Living on the island... For a few years now, my brother has been living on Vancouver Island, just off the West Coast of Canada. Aside from a couple trips (including a bicycle trip from Vancouver to Mexico, which he completed wearing sandals and staying with people ranging from a Marine veteran of the infamous Mogadishu skirmishes who's now an Anarchist forest dweller, to an old lady with a spare bedroom), he's spent most of his time on the Island. The last time we spent any serious time together was when he came to Europe and we hung out in Amsterdam and Budapest, so a trip out to the Island to see Colin and his life was long overdue.

After some time in Vancouver with Eileen (during which I was reminded that Vancouver is a city sent from the Gods to remind humans that it is possible to live in a multicultural paradise with beaches a short walk from downtown and some of the best skiing/climbing/hiking/kayaking in the world right on your doorstep), I hopped on the ferry. The ferry ride was one of those deep breaths during which I tried to summon all the strength and energy I could, knowing that on the other side of the Straight of Georgia lay the whirlwind of adventures that is Colin's life. Sure enough, immediately upon arriving, I came to a backyard where Colin and friends were in the midst of a bluegrass jam. That evening Colin and all played an open mike. It was beautiful to watch the people in the pub as a bunch of young guys walked up on stage, equipped with guitar, banjo, and washtub bass. As they started playing feet tapped, backs straightened, and faces smiled without exception. Old men looked over with refreshed eyes as they heard the music of their parents generation played by people of their children's.

The rest of my time on the Island was filled with the series of such earthy and yet sublime moments. We went sailing to a smaller island where we partied on a beach and then slept in a big white tent on a property filled with old multi-coloured buses. I met Colin's friends who are surfers, musicians, students, and all wonderfully beautiful people. I sat in a big second-floor studio on a Victoria street watching a bluegrass jam and lost myself in the soaring dance between the mandolin and the fiddles. I saw Emma Jean - the boat that my brother brought from the brink of sinking to a proud, clean, white, alive ship that's just itching to find itself free on the waters again. I met the shipbuilders that have come to respect Colin for his skill and determination, and a sailor for whom Colin is a rare, understanding friend in a world hostile and isolating. I learned to surf up in Ucluelet, and sat with Colin and immense Time on an isolated beach rimmed by rugged rocks and blown coastal spruce, looking out into the dauntingly vast Pacific.

After a visit with Frances and Annika, and toward the end of my time on the Island, my parents arrived from their hike in the Canadian north and we spent some wonderful time together as a family at a bluegrass festival, surfing, and just hanging out in a harbourfront cottage.

Those few weeks were vivid, full, the experiences so immediate and real. It was a bluegrass song, with the exhilarating, celebratory banjo playing as we rode a wave straight into the sun on Long Beach in Tofino, and the high lonesome sound of a long fiddle note as the reflections from the water painted a soft sunset glow on the boats in the quiet Sydney marina. It was seeing my brother on stage playing the guitar, radiating joy and laughter.  ¶ 9:45 AM