THE HEART OF AN ISLAND
When I was 19 I took part in the Miss Powell River, Youth
Ambassador Pageant. Seems like forever
ago, maybe because it was. It was an
amazing experience where I made lifelong friendships, become a Spark Leader as
my volunteer service, came in first runner up in a speech competition (which
forever cemented my comfort with speaking in public), laughed, danced,
adventured….it was amazing. I owe that
experience to Dan and Marian Devita and the Texada Island Inn. I
remember at the end of the final performance night, Dan and Marian came back
stage to congratulate me and give me a hug.
Dan said “we’re really proud of you, would you like a job?” I practically
burst into tears.
And so I ventured into becoming a part of the storied
history of that place; a place where you could set your watch by the people who
walked through the door. Ed Johanson,
who never said too many words but always had the warmest smile and would stand
at the counter for half an hour, if he had to, just to put exact change for one
coffee, directly into my hand. Don and
Ollie Wise; you always knew it was almost the end of your day shift, when they
walked through the door. Don always
looked at Ollie like he owned all the love in the universe. She, frail and
fragile like a flower on its last legs, would demand one scoop of ice-cream in
her coffee. When I finally learned to
tease her back I used to say “I’ll get it when I get around to it.” One day she
came in at the usual time, called me over and put something in my hand. I
looked down at a little piece of round wood that said “to it” on it. “What’s this?” I asked her. “Well,” she replied with a sly smile on her
face…. “Now you finally have a round ‘to it’ ” I still have my round “to-it”.
I recall the people I worked with, some no longer with us,
like Dianne Smith who taught me how to make ham and split pea soup. Penny
Woodhead who, well, she was a sweetheart, who taught me how to make hand prints
in sandwiches. And Cimery, the only Amazon queen I’ve ever met in real life. Everybody had their own stories, their own recipes,
and their own families that came and went throughout the days and nights as we
all served plates and coffee and laughs together. I became part of a family; a little family
that served the larger family of our island.
The place was brimming over with memories. Not just mine but
everyone’s. It was where uncountable
birthdays, retirements, anniversaries, parties, and special occasions were
marked. It was where, in our youth we
crawled in, hungover, to recover over deep-fried hash browns and eggs
before crawling back out to the beach to lie motionless while the breakfast
worked its magic. It was where you
danced even if there wasn’t another single person in the bar and when it was
packed elbow to elbow. It was where whoever was cooking, 9 times out 10, could
start making your order the minute they saw your face. It was where you could order “white sauce” and
they’d know what you were talking about.
It was where you had to cook a million potatoes for Saturday Steak Lunch
because the whole island showed up for it. It was where so many stories were
told, by generations, early in the morning until the doors closed late at
night. It was where faces were always familiar, which is no small thing, as I
now know, living in a city where seeing a face more than once is a small
miracle. It was familiar and it was home; for so many of us, it was home.
For Dan and Marian and their family it was home and they
shared it with all of us in such a huge way.
Their generosity knew no bounds. Whether it was sponsoring or supporting
every single island event, hosting parties, picking up boaters, providing safe
rides home, being there for their staff and patrons, their openhandedness had
no limits. The Texada Island Inn became our
island’s heart and Dan and Marian were and are the life force that kept that
heart beating.
The Inn had an irreplaceable patina on it. It was made of stories, and laughter, and
tears and memories, and history. The history of the people that worked there,
lived there, and moved through there.
And that patina, while irreplaceable, will never really be gone, for it
lives in all our hearts and minds and will always be carried with us wherever we
go….even if it’s to Calgary, Alberta….where trust me…you cannot order white
sauce.
Beautifully written! Touching!
ReplyDelete