now.

Cold night, relatively speaking. This is one of those nights when the temperature is down well into the single digits and the smell of snow is lingering in the still air. Thin cloud out there, but too much of it to see the aurora storm that is buffeting us right now. As I write a late night tug is towing a barge or a boom north into the Sound.

By the way, I've been building top down fires. They seem to burn longer. And it is a neat trick...

The thing I love about the walk between our house and Snug Cove is exchanging waves with drivers heading in the opposite direction. I used to wave at cars going the same way as I was too, but they would stop and see if I needed a lift, so now it's just folks that are going the other way. This is something which is a prevalent aspect of island life, no more so than on Cortes Island, but seemed to me to be a waning activity on this island. I have set out to change that. I now wave at every car passing me. More and more, people are waving back. Maybe they think I'm crazy, but lots of people also smile when they do it. Little tiny acts that create community.