On one such occasion I was sketching and absently listening when a little voice said, "Mommy, I see a ocupus."
     "I don't think so," I responded absently.  "Maybe it's just tangled seaweed."
     The little voice went on its merry way, poking about some more, only to be back in less than a minute.  "Mommy, I see a ocupus."
     "Does it look like an octopus?" I queried, still sketching.
We went through that several times, the little voice and I, until with great insistence, the owner of the voice tugged and let me know that I was to come look at "the ocupus" in the tide pool.  How was I to know that a 16-month-old would recognize a four-foot octopus sprawled out dead in a tide pool?  In my ignorance I hadn't even realized that there were octopuses this far north.
  

What is it like to homeschool on an island 50 miles from the nearest anything or anybody? On an island where mail and groceries are available only once per month, where accident or sickness is not to be taken lightly, where you are your own resource...    in the years since arriving on Bonilla, our family has come to total six.  Through a lot of effort we have as much garden as the climate and water supply will allow, a greenhouse, an organic lawn mower (very small pony) and a full school schedule. Life is good. Yet despite all that I've learned, there are still times when I catch myself dead center in a rat race. Out here? Yes, even out here. The race here is different, very different, but it can be just as tiring and just as draining if I let it.
   

Those chickens were suspicious from the start.  They eyed the contraption warily, necks outstretched and then beat it for the far side of the enclosure.  No problem, Levi had a remedy.  He propped the door flap open and put a pile of tasty tidbits just inside.  

That was too much.  The old hens advanced again in wary greediness, necks snaking forward, wings slightly outstretched.  The rooster played his part well too.  He was not at all convinced that this was a safe place for his hens to go.  He kept them closely grouped together and wouldn't allow any to enter.  Enmasse, they stalked around the little tent all the while gossiping with one another.

Storm after storm after storm. Rain driven by wind. Then more wind... and yet more wind...

Not content with simply screeching by this wind groans and whines and roars and clutches at any and everything that isn't firmly fastened down -- even little kids. So what must they do… but stay indoors. After a time of this our smallish home seems to shrink and our four not-so-smallish kids seem to expand overfilling the rapidly shrinking space with their pent-up energy. The temperature rises and before we know it, the usual coziness of an evening filled with reading and handwork has been replaced by the stifling restlessness of too many crammed indoors for too long. It is the time of the dreaded scourge --- cabin fever.
    

The Lighthouse and Me     for Countrylife.net  (Lehman's online newsletter and article archive, personal interest story)

The pay was not very high and it was a temporary position since the lighthouses were in the process of being phased out. Still it sounded like an adventure that we could relate to and one we didn't want to miss. Not really expecting anything to come of it, Ron applied. We were delighted when he received a positive response. With his background experience in both radio and electronics coupled with his jack-of-all-trades ability he had the right know-how and we as a family qualified. Chance? Serendipity? Looking back, we tend to think not.

Suddenly we found ourselves, life-long inlanders, with three weeks to sell our home, pack, tidy up loose ends, and travel sight-unseen to whatever lighthouse we were assigned. There we would become island dwellers on British Columbia's rugged and remote north coast.
   

I garden on the edge of the edge – a northerly, off-shore island where summer temperatures closely resemble those of the Arctic tundra.  In relative terms this means that we consider 70 F a hot day, a treat infrequently indulged in.  This coolness with the ever-present wind, the salt spray, the fog, and the limited fresh-water supply form the basic ingredients in the recipe I know as My Personal Gardening Challenge.  

A few years ago an unsung hero strode into my garden and met this challenge without a flinch.   

contact me

Quatsino Lighthouse
25 Huron Street
Victoria, BC
V8V 4V9
Canada