Coming Home

The big day had arrived. My sister, Cari and I were finally moving to our hobby farm in BC. The moving vans had packed up all our belongings the day before and we had spent a long night giving our house one last clean to prepare it for its new owner. I had spent a restless night sleeping on an inflatable camping mattress and all I wanted was to be on the farm already. But, we still had to pack up our small pick-up truck and make the six hour drive one last time.

Earlier, I had questioned Cari how we were going to transport four cats, a bird and a very large dog in our small vehicle but she assured me that they would all fit. She had even bought a canopy for the truck so that the cats would be safe and comfortable in the back during the ride.
Cari and I both got up at four that morning, as we wanted to get the earliest start possible. The moving vans would be leaving at nine that morning, so even if we had to stop to let the dog out, we should still beat the movers to the farm by several hours.

In the dark and chilly morning, we stuffed the back of the truck with four cats in their carriers, two litter boxes, a birdcage, pet food, two suitcases, a vacuum, and cleaning supplies. In the small cab of the truck, Bear, our hundred pound Great Pyrenees-cross, had to squeeze into the small space between the seats and the back of the cab. We had put our bird, Zoe, in a box and he was to make the six-hour trip sitting on my lap.

It was five a.m., when we drove away from the house that I had lived in for fifteen years. As all houses do, this one held memories and had been a silent witness to my heartache and joy.

When I moved to Calgary with my then-husband, I had no idea how many changes would occur within those modest walls. From being new in a strange city to having a circle of dear friends that I would cherish forever, from being married to divorced, from being alone to living with my sister. All these events marked a time of awakening for me; a rediscovery of who I really was and what I truly needed in my life to bring me peace and contentment.

For giving me shelter and a safe haven to grieve my losses and to welcome the new, I gave my little house in the suburbs a silent Thank-You as we pulled away from the curb in the eerie quiet of the predawn street for the last time.

We made good time on the drive, stopping only twice to let Bear get out and stretch his legs. We were scheduled to get to the farm no later than one in the afternoon. Everything was going according to schedule and the cats seemed to be handling the trip in the back of the truck just fine. That was, until we hit the outskirts of Golden. We had already encountered a few places along the highway where we had to stop for road construction, so when we hit yet another line up of cars we assumed that it was just another fifteen-minute stop. You know what they say about assuming anything.

We had been stopped in the line-up for over an hour; the dog suffering from the heat threw up in the back of the truck, and Cari and I desperately needed to use a bathroom. Cari took the dog for a walk in the shade of the forest and gave him a drink of water while I cleaned up the mess in the truck. That solved his problems but what about ours. There were no public washrooms nearby. We were stopped on a highway in the middle of nowhere. At the three-hour mark both Cari and I desperate to relieve our bladders, hiked into the woods on the roadside. I've always tried to avoid using roadside bathrooms and now I was forced to heed the call of nature in nature.

Finally, someone from the highway maintenance crew told us what was really going on. It wasn’t just another highway construction project, it was a rockslide. It had occurred literally minutes before we pulled up to the area. For three hours, the crews had been trying to clear the rocks but every time they removed a truckload, the mountain would release another avalanche of rock to replace it. What they thought would take a few hours to clear was now looking like it could take all night. We had no other choice but to turn around, head back to Alberta, and take the route up through Radium Hot Springs.

The rest of the trip was a nightmare. We drove though a snowstorm, a heavy rainstorm and then sweltering heat. Cari had to keep her wits about her the whole time she was driving. We were sharing the road with hundreds of people that were also delayed by the rockslide. To make up for lost time, quite a few drivers were taking huge risks on the road.

We made it to the farm at nine-thirty that night. It had been fifteen hours since we first left Calgary, more than twice the usual travel time. Oh, to finally be home, safe and out of the truck. It would be two months before Cari and I would get back in the truck to venture farther than the fifteen minutes to the village.

One of the two moving vans was waiting in the driveway when we pulled up to the farm. The driver had taken the longer route to Nakusp avoiding the rockslide at Golden all together. The second driver wasn't so lucky. As it was just the driver and us, we had no choice but to schlep all our belongings into the house ourselves. When we finally said goodbye to the driver it was well past midnight. We would be up early the next morning to unload the second van when the driver finally arrived.

All journeys, whether they be internal or external start with faith and a leap into the unknown. With these first tentative steps, we become emboldened, as the doors to our dreams open with ease, as if a guiding hand is there to offer support. As the journey progresses and the dream gets closer to realization there is a test of endurance, or bravery or even a rockslide.

During that seemingly endless trip, I discovered that if I wanted something bad enough no challenge is too great. Cari and I were faced with the obstacle of a mountain and when we couldn't go through it, we simply went around it. We didn't let anything not even an insurmountable pile of rocks stand in our way of our dream and the new adventures that awaited us.