I have returned to Tofino. For me, it is more of a sporadic migration. I've heard that smart people are beginning to believe that birds know where and when to fly based on electromagnetic vibrations (...or is it variations?). Perhaps, I too, have some electromagnetic vibrations that pulse in the precise manner needed for me to return here again and again and again. Perhaps it doesn't matter why I return; perhaps it is important only because I do. And when I do, this feels like where I am supposed to be.
Perhaps more than an electromagnetic vibration, it is that as a child, my family would come here - not often, but often enough - and camp. Camping occurred in a trailer that was various shades of brown, but it had bunk beds. The color didn't matter. The parents yelling at each other while backing it onto the gravel camp site place didn't matter (or did it?). The unceasing, relentless rain didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that we were here.
On one such trip, I remember being constrained to the trailer, the rain in torrents. Yet, it was of no importance when the tide was deemed to be low enough. My dad lit the Coleman lantern and armed with plastic flashlights and a one gallon plastic ice cream bucket, we ventured out onto Long Beach in search of creatures that were revealed when the world's bathtub receded. It didn't matter that it was dark. It only mattered that we were here. My dad was to thank for such adventures. He played hard. All of this made possible because mom packed the trailer and prepped the food. Maybe it was because of this that my dad set out into the wet dark with kids in tow. Parents do funny things to stay sane, and married.
And so I've returned, we've returned. I've brought my wife to show her the light and the waves and the rain and the friendly humans that recommend raspberry rhubarb pie at Savary Island Pie Company because he overheard us talking about it on the sidewalk. Pie and a show. It seems like a thing.
We are only at the beginning of our show, both in our time here and our marriage. It seems without meaning to, we've fallen into a rhythm of a wee bit of work so that we can go see beautiful shows in different places. And love seems to be interwoven between both. And so we are here, giddy, delighted, oozing with anticipation for what the days might offer. Without fail, it will rain (it is raining). It is Tofino after all. But no matter what we witness here, stories will be told in our tomorrows about the things that we saw today.
And now I sleep the sleep of a child bedded down on Christmas Eve.
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