Closing the Circle

Kids, it was a fun trip. We took the ferry from Nanaimo to Tsawassen, and this was the scenery  going through the Lower Mainland outside of Vancouver.

You can see Mount Baker, in northern Washington,  faintly in the background.

My childhood name was Baker, so I always thought of it as my mountain.

Lush farmland of the Lower Mainland.

We saw pickers working in the fields in the roasting heat. 

Yoiks.

Just beyond Hope, a small community nestled at the base 

of the mountains. A kazillion tourists pass through there on there way to Everywhere Else.

We stopped in Hope to get something cold to drink. There were so many tourists in the one food store that it felt like Human Hell. The manager was trying frenziedly to deal with the population explosion occurring in all of his aisles, just as a woman walked through the main door and spilled an entire gallon of milk. Yikes.

Here we were into the Okanagan, a vast desert-like area that takes up a LOT

of territory. We made a full circuit, through the Hope-Princeton, then home 

by way of  Kamloops, along the Thompson River,  and through 

the Fraser Canyon. 

The landscape basically stayed brown and sparse, with scrub and sage, 

till just before we came full circle 

and found ourselves back in Hope again.

Just before we got to Keremeos, we pulled over

to admire the setting. There are rivers and lakes all through the Okanagan and, in fact, the province. We are really blessed with water resources in Canada,

which I never take for granted.

My sister was in charge of filming the wedding, so will have to blog that using her photos......

but  here are a couple of shots of how busy the water was outside the El Dorado, where the reception was held. 

Boats and people having a frenzy of fun in the hot weather. Kelowna is such a beach town, whose hey-dey is definitely summer.

This was our view leaving Penticton Sunday morning, on our way through Summerland.

An old flame told me once that these cliffs were the banks of a deep riverbed thousands of years ago. What is now Okanagan Lake used to be a massive river, apparently, 

carving these mesmerizing cliffs, in which I always see faces.

We passed through Kelowna, and headed towards Vernon. Here we stopped at a lookout, 

to admire Kalamalka, the Lake of Many Colors. See the turquoise patches?

This is the view looking towards Vernon.

Looking the other way, to Rattlesnake Point.

Very different landscape from the Island. Beautiful, in a different way.

Lori, enjoying the Road Trip, though becoming increasingly alarmed

at the extent to which my care and feeding needs to be supervised:)

You will note an absence of photos of myself. 

That is so on purpose!!!!!

Between Vernon and Kamloops, we passed through some very smatterings of farms and ranches, very beautiful ranch country. But there didnt seem to be any way to survive, not even many small stores or businesses. We saw a lot of empty and/or abandoned places,one court-ordered sale, and a lot of for sale signs - the slump in the economy shows itself, not among the moneyed in thriving metro centers, but among the small farmers and business owners of 

Small Town Canada, 

those barely hanging on who, 

when the pinch bites deeper, finally have to let go and freefall

without any safety net. No corporate bailouts for the poor.

On the other side of  Kamloops, which was a total nightmare of people and traffic

we couldn't escape fast enough, 

we pulled off to look back at the Thompson River.

I meant to gather sage outside Kamloops, but

we had to make up lost time in order to make our ferry at night.

We followed that river for some time.

At some point, the Thompson crossed the road and went another way, 

and we found ourselves 

following the Fraser River.

It's peeking through the trees.

Through the Fraser Canyon, the scenery was pretty spectacular.

Note the train following the base of the mountain across the river. 

We often saw both trains, the CNR and the CPR,

on opposite sides of the river.

Apparently there is one spot, where they cross. 

Hopefully synchronized crossings:)

with people.....

...and without!

This place is called Hell's Gate - which refers to a narrowing of the rock walls,

which forces the water through a narrow passage.

Wikipedia says it is a great salmon fishing spot, and also that the gold rush miners 

also used this route.

In 1880, the CPR laid the first railway tracks to cross Canada. In 1911, the CNR laid tracks on the other side of the river. They are still competing for freight business today.

Train travel used to be wonderful for passengers. But, as usual,  Progress has made everything too expensive and now it is likely cheaper to take a plane to Hawaii than it is to take the train to Calgary. A shame. As a girl, I so loved taking the train down to stay with my grandma every summer. Nothing like being rocked to sleep in a berth on the train.

The porters used to keep their eye on me, to make sure I arrived safely.

When I got married, I took the train across Canada to Ottawa, which was very inexpensive in those days, and I remember watching the landscape change as we went from one sunrise and one province to the next. I hope for one more train trip this lifetime. In the Observation Car (which is actually  a fitting name for this journey of life we are on:))

Then came the Most Fun Ever - tunnels!

I was so excited. For a moment, I felt like Princess Diana,

before the crash.

I did take what I thought was going to be my money shot - I took a photo from inside one tunnel, looking through into the next one. But it seems to have not turned out. Argh.

There are a series of these tunnels - and I remember the train going through 

very long tunnels as well.

So that's it, folks. I stopped taking photos around here. It was hot, we were getting tired, and we needed to pay attention to signage so we didnt lose our way.

By the time we caught the 8:15 ferry and were eating something, we were more than a bit hysterical. Much laughter. Was SOOOOOOO good to get home at midnight.

Along the pathways of our childhood

we drove, reflecting on what was,

the long way we have come,

all that has changed,

some of what

has stayed the same.

Closing the circle,

from youth to age,

from Hope-Princeton to Fraser Canyon,

each journey beginning and ending

with a ferry.

Riding with the silver-haired

cackling crone,

tucked into her breast pocket,

is the freckle-faced eight year old,

the teen in search of love,

the young single mom

taking her babies back home to raise,

the wanna be hippy of coffeehouse days,

the wilderness lover and environmentalist 

of Tofino years.

From ocean to desert, 

from desert to ocean,

she has traveled.

Grasping  that the only thing 

that stays the same  is change,

she learned to carry home 

in her hip pocket,

and to always be ready to laugh.

The highway from birth to death

is long, circuitous

and without road signs.

Great scenery passes by

in a blur

out the window,

as we grasp fleetingly

the golden moments

we will always remember.

We sit like bemused passengers

in the front seat.

It takes a while to discover

we are the ones 

unwittingly

guiding the wheel.