I ❤️ Pinecone Park

I could hardly wait to walk Sheba yesterday morning, so as soon as I’d had my morning soak in the spa, off we went. I was very keen to see her stool. (I can’t wait until the word, ‘stool,’ is gone from these posts.) Although it was overcast, it was lovely, warm and gently windy. I loved being in the forest, but there was no pooping on her part. She must have done her business when I let her out at 4:15 when it was still very dark and I didn’t follow her to see what happened.

When we went for our walk, I felt blissful because I was up to date with SPACE and the house and yard were in order. I felt no pressure to do any chores, so I looked forward to getting deeper into my thick book: Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann.

I walked Her Highness three times yesterday. It didn’t rain, but it was heavily overcast all day. The darkness of overcast days makes me feel calm. I saw no one on the trails, there was hardly anyone in the market, and there were only a few cars on the road passing me between the village and home. These days slow me down. I don’t have to water, I can rationalize staying on the chaise with a book, practicing for Winter.

Late in the afternoon, I did quite a bit of watering. I shall finish watering all the remaining beds today. This morning when I let Sheba out after her breakfast, I followed her as she hurried to do her business and I was happy to see the state of her stool. She is definitely getting a bit better every day. I think our crisis has passed.

This morning, early, I Zoom with Nicola, then we shall walk with our friends. I’ll come home to water and then I have a Zoom session with Aidan and then another Zoom session with a bunch of my fellow stutterers to discuss future plans for SPACE.

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I remember when I moved here, feeling like I was staying at a B&B. From a small condo in downtown Vancouver to a three-bed, two-bath home with a large studio and shed, sitting on half an acre. It was a steep learning curve to take this on with my inexperience with wells and machinery, frequent power outages and knowing only one person on the island.

Every night now, I take a walkabout in the backyard. Sometimes I go to the edible garden and front yard garden as well. And when I come in, every time I open the back door, I am overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for this life I have here. Pinecone Park is my safe place.

Here, I am loved by three beautiful creatures. Over eight years, we have come to know and love each other. Last night, watching a movie, Sheba was on the floor beside the chaise, and Fred, Ethel and I were on the chaise. Everyone there by choice; everyone feeling safe.

I can speak fluently to people I meet on the trails or as I lead my life here on the island. If someone stops and wants to engage with me, my stutter will flare. However, were he someone I met several times, I’d become more fluent if I liked and trusted the person.

It’s the same thing with places. I can speak with the insurance people at the local credit union. They know about my speech, and they are very warmly professional, so I can communicate orally with them. And it’s getting better as time passes. (‘Communicating orally’ is my term for when my speech is very limited. Often, gesture, facial expression, body movements, etc. are part of my oral communication.)

It’s very hard to get comfortable away from home. For me, I programmed in my brain to be on high alert. When I leave the island, I am mute, and very adverse to extremes sick as bright lights, loud noises, fast drivers on the highway, people who speak loudly, are aggressive, or who won’t look at me.

My nervous system is stuck on ten out of ten. That’s why I came here, to where life is slow, quiet and gentle. The quiet here is as impressive as the aurora borealis. I thrive here, thanks to the place, the community and, in particular, Sheba, Fred and Ethel.

The spectacularly beautiful landscape of White Sands National
Park in New Mexico.