I started thinking I knew the place, I fancied myself a seasoned islander.  I could blindfold navigate the condo property + I knew what color bill a twenty-spot was + I was an Oceanside expert who could convert litres to gallons. Yes we had the beach gear and cooler scene dialed to perfection, we understood how to get takeout and work the DVD player.  We had poutine and liked it. After awhile, I found myself judging the new arrivers, chuckling to my inner self at the lost look in newbie’s eyes as they searched for the 200 unit, or wandered aimlessly looking for ice. I got mad when someone parked in “my” spot.  I gave three people directions in town. I told myself I was a canyon river aficionado.  I looked down on those without proper footwear.

I was local.           Course, I realized soon enough even the locals weren’t local. I caught myself misinterpreting the legend of Englishmen River Falls, getting lost in Nanaimo, and misjudging the tide at least twice.  I found out I never knew how to properly say “Tsawwassen”, and after some digging, I began to understand just how little I did know about the island and its landscapes, its peoples and stories.