Home Again, Home Again

It turned out that life could indeed be that good. We returned to Victoria under brilliant sunshine. Marc collected us at the airport after turning on the power and water at Ontario Street. He knows my appalling weakness for cheezies and hickory sticks: a bag on the main floor, another upstairs on my desk. Doug Hensby prepared a 4-star feast of Indian cookery; he and Jacqui entertained us with tales of their recent adventure in the Middle East. On Sunday Mary and Mike led us on a new route into the Sooke Hills. The weather was ideal, our friends’ boon companionship a match. More than once the sign on Bob Nagel’s kitchen wall came to mind: These Are The Good Old Days.

Warmly welcomed by west-coast pals we haven’t seen in months, we imagine, like Sally Field accepting her Oscar, that maybe a few folks out here like us a bit. I communed happily with old friends, Al Carver and Tim Leadem. Jan revels in the James Bay nest-box: unlike ‘Bigador’ it has power, central heating, hot running water. But she doesn’t linger long: pals who quilt and those who play bridge lure her away. Meanwhile I immerse myself in WWI projects, reading and grazing the Internet for fresh gold.

Victoria looks swell in late-October light. We seek variety on our before-breakfast walks and catch up on the changes that five months have wrought in the local landscape. Clover Point drew us, not just for a look at autumn shorebirds and gulls but to cross paths with old pal Ron Satterfield.

On Tuesday Steve Nash commences his fifteenth NBA season. It so happens his Phoenix Suns open just down the road, In Portland. I have never seen Victoria’s – and Canada’s – pride-and-joy in the flesh. We decided to remedy that. We head to Portland Monday, will spend a couple of days at the Benson, prowl the city, head south for a reunion with Terri and Ed, look for suitable birding opportunities along the way.

Alan