The family reunion was incredible. I got to reconnect with cousins I've met maybe two or three times before, and I got to be in a family setting as a full-fledged adult. We sat around and joked, had good food, discussed, tossed frisbees, hid from the hot sun, listened to the howling wind going over the wings of gliders doing loops over the campground on their way to the nearby field strip... And complained about how loud the trains were (personally, I didn't mind them too much). One day, we went and walked a trail that ran along the old Kettle Valley Railroad, through old stone tunnels and wooden bridges overlooking a rushing mountain river. We performed Eidelweiss for my grandmother on ukulele after secretly rehearsing for a few months prior, which brought her to tears. Later one night, me, my uncle, and my sister played our ukes altogether, working through a couple song books. Occasionally, I'd sing along in a terrible, over-exaggerated Bob Dylan voice which everyone particularly enjoyed. That's right - campfire Bob Dylan ukulele covers. The real kicker is that due to the fire ban, we were actually using a fake propane campfire. Ah, good times.
A couple days before heading out to the reunion (an 8hr drive away), my uncle had a great idea to buy some travel mugs from Costco, which I could then laser with my own various art/illustrations, which we could then auction once everyone was together for my New York expedition. Now, I love my uncle dearly, but this was a very last minute idea and I had yet to go home and pack for the trip the next day OR for when my father would come to pick up some of my belongings to put into storage. I was pretty skeptical, but... It all worked out for the better. Really better. He helped with the production, and the mugs turned out well. We went to auction them and... Got a lot more than my even most optimistic guess would have been. So mad props to my uncle. He was the one that did the auctioning, too, and worded it that all proceeds were to go to entertainment purposes only. I now have enough for two or three concerts, I hope, which I really look forward to.
With all of the stress about getting ready for New York, this trip was a very abrupt and surreal switch in gears. Like jumping straight from cruising speed in 4th to full reverse. I could practically hear my inner transmission saying "SCREW THIS, I'M OUT" before abandoning my mental engine bay. For some reason, that's accompanied with a mental image of a physical transmission parachuting to safety with middle fingers raised. I should draw that.
Anyways, I got do do a bunch of neat things on that trip. One of them was visiting Silver Lake, which was nestled in the mountains. There were maybe a dozen of us at the lake in total... It was so quiet and peaceful, and the water was gorgeous. Me, my brother, and sister all took some kayaks out for a bit. We went to the stream that flowed into the lake and got out. The stream itself was so wide and shallow, barely getting up to our knees. We walked around and found quicksand in a few spots, (intentionally) getting in up to our thighs. This allowed us to lean forward in a Michael Jackson Smooth Criminal-esque fashion, which was a lot of fun. Then we decided to head back, and instead of heading back through the safe/shallow route, we decided to go in a straight line across the mouth of the stream where it entered first. My brother, the tallest one, headed across first saying "It's all good, just keep moving" as he went in up to his waist. I followed, and just like he said, you just had to keep moving because your feet would disappear into the sand seconds after it was put down. That is, until, the bottom quickly dropped off and we found ourselves with nowhere to put our feet. Let me tell you, it's a freaky thing to be at a decently strong flowing point without being able to put your feet down and knowing that you can't really swim that well. It's similarly a freaky thing to realize that not only are you still wearing a life jacket from kayaking, but that it works like a hot damn, picking you up when you feel like you should be sinking. We reached the shore, laughing, and my adrenaline pumping. Scary stuff. But I could've stayed there exploring that little stream and sand bar for ages.
The next evening, me and my brother cashed in $5 worth of quarters at the run-down campground arcade. One racing game wouldn't accept out money, an Aerosmith light gun game would only let you shoot on half the screen, and what games that did work sported woefully antiquated graphics and twitchy gameplay. We played a few rounds of air hockey, though, with the air vents clogged and the paddles missing their felt bottoming. We laughed ourselves hoarse at the terrible game play, at how the paddles would get stuck to the tables and how the puck would refuse to coast. We then went to spend our remaining change at the pool table, complete with HUGE scratchmarks, a missing ball, and over-chalked cues (which, of course, didn't stop us from applying more chalk. I mean hey, that's just what you have to do when playing pool, right?). We were terrible, but again laughed ourselves silly at the abysmal conditions and our total lack of skill.
On our last night at the reunion, one of my younger sisters suggested that we sleep underneath the stars, and I was instantly intrigued. The problem, though, came from the severe thunderstorm watch that popped up as an alert on all our phones. This made me pretty skeptical, given my total disdain of getting wet. But as the evening went on, we watched the storm pass by us to the west. And by the time midnight arrived, we dragged all of our sleeping gear and set it up in the middle of our large campsite. And then... My word. I think that everyone should spend one night under the stars, far away from the light of any nearby city. At one point in the night, you'll awaken and realize where you are. And you'll then crack open your eyes, which are so sensitive to light that you will be completely stunned in the light of the Milky Way. I've never experienced anything like it, and I never thought you could outside of heavily processed, fancy photography. The stars were so bright and the Milky Way so rich. I don't have words for it... I think it's truly a memory that will stick with me. After living in a city for so long, I had no idea just how much I was missing out on when I looked to the heavens. Do it. Do it even once. You'll never forget it.
I booked two extra days off after my reunion. On the first one, my brother, dad and I went on a kayak trip on Harrison lake. Our destination was a Rainbow Falls, which was only accessible by water. We set out and the water was boggling incredible. Smooth as glass. The most vivid turquoise green you've ever seen. The air was crisp, and everything was so silent as we departed that morning. We were the first ones at the beach, and the first ones on the lake, and could easily carry a conversation while we were each 10-15ft apart. On the way out, a curious seal popped up from time to time to keep tabs on us, and we passed with a curt nod to another kayaker heading in the opposite direction. And after a solid hour of paddling, we made it. The sun was still on its ascent when we beached and traveled inland through the forest and along a well-trodden path.
Eventually we reached our destination, and slowly made our way over the field of large, wet, slippery rocks to the base of the waterfall. It was so frigid - the mist in the moving air was totally chilling. We put it off in hope that the sun would eventually come around to where we were, but eventually we gave up and climbed into the cool green pool at the base of the fall. We crept up and took turns standing directly underneath the falling water, with our backs to the rock itself. We whooped and hollered - it was a truly exhilarating experience. We then traveled a bit downstream to where the sun was shining, and sat down on the rocks to warm up in the late morning light. We toyed around in the creek at the foot of the falls, feeling the current and moving rocks around to divert the flow of water. Just like old times.
As kids when we lived up in Northern BC, we'd cross the road by our house and spend hours mucking around in the creek. One favourite activity was damming up a pipe that ran underneath the road. We'd wait for the water to pool, and then quickly destroy the dam and rush to the other side of the road, to watch the water come roaring out. I remember one time we dammed up that pipe and forgot about it after waiting for a time. We were inside when a rain storm broke out, and our blocked creek started to overflow out onto the road, and our dad had to put on his big rubber boots and go out to unblock it. We had to watch from the safety of the tiny dining room window while the water burst out the other end of the pipe.
I think those days have instilled in me a fascination with moving water in creeks/rivers, judging by how much fun I had at the foot of that waterfall and earlier in the mouth of the creek leading into Silver Lake. I could've stayed there, exploring and mucking around, for a long time. Makes me feel like a kid.
Alas, we did leave. After my father and brother did some fishing from the dock, we shoved off on our return trip. The wind came and went, which in conjunction with our sore arms from the departure journey made the return trip feel pretty difficult. I looked in awe at the sporadic houses that lined the shore, many of them multiple stories and obviously expensive. They felt so out of place poking out from amongst the tree line and facing the green water. Doubly so, considering that they were only accessible by water. But eventually we made it back. We went into the nearby tourist trap lake town and had ice cream while waiting for pizza to be cooked from our favourite joint, before we took them back home for a late lunch. Then we all crashed away into an exhausted sleep, and the remainder of the day slipped away from us.
The next morning, the last day I had booked off, I got up at 6am and left for a drive back home with my father. We talked in spurts, about where he vacationed as a kid, where he worked, and his education. Apparently he has a double major on top of his teaching certification, which he has a master's-equivalent for. We listed to recordings of Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap, commenting on the music and voicing how some music seems to be made just for the enjoyment of other musicians. We got stuck behind construction, passed semi trucks, gawked at the scenery, and stopped for lunch at a Dairy Queen. That's when I took over driving, which turned to be an amusingly contradictory combination of instructions from my father, who has always been The Driver of the family and a notoriously difficult passenger/back-seat driver, especially in his own vehicle. Eventually we made it back into town, where we shared an exhausted supper with my sister at Denny's before going to my place to load up a score of boxes for my dad to drive back home and put into storage and the family house. And then they left, and I was left in my mess of a (now slightly less populated) room.
And with that, my weekend had ended.
I was really surprised. I collected a true treasure chest of memories I hope I never lose. Sleeping under the stars and standing under a waterfall... I've never experienced anything like it. Truly incredible. And as I go through my possessions and try to throw things away that I no longer need, I find myself doing so with significant hesitation. I'm such a sentimental fool; each artificat I discard has a memory of some sort attached to it. I feel like I'm throwing away the key to unlock those memories... As if I'm effectively throwing away those memories themselves. That scares me, a lot.
So here I am, writing about a family reunion and laughing myself silly with my brother, and stars kayaks and creeks and a drive with my dad. I hope that someday I come back to this post and read it and remember everything as vivid as it can possibly be, after the tide of time has washed up and down my mind, making all the corners smooth and colours faded.
I'm so freaked out right now with everything. I leave for New York in a week and a half, and there's so much to do. It was really good to go out and experience nature and peace before I dive head-first into one of the biggest concrete jungles there is. I'm worrying about everything there is to worry about and I'm becoming too paralyzed to get anything done. All the while, the clock ticks to when I board that plane. Don't get me wrong; I know this will be an incredible experience... But I don't feel ready for it. Then again, I probably never will. It's now or never.
-Cril
Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Every morning you greet me
Small and white clean and bright
You look happy to meet me
Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever
Edelweiss,Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever
Me n' My Family - Edelweiss
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