Idyll on Gambier

Hungry Girl invited me to a quiet cabin on Gambier Island for the weekend. We laughed, we cried, and we ate a lot of mushrooms. It was fabulous. Morels are in season, so I knew I had to have some. I dropped my son off at his best friend's place and grabbed a cab to Urban Fair. I knew they'd have morels from somewhere in the world. I picked up some fresh gnocchi, goat gouda, pasta salad, and I was good to go. The express bus to Horseshoe Bay stops a half a block west of where it usually is, in front of the Bay. A kind stranger helped me find it. (The transit employees did not.) Once on the bus I squeezed in between surf boards and granny bags and ate artichokes, sun dried tomatoes, olives and penne with my fingers because I forgot the fork. It seemed more decadent that way.

After forty minutes on the ferry to Langdale I waited in the sun for the small boat to take us to Gambier. There are no car ferries to Gambier, which according to locals "is part of its charm." There is also no fire station or policemen on the island. There was an odd assortment of locals, tourists and youths heading to camp on Keats. It's a breezy ten minute ride to the island, and you have to be on time for the ferry, because they don't waste any time.

HG met me at the dock and introduced me to the cute and charming general store which has a little café where the chicken wraps are pretty darn good. We sat in the sun on the deck and watched hummingbirds zip to and from a feeder. "I have my own hummingbird," HG says.

HG fed me well--fresh raspberries on artisan granola, some new recipes from Gourmet mag that included skewers marinated in a gingery sauce that made the chicken juicy and tender. On Sunday morning she cooked up a shitake mushroom omelet that was divine.

We drank well too. Gin and tonics at cocktail hour. Copious amounts of cold-brewed Lemon Zinger tea and a BC rosé.

The cabin did indeed have it's own hummingbird and a little nest. If you look very closely at this photo, on the lowest branch of the tree you can see a tiny cup of lichens that the mother hummer would come and sit on. I have never seen a hummingbird be so still.

Hungry Girl washed dishes and hummed a soulful Ukrainian folksong. I stretched out my back on the blonde wood floors. We walked down to a dock and marveled at how close we were to West Vancouver as the crow flies. We went for walks in the woods and I picked a bag of salmon berries and huckleberries to put in the salad. I made a sauce for the gnocchi with cream, garlic, morels, parmesan, snow peas, and arugula. The neighbor had given us salad greens and peas from her garden. Her retired sheep dog hearded the family cat around, much to its spitting consternation. We watched a sad movie and then ranted about how much better it could have been.

The piece de resistance of the trip was an appearance by a Shakespearean bird of prey. That's right, cryptic crossword friends, a Barred Owl swooped into the sunlight and stole the show.

It was a peaceful weekend. I was satiated with good food, drink, and conversation. Merci beaucoup, HG.