Where We Are One.

I was raised in a place smaller than small; a village on a forested island on the west coast of British Columbia, population 1100, north of where everything in the world seemed to happen: where family isn’t just blood and bonds are lifelong.

It was not just that we, as a group, grew up together in our private paradise, bonding on ferry rides to and from school, gossiping and laughing over games of asshole, yelling “WHALES” to watch the sewing crew on their way to work run to the window while we laughed as they cussed us out with smiles on their face. We formed together, intertwined in such a way that there was no other, no else, we just all were, as one.

Friday’s were spent in the bush or on the bluffs where we listened to Traficslly Hip on repeat singing at the top of our lungs while drinking beer or Rue and Cola. On Saturday, we met up at the steak lunch special at the hotel restaurant with the worlds best milkshakes and special “white sauce” for our fries, laughing about who did what the night before.

No matter the season, we were together. Summer were full of memories as summer students working together at the mine our parents worked at, the nights were spent at our secret swim hole cooking over the fire, BBQ’ing watching the sunsets finished off with naked night swimming. Fall through winter we went 4x4ing in a caravan, waiting for each vehicle to not get stuck in the mud and waiting for the snow to fall on Pocahontas Mountsin so we could go sledding down Breakyurass Hill.

If we had parties (we were known for our parties), we stayed close to each other with the sixth sense we had for each other while we had fun and mingled with others. Everyone from across the water knew that you didn’t mess with anyone of us for we were a pack. You mess with one, you mess with all. We remained close and protective of each other.

We forged a circle shaped by shared limits and boundaries where no one fell outside. All were accepted; out of love and pure necessity, the circle simply was a part of each and every one of us.

We are unique sentences in the same story, our tales winding together, lives criss crossing over, somehow making sense and occupying a space within each other that belonged neither to friend nor family but to something else entirely. And after all the passing years, neither time, distance or trial has dulled the bond we formed among cedar, salt and sand.

Somehow , though apart, we have continued to breathe together, feel together and grieve together when a part of us is lost. Though not physically with us, our bond allows those lost to live on through memories that feel so real when we close our eyes and allow all the memories to come flooding back, messaging each other stories to reminisce and we laugh so hard we cry...

Our island brothers and sisters are bonded, like our generations before and how our generations will be after. Most of us raise our children elsewhere but each of our children know Texada is home. And each other is home and our children are bonded by the same ecosystem intertwining us parents. How dear I hold this island and my tribe in my heart - and still and forever, a circle we will always be.

How lucky we were to grow up on our Island far away in the Strait of Georgia where everything remains the same and time remains still.