Does the sun have to shine?

Traveling into October...

We started for Canada on September 17, under more clouds than sky but surrounded by dolphins. Two days later in a gentle rain, we arrived at Stuart Island, our last stop before crossing to British Columbia’s Gulf Islands. Boaters mostly cruise north in the summer months, but our boat Dragonfly needed work in August, so this is our time.

After customs at Bedwell and two clear days among decorated pilings in Port Browning, we moved to Ganges on Salt Spring Island. Faced with a nasty forecast, we turned our bow into the wind and huddled against the projected storm.

But the weather withered to nothing, leaving us to explore two art exhibitions that occur in Ganges this time each year — one for artists from across all-Canada and one for artists from B.C. The art—and unexpected sun—were great rewards for cruising in the fall.

The piece from the B.C. art show that still lives in my mind is by Martin Herbert, an artist from Salt Spring Island—a brilliantly interactive sculpture titled “If You Look Down on Me, You See Nothing.”  His sculpture invites you to stand in its wooden footprints. I hesitated a long moment and reread the instructions before stepping onto the sculpture.

Next, you’re directed to cover its post with both hands and look down—to see nothing but your own hands and feet. Finally, you’re directed to step off, open a plank, and kneel to read its message:

My father was a thoughtful, honest man, who always did what he thought was right, no matter the cost to him. He guided me by example. My mother was kind and optimistic, happy. She lit up my life. If I had been ripped from them at age five I would have lost my real education. It would have been criminal. When I was a five-year-old child, people who thought they knew the mind of god, with the consent of our elected government, were kidnapping children my age, forcibly trying to mold them into our image. When the children resisted they were punished. When punishment led to death they were buried in unmarked graves. This shames me.

I’m sad you can’t experience it yourself, and I’m shy about giving away the shock the artist created—of kneeling to read the message. But the message deserves to be shared. My thanks to Martin Herbert, who is also a sailor and has done other wonderful work.

After one windy, rainy night rolling with waves along a dock in Nanaimo, we moved to a marina in Ladysmith, where great blue herons were stalking the docks under an unblemished sky. There was hardly a soul on the dock, hardly a boat on the water. We rode our bikes to nearby Transfer Beach Park, where folks wore orange shirts to commemorate a story told by Phyllis Webstad, whose favorite orange shirt was taken away on her first day at St. Joseph Mission Residential School. The school itself was torn down 26 years ago, but Canada is finally addressing its legacy with a new national holiday—Truth and Reconciliation Day (also called Orange Shirt Day)—September 30. One step along a road we could all be traveling.

We gave up lovely Ladysmith and traveled south along the eastern coast of Vancouver Island, with Thetis Island to the east, past anchored cargo ships waiting to be called for duty.

As we traveled at 7.5 knots per hour, a ferry appeared, sailed past us toward the town of Chemainus, and was on its way back to Thetis before we arrived ourselves. Meanwhile, for our slow pace, we were gifted with the endless shift of clouds and waves for 90 minutes. Sights we could have largely ignored had we come by car (in 10 minutes—it’s just 6 miles).

In Chemainus we docked and walked, following faded yellow footprints painted on the streets and sidewalks to guide our way through town. Once upon a time, a shopkeeper must have painted a mural on the side of their shop.

Now the town claims 53!

Take a look. Even the Subway shop is engulfed by art.

The most faded murals depict the early days of settlement and industry when Chemainus was incorporated as a logging town in 1858. More recent ones picture the community’s immigrants from China and Japan. In 1991, a mural was added to honor and welcome the return of its Japanese community, which was 300 strong from 1900-1942. I wonder how many returned.

One notable mural shows a Douglas fir as the shared load of two logging trucks coming down a mountain road in 1958 on the way to be installed in London as the world’s tallest flagpole at 225 feet.

Murals in honor of the area’s original people, the Stz’uminus First Nation, look new —fresh and clean, their colors bold and bright, outlines sharp and clear.

Also new is a series of murals in honor of Emily Carr (1871-1945), an artist and writer inspired by the indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest. Coincidentally, Emily Carr was my mother’s favorite artist. Faced with what was for her a fearsome task—giving an informative talk to a group of people—she happily introduced them to Emily Carr. I found seven new murals in Chemainus bearing Emily Carr’s name as either artist or inspiration. Five of them graced the outer walls of a large new theater likely to rival the murals in calling people to the art in Chemainus.

The sun was high as we left the dock and rode south to Maple Bay, an hour and a half by boat, 15 miles had we come by car. Still shining as we arrived.

This morning we awoke in a Chinese painting: water and clouds, foothills and clouds, with hilltops beneath more clouds.

No, the sun doesn’t have to shine.