Come Again Some Other Day

Although heading north of here one would never expect to have better weather, you would hope that fair, sunny days might be gaining some ground against the cool, cloudy, rainy ones which predominate the climate in this part of the world. We did hope - but it was not to be. On our way to Port Angeles it rained. On the ferry across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, through lovely Victoria, and on up the east coast of Vancouver Island - it rained. Heavy clouds, thick mist, and rain persisted and accompanied us throughout most of our meanderings during the week we were there.

Around the Parksville area, the view across the Strait of Georgia looking towards mainland British Columbia is breath-taking. When the tide is out, vast mudflats and sandy or cobbled beaches lead out to flat expanses of water extending to distant bluish hills. Behind those, towering mountains shimmer with snow and touch the sky. During rainy times, low clouds and mist obscure this view and you are left with your memories of it.

As we drove through this country, which we love so much, with its coveted scenery bundled up and hidden, I was left to deal with my feelings about weather. Of course we have no control whatsoever over it, and I suspect this is the source of some indignation on our part. Which of us would not like to be able to dictate what kind of weather we were to have on any given day? Rain when we need it, sun when we don't, just enough snow to play in at certain times of the year. No wind at all - oh, except for sailing, of course, or flying kites - but then we'd all have to agree on which weather for which days... and we all know where that would lead! So I grudgingly admit that it's probably for the best that we're not in charge of weather. "It's this rain!" I think. "I hate the rain..."

One day we awoke to sun, so ventured forth. Stopping to watch sea lions basking in the sun on log booms in Fanny Bay, I'm reminded that these creatures need the water - and all the rain that brings it. On Goose Spit, while picnicking in the car we watch huge white puffy clouds build up to the west. Heavy, dark clouds move in, dropping their loads on island mountains still white from winter. If not for this precipitation, those mountains would be dry, bare and brown. We arrive at the Kitty Coleman Woodland Gardens to be greeted by wind and rain - no walk on this day.

The next day is sunny; hiking along the river with a number of falls in Little Qualicum Falls Provincial Park, we are immersed in the beauty of water - rushing, tumbling, roaring, slowly eroding the landscape and carrying its cargo to the sea.

I realize, yet again, that water is such a gift. In all of its various forms - ice, snow, hail, sleet, clouds, mist, vapor, or rain - it is a force to be reckoned with, a force that affects us physically, mentally, and emotionally. Water covers 70% of the Earth's surface and is vital for all known forms of life. It is a part of us, for up to 60% of the human body - about 83% of our blood - is water. It is a primal thing, deep within us, that calls out and strives to connect with water. The inner tides may be turbulent at times, but there is no question of doing without...

The roar of the ocean, rush of the river, gurgle of the stream, patter of rain - we are mesmerized and captivated by water. I respect it, value it, and need it. However, I do feel the same about the sun...

"When you pass through the waters,

I will be with you;

and when you pass through the rivers,

they will not sweep over you."

Isaiah 43:2