West coast kid

I'm raising a west coast kid. This is what he will miss when he's older and moves to different parts of the province or world, the ocean within a kilometer, spotting seastars on the massive dock pilings as the ferry departs and we lean over the railing, banana slugs always everywhere and huge, gumboots as everyday footwear, searching the hightide mark for interesting tidbits, assessing whether the tide is going or coming, the sound of eagles and seagulls and sea lions, blackberry thickets devouring everything in their path. We went walking to some waterfalls up the road from us during the atmospheric river event, which, I'm pretty sure, is just a good old west coast soaking wet three day long downpour. It was magical to be in the rainforest at it's wettest and most rainforesty. Like being on the plains at harvest at sunset, or under a full moon with coyotes singing, or being in the okanagan orchards in spring, or in the mountains in the blazing sun on fresh powder. It was the epitome of itself. 100% humidity, everything covered in moss and mushrooms, tall cedars like a cathedral. We stopped to marvel at every new kind of fungus we saw, halloween orange jellies and pancake looking ones and delicate purple russulas and tiny fairy umbrellas and conks and our favorites, shockingly red little rounded domes. The moss varieties were amazing too and I want to keep instilling wonder for the world in this little boy. We walked hand in hand the whole way except for when I had to piggyback him a little way going back uphill at the midpoint slump. At one point felix reached into his pocket and pulled out a giant crab pincer he had picked up on the beach last week wearing that jacket and forgotten about. He was so excited. I thought, it doesnt get more coastal kid than that. He was allowed to ride in the car unbuckled as we were toodling along a forestry road basically in our backyard, and he leaned over the backseat, chin in hands, watching the road receed behind us through the fogged up window. We lit the woodstove and dried everything out including ourselves and had nettle soup from the freezer from springtime. The cats came in looking a bit bedraggled. When we put the sheep away at night, I do a blackberry check and pick vines out of their fleece, sometimes meter long segments. They've learned to be still as I push the vines forward a little to get the wool free of the backward facing thorns. Dodie, the baby, demands attention with 21 and Hillary waiting more patiently for me to rub their favorite spots, around ears or cheeks or along shoulder blades injured long ago, or armpits. I have had to push horses out of my mind since they've had no place in my world in the past four years, out of necessity otherwise I'd miss them too much but sheep have been nice company in motherhood. I don't think I'd be able to handle the raw energy of horses after the raw energy of the early years with a medical baby and then the raw energy of a man who's wildly falling apart. Sheep are manageable, not as dangerous, homey, comfortable, and when in small numbers, possessing very distinct personalities. I know john won't believe it out there somewhere; he just knows sheep as one fluid mass. It's me and felix flying solo for a time while hamish is in the interior for his annual visit, falling trees for joyce to fund the trip. I can't say I miss him, it's actually glorious without the extra person to feed and clean up after and manage, never mind navigate his often problematic moods and actions. Less emotional for me too as we don't speak each other's love languages and that's saddening, daily, and the underlying shock of having realized I made a mistake in marrying this one. When he's gone, the only unknown is whether the racoons will show up out of the dark to steal catfood, not is my husband drunk and randomly enraged or is he holed up and filthy in the camper for the next day, "sad" or is he obsessively and anxiously organzing his work truck till midnight for the third time this week without haven eaten all day. Felix and I are part of the regular group of five or so that stand on the corner of an instersection every saturday for a year now waving palestinian flags for an hour. I am glad for it, but also quite exasperated with the laidbackness and lack of energy. I am not the one to bring that energy but I will second someone. It feels so fucking passive. Though not as passive as NOT standing out there. It's better than nothing but not good enough.