Tuesday, 10 November 2020

Sometimes it takes a pandemic...

We've all heard the saying that "change is the only thing constant in life". Change has certainly been my seemingly permanent sidekick for quite some time now. It has ebbed and flowed around me like the sea, and in the past few months the tides of change rose high as I pulled up stakes and moved house...again. But unlike the last momentous upheaval just a few years ago, this time I have, for want of a better word, "consolidated". As of September 1st, 2020, I became a full-time Gulf Islander. My nifty live/work townhome on the mainland now belongs to someone else.

A glimpse into my mainland studio.

There's nothing like a global pandemic to help one come to terms with priorities. I have loved my little place on Mayne Island, with its dilapidated cottage and rustic amenities, its towering evergreens and sunny meadow, since first I laid eyes on the little piece of paradise six years ago. The intervening time has seen much change for me but the little cottage has remained a constant factor, as has my dog Lily and her cat friend Hugo. I made gradual improvements to the comfort level of the cottage, had a little studio built, got involved in the island's arts community, and over time I found myself spending more and more and more time tucked away in my place among the trees just a stone's throw from a pretty beach. Consequently I spent less and less time in the "real world" of the mainland. Many people I got to know on the island didn't even realize I wasn't a full-timer. Ties with the mainland slowly unraveled.

When the pandemic came along I was at my island cottage so I stayed put. I planted a garden - a sure sign of commitment! 


I also did a lot of existential thinking, asking myself questions about where I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. I realized the answer was right in front of me or, rather, below my feet. I felt the winds of change begin to blow - at first a gentle breeze before gradually gaining force.

And so, over the summer, when the pandemic abated slightly, I sold my townhouse. Then I hustled and I bustled, and I packed up its contents and consolidated my life into one location. 

Inside my mainland home before...

... and after, when only a ball remained.

My little cottage is now crammed full of a LOT of stuff but it feels good to have everything in one place. I don't much miss mainland life, nor the duality of maintaining two homes. Fortunately the things I do miss, my exceptionally wonderful friends, are only a call or an email or a ferry ride away. 

The moving truck unloads, bathed in sunshine!

The changes won't stop now. I have a spot picked out among the trees where I plan to build a snug little house that I will be able to call home for the foreseeable future, a place I will age into - hopefully with grace and contentment. And I'm confident the process of building a house on this little island will be another story worth telling! 

But for now the dilapidated cottage is home, the small-but-mighty Yellow Bird Art Studio is my workplace where, after a year of many distractions and not much artistic output, I look forward to spending lots of productive time while Lily reigns supreme over the outdoors keeping wayward squirrels and ravens at bay, and Hugo watches benignly from his catio. 


We are all happy here.







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