I’ve been camping at Pachena Bay, on the west coast of Vancouver Island, since last Thursday. Pachena Bay is one of the terminuses of the West Coast Trail and is located about 5 km outside of Bamfield. I honestly can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve done something this adventurous, but it feels right in some fundamental and important way. And a little hard at times.

In Vancouver, camping on my own sounded idyllic. I missed my west coast roots and it was time—long overdue time—for me to reconnect. But there are some things that are definitely easier with a knowledgeable second person. Tarping proved to be the biggest challenge. With rain imminent, however, it was a must. My new favourite quote from the documentary I watched last week, The Biggest Little Farm, helped: Observation followed by creativity has become my biggest ally. That, and a trip to the campground office for a wifi signal so I could watch a YouTube video.

The beach itself is spectacular. Wild, mostly deserted at this time of year, and achingly familiar. We came here as family from our home in Bamfield, often bouncing along the dirt trail in our Dad’s homemade car, which was described in a newspaper article as “The Weird and Wobbly Dogpatch Wonder.”

My first evening was glorious. After getting camp set up enough I took myself to settle on the beach. It’s only about 40 steps between the two but life on the beach is a completely different world. I claimed my spot, got a fire going and went for my first swim, which has become a daily habit. It occurred to me, as I drank and ate and revelled in the beauty and the felt-sense of home, that I had walked this beach long before I was born, safe inside my mother’s womb.

On Saturday I ventured into “town.” The community of Bamfield is built on either side of an inlet (referred to in the old days as “the Creek”) and our family home was on the east side. This is where the logging road that now connects Bamfield to the outside world ends. In those days, though, the only way in and out was by our dad’s fishing boat or plane.

I let my heart guide me as I slowly wandered around. Visits to Bamfield in more recent years (and they’ve been few and far between lately) were always to the west side, where our grandfather had homesteaded and my mother’s family home remained. Even though I recognized very little in terms of structures and landmarks, there was something very special about traversing this land that still knew ME so well.

My mind and heart have been primarily with my family on this trip. The post I wrote a few weeks ago about our dog, Tippy, opened the floodgates of grief for me and they haven’t really closed.

I am long overdue at making amends with my brother, Marc. My heart aches at the long absence and the added years to all of our faces. When speaking to my sister Nancy this morning, and sharing with her where I am and what I’m experiencing, she offered the following quote from her inbox this morning.

When Mother Theresa was asked how “regular people” could promote world peace, she replied, “Go home and love your family.” Yup, that about says it all.

In what way can you help promote world peace in your family?  Let me know, I’d love to hear!