Camping on my own for eight nights on the west coast took some inner fortitude that I wasn’t sure I had, but I felt guided from the get-go. The idea itself, when it landed in my consciousness, seemed both urgent and right. Thirteen years had passed since I’d spent a summer at our Uncle Johnny’s house, and got into a wrangle with my brother, Marc. He and I had been estranged since then—which I found continually disorienting—and with that estrangement came a long separation from my birthplace, beautiful Bamfield, BC. 

I’d made attempts at getting over my harrumph and firmly held position of being right, but the results were never deep enough to hold. I wasn’t sure what would transpire on this trip, but I was open. 

After two days of settling in, I paid my first visit to Bamfield on Saturday. I wrote about my poignant amble in my last blog, but what I didn’t share was that I’d caught a glimpse of my sister-in-law, Judith, when I was having lunch at the cafe. She was parking their vehicle on a private lot that was located (ironically) on property we once owned when we lived there as a family. Judith and Marc have their part-time home on the other side of the inlet and their trips to East Bamfield are generally fleeting, so it seemed surreal—and important—that the first person I would see that I knew was her. 

I wasn’t planning to go into town again on Monday but needed more ice and the campground office was closed. I knew there had been a death in the community and they were grieving. As I pulled up at the four-way stop by the store, directly adjacent to where I’d seen Judith on Saturday, I saw my brother. I couldn’t believe the synchronicity—and the poignancy of this glimpse of him living his life, walking back with a wheelbarrow wheel that he’d probably just had repaired. He was with someone, or I would have approached. Instead, I parked and followed them down to the dock to see if they were travelling in the same boat. They were.

Tuesday morning, I headed to the Bamfield Marine Station to write my blog. I’d discovered their stunning library on my first meander and was delighted to come away with both the wifi password and somewhere conducive to work. 

As I passed yet again through the four-way stop on Wednesday, I saw that Marc and Judith’s car was gone. Had they already headed back to their home in Victoria?  I wasn’t sure, but my readiness to connect had grown with each passing day. 

After completing my blog and vlog task I called Tish, the water taxi operator, and she took me back across to the west side. I had a note to leave my brother, in case I had indeed missed him. I took the more populated route this time, keeping an eye out for him as I wandered past familiar landmarks. A quick stop at the store then around the corner and up the hill. Just as I was approaching the crossroads behind his house I saw someone coming towards me. It was my brother, Marc. 

I said I was sorry—so very, very sorry. He held me as I wept a little, patted my back and accepted my apology. We had a cup of tea at his place then walked back the way we’d come. He gave me a ride back across the inlet and said, as we parted, “It’ll take a little time.” Of course it will. Thirteen years is a long stretch.

On Friday, September 13th, I packed up camp. It had rained torrentially the day before but it was calm now, and so was I. Getting out of there was a big job but I took it one step at a time. I made one final trip into Bamfield and waved goodbye to Tish. “Don’t leave it so long next time!” she called. “I won’t”, I relied. “Everyone here misses you.” These final words of hers were like a blessing on a trip that had some unseen hands helping, of that I am sure. I stood on the dock and let the wind and smells and particles from the ocean permeate me, and I thanked creation for all that I’ve been given. It took the wildness and vastness and the power of nature to hold me for days on end as I settled back into myself, but I was the one that heeded the call. 

Is there an intuitive call whispering in your ear, that might help ease some angst in your heart and mind?  Let me know, I’d love to hear!