Since
prior to my second marriage, neither the emerald shaded Vikker River
nor its choice Vikker Valley had been entered by me. Years back in
the summer of 2006, Lori invited me to camp for a couple of nights
with her across Vikker lake, entered by Vikker River. Lori was a
Naturalist as were the other campers to be there. She was a newly
retired schoolteacher. I continued to aspire to my childhood
summer camp canoeing honor skills. Both of us held positions as
church pianists in differing churches.
As
we canoed over to the campsite, my shockingly weakened paddling
adding to her experienced, stronger strokes, we felt a few
complimentary raindrops in the wind. Upon arrival, a campsite in the
white sand by the trees awaited us. I helped Lois set up camp. The
scent of cedar wafted through the air as we went for a hike through
trees adorned with Witch’s Hair upon the springy, moss covered
forest floor. Returning to camp, useable yellow canoes by the lake
water centered among the mountain ranges accompanied the scene.
“Drops
Vikker’s vale winds fling, Brimming
lakes of shifting waves swing. Ray
of the dell is bent On
emerald hues, at present.”
I
have grace-notes of memories of trifles of time spent living outside
of nearby Vikker City in1997. Tasted could be the steamed,
red-stemmed, leafy green Swiss chard I ate from the aged, raised
wooden beds of the glass-encased greenhouse. Smelled could be my
favorite scents, those of fresh air following rain and blooming
purple lilacs embellishing the double lot I lived on with my
boyfriend, Sam. Invasive Knap weed was seen covering most ground not
taken up by relics of old, abandoned motor vehicles out back. At the
carport, a red hummingbird feeder daily attracted the wispy creatures
in a flurry of colors, hovering at it, partaking of its sweetness.
I’d again savor sips of red chardonnay wine upon my tongue if I
knew where to get it.
When
visiting Effie’s house atop a hill across the Vikker River, I
could be heard playing classical piano music. She owned a lightly
stained, wooden, antique upright piano, whose tuning was not too bad.
Ecstatically, my nimble fingers flew through the phrases and pages of
the music of the Four Impromptus by Franz Schubert from memory. No
one knew what I was playing as they were used to oldies from the 40’s
and onward, yet they appreciated the background music.
“Vikker
River, Cutting
through the valley’s center, Filled
with verdant wonder, At
your shores I am a caller.”
Returning
on a road trip two autumns ago with my friend, Polly, I felt we were
in the ethereal. We approached the trip excitedly, each of us giving
place to our inner child as we conversed openly and joyfully. From
her car scented with sage and orange peels, to the feel of white sand
on my stockinged feet and wading in the verdant Vikker River, as well
as the complete blackness of the night out of which shone myriads of
stars, it felt infallible.
We
shopped at Infinityglade Grocers, a large market filled with
Organics, and ate delectable items from the menu of Matraya’s
restaurant. We stayed one night at Ivory Chalets, also in that area.
We bought gas at Matraya’s Mini Mart, where many nonchalant
valley boys happened to be congregated. Across from it, a pig roast
was beginning, which also drew an eager, larger dinner crowd. This
grace-note of a time out here, I had to get used to not having any
cell reception with which to phone my husband. Happily, I brought my
digital camera.
“Vikker
River, Ice
melt as glacier water Like
envy may be seen, In
you light reflects shades of green.”
During
some of the trifles of time I referred to in paragraph three, the
muffled tinkling of metal, hand-held tools tinkered away at old
autos on their way to the wrecker. Coined Carl’s song about
peeps riding through the firmament could still be heard on the FM
radio station. One of them was Sam, my German boyfriend with curly
light blond hair, who was balding on top. Another was a distant,
sidestepping Russian friend dressed in old, nondescript coveralls,
and the third, a Nordic man, was a triad taller than anyone at 6 feet
8 inches tall. His chestnut hair curled tantalizingly, and there was
life in his most mesmerizing blue eyes. He heard me play Effie’s
piano more than once.
Although
we’d both been to the Vikker Valley, anticipation had built
toward what this trip might be like. At dawn, she exudes the reddened
sun in her hot romantic beauty calmed by crisp glacier breezes, blue
skies shining, and a river in her midst overhung with mist. Spring
brings bluebells and snow lilies, which abound. In the summertime,
pines, cedars, blue spruce, and poplars grow in stands, interspersed
by edible wild mushrooms such as white pines and orangish oysters.
Winter sports wood smoke from woodstoves and the call of the wayward
crows. Early autumn leaves alongside miniature acorns by us were yet
to be discovered in Dinadene.
“Vikker
River, At
dawn, over you hover Thick
clouds of morning mist. They’re
following above your gist.”
As
much as I’ve always loved the Vikker Valley, it was better
reliving those grace-note memories while visiting there with Polly.
We were able to be very honest with each other about where we were in
life. She was feeling the loss of so many of her family who’d
succumbed to terminal illness. I was feeling the loss of my
grandmother, and my mother who’d died when I was 11, shortly
before her.
I
feel cheated of much of my inheritance from the sale of Grandmother’s
lower land at Edgewood, BC, in a neighboring valley. It was fertile,
containing many fruit-bearing trees as well as berry bushes. It was
far better than the upper land. Before my birth, it had been flooded
for the sake of electricity for the greater good. If she’d
gotten a fair price, and it’d been invested like Auntie did
with the money from the sale of the upper land that survived the
flooding at Edgewood, it would’ve amounted to something.
No,
people don’t get rich from farming today. It is a whole
different story with real estate and the sale of land. I suffer as I
watch my inheritance being handed out often to the most unfriendly of
strangers, which is a Biblical curse. I feel it especially where I
can see it and receive very little of it myself in the form of
farmers market coupons. More so now, as prices have risen
drastically, it is hurtful to me. This pictures what was left of
Grandmother’s land at the time of its sale.
“Vikker
River Is
creating the best timbre, Grace-note
timed rapids break, Embellishments
you’re free to make.”
Another
of my grace-note memories is in Summer 2002, when I went river
rafting with a group in the calmer waters of the meandering Vikker
River. The water had been brilliant blue with a minimum of rapids
where we paddled. Though free to jump in the river and swim alongside
the raft, none of us did. We beached in the white sand of the Vikker
River’s shore to the Punky Paddlers’ song about Bermuda
playing on the FM radio station. There, the sun bright in the
cloudless, blue sky, our attendants roasted hot dogs and made smores
for us as we quenched our thirst with 7-Up.
After
my second marriage, I stayed more in the good graces of everyone we
came across in the Vikker Valley than I feel accustomed to.
Enraptured by this experience, I would love to go again with Polly to
visit the Vikker River. I did not recognize anyone’s face this
time around. However, I was blessed with more personal resources at
my disposal than before, returning home with oodles of goodies and
trinkets for my husband and I to share.
“Vikker
River, Much
like my triumphant laughter, Meandering
freely, You
aren’t slowing down for any.”
*****
Author’s
Notes:
Song
lyrics entitled “Vikker River,” written by author.
Pictures chosen at author’s discretion.
Trifled:
left with a small amount of something
Triad:
a three-note chord in music
Timbre:
quality of a musical note
I started writing poetry at the age of 13,
inspired by the
sound of panpipes. That summer, I was Employee of the Month at my
first summer job, riding an ice cream bike for Dickie Dee Ice Cream
in July. While I have changed my poetic style more than once, I
presently write poetry. I took piano lessons through Royal
Conservatory of Music affiliated teachers up to Grade 10. An amateur
flautist, in 1986 I won the award for Most Improved Band Student at
YAA in Yorkton, SK. I completed Word Processing online through
Okanagan College, Kelowna Campus, and Medical Terminology online
through Selkirk College, Castlegar Campus. My current marriage is a
Red Wedding. Currently I am a macrame artist and enjoy creating
collages using scrap art. I have never made money from my writing.
