Deadman Island

Every summer needs an adventure. That's why when a good friend offered up her cabin on Denman Island for would-be travellers, J knew she had to seize the chance. She'd been working weekends all summer, missing out on trips to the Pot Holes, train rides and BBQs. She knew the days of sunshine and late bedtimes were numbered, so she strapped on E's sandals, scooped up a fellow mom and her tow-headed three-year-old (O), bundled everyone into the van and hit the road for a spontaneous three-day getaway.

Anyone who has survived a three hour roadtrip with a pair of preschoolers knows the true meanings of torture and triumph. O kept asking if they were on "Deadman" Island yet. E kept insisting on roadside pee-breaks. The promise of a ferry boat ride and some well-timed stories kept the meltdowns at bay. Handing E the digital camera and letting him take as many blurry traffic shots as his little heart desired was a stroke of genius. 

By 4 o'clock, the weary travellers had arrived at their destination.

After a glorious picnic supper, the two supermoms and their surefooted sidekicks headed to the playground to burn off the last of their energy. The boys climbed up ladders like gymnast monkeys and slid down slides like rainwater. They argued over who was faster, older, bigger, smarter.

They raised their voices and their fists, but then, just as quickly, they were friends.

That night they all slept in a loft bunk under sarongs and woke to the sound of birdsong. The beaches beckoned, so they packed their pails and spades and drove out to Fillongley Park. They found a raft and a fort, which they decorated with sandollars and oyster shells. The wind was just right for kite flying, if only they had kites to fly. That night, J read stories to the boys while O's mom baked a chocolate cake for tomorrow's breakfast (it was also her birthday -- 29 for the first time).

The trip was not without its rough patches. A wasp stung J's calf just as they were departing. E fell off a log and scraped his knee. That night he complained that the shower made it hurt worse than before. There were many time-outs on the couch and hands were raised when words failed. There were tears, but there was also comfort. It was a trip worth taking, one that may define the summer. There are treasures to be found in the unlikeliest of places and that goes for memories too.

Griffin & Sabine

When the Js were new to each other, when spring turned to summer in Winnipeg and they moved from their separate beds to the coziness of a hammock just wide enough for two, they would often read to one another. An odd assortment of books, some old favourites and some new discoveries. Nick Bantock's Griffin & Sabine was one of the latter.  For those of you who've never picked up a copy, head straight to your nearest used book store. You'll find one, to be sure, and you won't want to leave it behind. These books are not just beautiful to look at, they will lift you up and carry you away. The first (and there are three in the original series) is a collection of postcards, each a unique mixed-media collage that you might wish you had framed and hanging in your stairwell, between two artists who have never met. Somehow, strangely, they come to fall in love and the rest of the trilogy expands upon their journey to find one another.

You can see the appeal to the Js as a new couple. Those books inspired an exchange of love tokens and letters, handcrafted bookmarks, pressed flowers, pages in scrapbooks, bouquets in mason jars adorned with toy bumblebees left at doorstops, posies planted in a pair of shoes waiting to be picked up after work, that lasted all summer. Perhaps they even encouraged J to buy a Greyhound ticket and travel across the country to be with his sweetheart. He hasn't looked back since. More than five years later, J signed them up for an art class that promised to teach how to make collages just like the postcards shared between Griffin and Sabine. For a whole month, the Js cut and pasted, painted and sketched, splattered and stamped. Here are a few of their creations:

 

The Js will leave it up to you to figure out which of these cards was made by Josh and which are Jackie's.

Raspberriness

Berry picking is to childhood as drinking mother's milk is to infancy. If only you could do it year-round. E has been fortunate enough to have berry bushes growing in his backyard since he was on solid foods, since he was old enough to toddle on his own two legs and navigate the thorny parts. When the Js lived on Prior, he picked strawberries as small and sweet as his thumbs. Since their move to Sidney, E has become a master raspberry collector. The birds can't compete with his nimble fingers and the berries rarely make it back to the house. This time of year they melt right on the tongue.  

Soon there will be blueberries and, within a month, the blackberries will be calling. Those that aren't eaten off the bush will be put in pots and boiled into jam. You might even see a homemade jar under your tree this Christmas. When you pop the lid and lick your fingers, visions of summertime will dance in your heads. And for those of you who live too far for the Js to share their berry bounty, perhaps this will be incentive for you to book a flight and pay a visit.

Taco Trains



There are few pleasures in life like riding a train and few people understand that better than the good people who run the Saanich Historical Artifacts Society. They've had the trains steaming along the tracks this summer, winding through lush green copses, under bridges and over trestles. This weekend J and E were first in line to catch the miniature express. They rode it four times. By the end of the day, E's head was nodding and not even the engine's whistle could keep him awake. After his rest, he and the Js dined on tacos, a first for the little man. As a little girl, J was told she could make a wish on a food she tried for the first time. What would E wish for after a day of such fulfilment? Probably to do it all again. And so they shall.





 

 

Summerlicious

Summer is the season for little boys. Strap on sandals, don your bathers and hit the beach, hit the lake, hit the river. Go where it's sandy and wet. Flop down. Dive in. Dip your toes. Dig. Get dirt under your nails. Bury your legs. Plant your face in the sand and wear a pirate's five o'clock shadow. Run until your legs collapse beneath you. Do a somersault. Lie on your back and look at the clouds. Dream. Pretend you're a dinosaur or sabertooth tiger. Pretend you're the neighbourhood cat. Growl. Hiss. Spit. Purr. Be a crab on all fours travelling sideways. Find the real crabs hidden under barnacled beach rocks. Point out the fighters. Pick up them up. Don't cry if they pinch. Check for bee-hives or lighthouses. Watch the gulls ride the wind, dropping clam shells. Listen for the crack. Watch them feed. Run inside for your own snack. Something cold. Drink with a straw.

Fight sleep when the day winds down.

    Repeat.

Thumb's Up

The Riouxs would like to offer a sneak preview of their newest addition. He (or she) goes by the name of Spiker, courtesy of big brother E. From what they can tell, Spiker's hobbies include turning somersaults and thumb-sucking. Favourite holidays include Halloween, when he/she's scheduled to make his/her grand appearance.



Oh and one other thing. Spiker is a glass half-full kind of person. Just check out the posi-vibes in this shot below. How's that for a pleased-to-meet-you?

Scrabbled Eggs

 On Sunday mornings, the Riouxs believe in putting their feet up. There's no need to rush. Pajamas can be left on. Breakfast can be leisurely. Scrabble can be played and the rules are strictly optional. 

   

E is a master at naming his letters. His favourites are X and Z, the high scorers. Between bites of toast, he baffles his parents with newfangled arrangements that have yet to make an appearance in the Oxford English Dictionary. It's true what they say; language is always expanding.

J is becoming a master at the soft boiled egg, though he'd never admit it. The only secret to getting it right is forgetting how much it matters if you don't. J puts the kettle on for tea, remembering when she used to pour two cups of Fantastico to get their morning started. That was before the move to Sidney, where options for freshly roasted coffee are as weak as Folgers. J takes his tea black, but she likes hers with Almond milk and honey. Some things don't change.

These are golden mornings.