During mid-October, I made my way to Bamfield, BC, in order to hike the Westcoast Trail; a hike and trip which was cut short due to encountering a wounded wild kitten while scouring the woods for dead-fall one evening, in an effort to have a fire. I felt the need to find it a home, seeing as it would not last long in the bush. As I gained cell-service along my way back through Port Alberni, I received an opportunity to bid on some stone-work which involved building pizza ovens out of local rubble in Zabellos, BC.
Much like Bamfield, it is only accessible via a poorly maintained logging road, boat, or sea plane. I am no stranger to small towns and they all wreak of a simplistic way of life due to the limitations present, which I love, but this one held a feeling, at least for me, reminiscent of Nelson, BC: a town which screams of character and benevolence; populated with the likes of philosophers, poets, story-tellers, artists, musicians, horticulturalists, and kindred spirits. It was as if I had never left; as if I was no stranger; as if it was my heartland and the locals treated as though it were true. The outside world seemed to dissipate, as if my consciousness was only aware of a one-dimensional frequency: this is all-there-is. I had been travelling between Tofino and the Yukon over the past four months and at last, I felt settled in the arms of this village; this settlement along the waters edge, mimicking the indescribable embrace of my daughter: the way she holds onto me after being apart from one another. Minutes upon minutes float by and she has not budged an inch; her face nestled into my chest; her hands wrapped around my neck; combining the two words, “Daddy-home” which melts every morsel of me.
This poem was born out of my visit.
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