me and seaweed Hornby, 2019
you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.
~Sun Tzu
The winter wind on Hornby was as unpredictable as an abusive lover
and as terrifying as the unending darkness of chronic depression.
And she’d survived both.
It was late in November when she was first pushed.
At Grassy Point, lost in daydreams amongst a palette of the darkest grey.
Her safe place on the island, a place she went to escape
the chaos of grief that swirled in her mind.
Grassy Point Moon Rise
As the familiar presence approach from behind,
she allowed herself to be
vulnerable –
and trusting.
She'd close her eyes and lean back,
knowing he'd catch her
if she fell.
She relaxed
when
he wrapped his arms around her waist,
brushed her hair off her face,
and ever so softly
touched just below her ear,
to lean in
and whisper words
she refused to understand.
Grassy Point, Winter 2021
But this time was different.
She felt the familiar presence coming, but it changed rapidly and
turned forceful.
An explosion of fury shoved her hard from behind,
a shove that quickened her step so she wouldn’t fall.
When she didn't stumble, he tangled himself between her stride,
trapping her in his grasp,
winding around her calves and
weaving up between her legs.
Like a hook, the wind
grabbed at her thigh,
pulling and
mocking her
as he tripped her up as
she stepped on her own feet.
She sped up, twisting and turning, thinking she could outmaneuver its force.
Helliwell Winter 2020
She tried to outstrategize the wind
like she'd tried to
outstrategize her abuser.
Narcissistic abuse and chronic depression turned her into a shell of herself,
but strength and resilience had pulled her out of both.
When the wind hit her like it did, it brought on that familiar feeling, and
she refused to let it crack her again.
After that first hurricane-force wind walloped her,
she had an arborist come by and check every tree on her property.
She suspected the soil was parched from drought and wind,
and the arborist confirmed it.
seven-story Douglas fir that'd been hit by lightning beside my bedroom
The stronger winds,
heat waves, and
colder winters
meant a slow death for the trees.
Their roots left exposed, and all but two Douglas Firs
on the south side of her property suffered from root rot –
the trees closest to her cabin.
She had them removed.
cedar
The more severe weather caused more trees to come down,
which meant more power outages.
If lucky, the blackouts were caused by a branch stuck on the wires, and
BC Hydro could remotely blasted power surges through the lines to zap it loose.
It worked most of the time.
But if unlucky, a tree would fall onto the lines and take down the power poles,
which meant no power until they were replaced.
Now, because the wind was so intense during the storms, the ferry wouldn’t run.
There was no hydro crew to replace the downed poles,
and the island was without power for days.
The first time she experienced a prolonged power outage,
she learned her lesson.
She needed supplies,
water,
food,
and
means of cooking.
power outage February 2021
Her water came from a cistern in my backyard that ran on electricity.
When the power was out, she couldn't flush the toilet,
and toilet paper had to be burnt.
Her drinking water came from a 19-litre bottle
that she filled at a dispenser at the gas station using quarters
(and it was empty, and she had no quarters).
Her fridge was full of condiments, and
her cupboards were stacked with
tomato sauce and beans.
If she had kindling split and
combustibles to start the fire,
she'd be fine for heat.
But she had neither.
All she could do that first winter on Hornby was stand there and take it.
