A Bold Move
So, I'm moving to Bamfield. This decision has really only arisen in the last few weeks, but the coincidental, near-conspiratorial confluence of convincing occurences has persuaded me of the necessity of moving my life there. The potential to buy land (a dream I've long held, but never acted on, since I lacked, until quite recently, the drive, knowledge, certainty and the maturity to commit to something this large), an ideal rental situation (this is by no means certainty), involving a cabin on the west side (accessible only by boat) on 5 acres with a garden, and a beautiful locale have all conspired to lure me there. It's by no means a sure thing yet--the pieces are there, but I'm working on fitting them all together. There is one additional draw, which is, in some strange, immediate way, the strongest, but is likely one of those imaginings at which I'm so adept. Such is life I suppose.
In any case, I planted some starts this morning, for a vegetable garden, lined up a kayak to use for the summer, have called the building inspector in Port Alberni who covers Bamfield, to discuss zoning on the property I'm looking at, and I'm trying to get in touch with the owner of the cabin I'm hoping to rent. Keeping my fingers crossed.
The property I'm looking at is 1.72 acres, with a septic. It's about 1/3 forest, quite wet on the north end (which I was moderately concerned about, but after looking at Mollison's Permaculture ideas for earthworks and wetlands, I am now quite excited about), and has room at the south end (by the septic) for a house, and a large personal garden. I see orchards, streams (dug by hand), criss-crossed by little footpaths and bridges, a pond, and a willow "fence" around the north and west side. It's gonna take a lot of work, but it's got potential. Lots of potential. I'm excited.
A poem. Thinking of a new zine of poetry. Gonna have to look over what I've written in the last year. Lots of shit, and a couple of pieces I like.
Blood Poem
every girl i've ever kissed
left me a scar with their lips:
etched on the surface of my heart,
like names on a tree trunk,
marking me theirs.
most of the letters are faint and small,
fading with age.
a few, carved in bold, intricate letters
speak of hot nights and long goodbyes.
but i'm tired of flesh wounds;
i want to pierce you, to be pierced, deeply--
so together we can understand
the coursing and mingling of blood.