Pulling myself away from any project is very difficult if not impossible. Although I have months to get these home renovations complete; my personality traits are hard to buck...even for one day. Somehow against every will in my body to do more work on the house I pushed out into the familiar waters of home for a short 10km paddle around the bay.
I decided that after a week of what seemed like steady lugging of cement and rock; pulling down panel board encased in 80 years of wall paper, and a million other home improvement lessons learned on the fly... I needed a day to bob around. I knew it. However launching and pushing off from shore was not desired in the least. Yet here I was.
Familiar waters of Hopeall bay shrouded in a cold northern fog; tucking the highest landmarks into the sky. Gray mist lingered. Removing all but the brightest colours from the palate. Small swell from a cold northern wind fueling the expansion of white fog against the warm earth.
Thoughts of construction marred the beauty surrounding me. Here I sat below a towering cliff encased in cold fog. Eagles screaming above; black siloutettes breaking the confines of grey disappearing again quickly and silently as if abberations. I decided to shoot for Hopeall Island as the northern wind created a gentle rolling swell. Still able to see Greens Hr point in the distance; I set off across the mouth of Hopeall bay
Paddle stroke after paddle stroke convoluted with construction ideas. Heat pumps, LED bulbs, insulation options. Vibrant unbroken evergreens on a blue and green sea greeted me on the other side; the visual colour drain of fog lifted.
Smoke mingled in the dead calm as I glided back into the take out. The frequent day paddles and multiday excursions I've started from this beach and a thought hit me. A new thought that seemed so obvious for reflection it surprised me it hadnt crossed my mind. Here was my Great grandfathers house reflecting onto the sea as it had for well over a hundred years. A thing rare beauty so common place it's been something I never really looked at as such a piece of my history. A true connection as the house next door (my childhood home is the next house on the left hidden behind a few trees in the picture).
And although this piece of land was subdivided; it was for sons and son's of sons. A parcel of land to continue a dream someone long ago desired above all else. This subdivision of family fits into a broader sense of community where other families did the same. As I return to my subdivision in the city I wonder how the street would improve if we all even knew each other. If we all said "hello" in passing. If we helped out the kid down the road; would he resort to theft? If we knew his parents would it hold them to a social norm to direct their children better? As to not be ostracized by the community?
Some people complain about small communities knowing too much about their neighbours....
I believe it keeps things in check.
Kayak on my shoulder I was pleased with the thoughts and the small distraction from all the work.
I won't post about the reno's till it's all over....(if it ever is!) It's an addictive thing to build something to call your own. And so nice to be moving forward with our dream of a simple quiet life net to the ocean.