My Spirit Children — Fini

My Spirit Children — Fini (Initially published to Medium May 12th 2021)

Day trip

I am here, in the far away salty north. Up for the week, hiding out, having breakfasts out, light early dinners and a martini here or there. Taking random drives, doing a bit of work remotely, and creating this Sophia Bourne person, who is sort of me.

I have known Sophia only since, say, the end of January, the start of February, but I almost feel she is authentically me at this point.

The random search for a pen name has been an ongoing hobby since about 2010 when I started to jot down stories and revive old poems more seriously.

I first used various last names and then a few random first names. Nothing felt authentic, though.

When I first signed on here, I was using my real name for a blink and then thought, hm, I still need to get a real job soon, and maybe best I stay anon. So on the fly one eve, I took the name of my family’s first cat and the last name of Bourne (cause I think the CIA should hire me, I can be that cagey.) And now here I am, this Sophia persona, and she seems not half bad.

The name is a bit camp, but it works, and I think this is it for my pen name; I think it will stick.

Today, I woke up to sun, songbirds, and seagulls. I went to drive down a few blocks to a cozy old fashioned breakfast place, but it was closed, and I thought, well, let’s drive over to that island on the map about an hour away, see what I can find over there.

I drove over the long and slightly hilly roads; there is fuck all up here. Nothing for traffic, no strip mall congestions, no spring bicyclists in their scuba outfits and helmets hogging the lanes dangerously and with entitlement.

Honestly, I hate bicyclists in their outfits; it is not the Tour de France, my friends; get over yourselves; you look ridiculous.

Cruising down the long stretches of road to the village on the next peninsula, that is only about 20 minutes as a crow would fly, but around 45 via driving.

Over the bridge, check-in with Canadian Border, which makes you download an app to track your crossing and your stay. There are three kids in the building, getting their passports stamped. Two boys and a girl dressed outdoorsy and for travel with backpacks.

I smile at them. “You all backpacking?”

“Yes, we are,” they say.

“Would you like a ride around the island? I used to backpack when I was about your age. I am just over here to try and find a bite to eat and take a day trip. Happy to have you along if you like or drop you somewhere if you need.”

Their faces light up.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” they say

“Great, I would love the company, and I remember the strangers that took care of me when I was traveling. Will be fun now to do the same.”

We walk out to my big silly rig that I bought used a decade ago, so I never had to shovel snow again or feel like I was in a tin can during my long work commutes.

“Wow, they say, what a great vehicle.”

I can see them smiling at the SUV and each other and telegraphing to one another that this has been a nice bit of luck.

Lovely kids, clean, well-spoken, perfect English. Two were German, and one was French; they were exchange students.

We set out to find the village, which I am sure must exist, to find something to eat.

I hand them my cellphone and asked if they knew how to use it, and then laughed and said of course you do. “You are children; you must know better than me how to use. Open up the map and tell me which way to go.”

We are all giggling.

“Okay,” they say, “Stay to the right; the map indicates not so much a village as a small cafe among some houses down the road.”

We drive along a bit; we chit-chat. They have been in Toronto Studying for a year, then went down to DC and up to NYC, and now are heading up to the Maritimes to meet up with family and travel back to Europe.

We have driven around in a circle and gone right past whatever the map claimed was a cafe.

I ask if we should turn around or which way to head. One of the boys in the back says it looks like there is a lighthouse up ahead. Shall we go see it? I am for it. We drive, but only a mile or so, and there before us is an old-fashioned lighthouse with keepers quarters on a jut of rocks off the coast.

We all get out of the car and walk out of the empty dirt parking lot towards the lighthouse on the rocks.

Metal stairs wind down to a rock and seaweed-covered beachhead. A sign that says beware of the incoming tide.

We decided to go anyways. The boys are convinced the tide is headed out.

Regardless, we want to get over and then back. Get closer for pictures and get a sense of the massive expanse of the bay of fundy.

I am behind them on the trail. I am slow going down the narrow metal steps and slower, still picking over the larger sharp boulders and slippery seaweed. I am amazed at how well I am doing. I have been so sedentary for so many years. but behind them, I pick along, a bit nervous but determined to get out to the lighthouse

so down one flight of metal stairs, then select footing carefully ahead through the jutting boulders to a rocky beach and back through more boulders and slippery seaweed past a few small tidal pools and back up a steep set of very rusty stairs.

We get to the top of the second outcrop and realize that we have only just begun this effort; there are two more similar outcrops to climb up and down before the lighthouse island is reached. I feel a bit defeated. If I had on better boots, I like to think I would have gone on, but as it was, I had on ugg boots with a slippery sole, and we didn’t know what the tide was doing.

You kids are welcome to go on ahead, but I will head back to the car. I don’t feel comfortable going any further.

They said we will go back with you; they mentioned not knowing the tide and that where we were right now was beautiful enough.

We take pictures and marvel at the outcrop and the surrounding vastness of water and other islands far off into the horizon.

The air is cool, fresh, and salted, and the sun is just warm enough. A good breeze, it is stunning.

We turn around to head back. The going is a bit easier, but I actually have a bit of a slip and fall. not bad, but enough that I say, okay, kids, anything happens to me, my emergency numbers are right on my iPhone. We laugh, and they say I am doing good and that my boots are the problem.

I am again amazed that I have traversed this far along, and then we are back up the last set of steep metal stairs and back to the parking lot and my SUV.

We all agree that we are glad we drove out this way and now are determined to sort out where that cafe could be.

We conclude that we have, at this point, actually seen the entirety of the island and that there is no village center and only that lone cafe that we can’t seem to locate.

The young girl takes her cell out, powers on some data, and becomes our guide.

Okay, keep going straight, she says, the cafe should be up here on the left, and soon we are on upon it. A cute little old building that someone has recently taken some time with and done up for business.

I get some chilly fries and a coke, and they get some chicken sandwiches, and we dine on Adirondack chairs on the porch. There is a clear view across the bay to the little town where my Airbnb rental is. I do quite like that town.

Saw a property there the day before, but I can’t seem to pull the trigger to buy anything. Too nervous with the market crashing and my job situation being so up in the air.

I don’t know where I belong anymore. Part of me isn’t bothered by it in moments when my brain is full and buzzing along healthily, like when I write this, but in moments of quiet or nostalgia, my heart breaks for my family home and my sister and all that I thought would be healed but seems blown well to dust.

My modest savings quickly become worthless with the inflation that has hit.

Feeling trapped in some weird limbo of middle age, middling finances, and mediocre life.

A single woman at 50 that never really became a woman.

These children that I travel with today seem much more mature and sophisticated than me. I am sure their lives have had heartache and will know more, but they seem assured in a way that I have never been.

While sitting there on the cafe porch, talking, eating, and admiring the view, all of a sudden, a giant bee comes under the porch overhang and buzzes along the length of the four of us, almost seeming to stop in front of each of us for just a moment and buzzes away again, we all look at each other with questioning looks and then the giant bee is back under the porch darting the length and back and then out into the sky and over towards a tree line.

“Wow, that was a hummingbird.”, I say. “It was they ask?” “Yes”, I confirm and chuckle, “Initially, I thought it was some giant weird bee.”

They all exclaim that they have never seen a hummingbird, and I say that I have only seen a few in the wild, but they are a most extraordinary creature. I tell them that despite their movements’ speed and darting, they can hover in place if they so choose.

One of the boys says, “I am so glad to have seen that hummingbird; I think it is a good omen.”

They really are sweet kids.

After light chats and lunch, we head out to see a local park. It is on the other side of this tiny island, and we get to a vast beachhead with a massive tumbled rock berm and smooth rock beach.

We sit on the large round stones, and the warmth of them and the sun and the rocks are just the right sizes that they are comfortable to lounge upon. It is an empty place, but for us and a cruise ship far off into the distance, a few fishing boats heading into one of the ports well off to the other shores.

Pine trees and rocks and seaweed and gulls and the warmth of the sun and cool freshness of the breeze and the emptiness of the place. It is magic. I will return there; I will return to that spot if nothing else.

We sit around for about 45 minutes or so. Chatting lightly but mostly just sitting still and looking at the view.

We each collect a handful of the tumbled large stones that make up the beach.

We agree on the beauty of the place.

They decide it is time for them to see where the ferry is located and determine that they will catch it and head out to their next destination if it is in port.

“I am so glad to have picked you kids, up today, I would have never gone out to that lighthouse if I hadn’t met you, thanks for the company.”

“Oh, you were so brilliant to pick us up.”, they say, “What a beautiful island. Thank you for helping us see it.”

We talk about other past and future travels; one of them mentions having been to Morocco.

I have always wanted to go to Morocco, but now, I feel a little less brave than I did when younger. I have even thought of hiring a younger person to travel with me.

They say that that is a clever idea and encourage me to pursue it.

I look at their young faces. I have 30 years on them. They well could be my children if I had had any, and yet, while I know my grey hair and weight and slower movements belie my age, when I look at them and talk to them, I feel like we are peers, and that somehow they are wiser than me.

I feel as though I am some simpleton that has awakened into a new world order that I didn’t see coming, as if long asleep, and brought back to life a character in an Aesop fable.

We get to the ferry, the ferryman is there, and I walk onto the ferry while they get their bags out of my car. I look up at the ferryman in his cabin. He steps out and smiles at me. I ask if the ferry ever goes into US waters, and he says no.

Initially, his face seemed welcoming, but then he got a wave across his eyes as if I was something he doesn’t want to see.

He remains polite, but I feel it best not to speak with him further. I wave up to him and smile and walk away. The kids are stepping onto the small car ferry and laughing at how cool and cute it is.

I walk up and shake each of their hands and tell them to have a lovely trip, and we smile and bid each other goodbye.

I watch the ferry pull out and drive back to the states.