At the end of January 1974, Joel and I, our two-year-old son Jason, our German Shepherd Dog Lanch and our grey, long-haired cat Krishna arrived in Victoria in our big yellow converted school bus. We had said our good-byes to friends and family in Quebec the previous October and had meandered across the northern states and Canada, visiting family along the way. From the home of our friend Liz in Vancouver we made our way to the BC Ferry terminal at Tsawwassen and felt the warm West Coast sunshine kissing our faces and felt the stiff, cold West Coast wind pounding our backs as we took in the vastness of the ocean and the charm and mystery of the Gulf Islands along our way.
When we arrived at Swartz Bay, we motored south down the Pat Bay Highway. Tall green forests covered both sides of this road, but Victoria soon lay before us. Everything there was moist and green and shining in the sun. We took out our road map and found Ernest Avenue in Saanich, where our only friend in Victoria shared a home with three or four other people. As we walked up the stone path to the front door, through the garden that was circled by green hedges and trees, with bulbs already poking their shoots out of the garden beds, we inhaled the moist and pure air of this city that was to be our home for thirty-one years. Our friend welcomed us to their rambling Arts and Crafts style house, with its large, wainscoted rooms, massive fireplace, and leaded windows. “So, this is what Victoria is like,” we thought. “We’ve arrived in the Garden of Eden.” The next day we visited a rental agency and had soon rented a gorgeous old house on Maple Street, sadly slated for demolition when the Blanshard extension would be constructed.
We had our phone connected and bought newspapers, and we looked for work. I bought a tweed skirt at the secondhand store and went for a job interview, and I was put on the substitute teacher list. Meanwhile, Joel looked for work and found a full-time job as a handyman. I hadn’t had much substitute work anyway, and since we had no car, and I had to bus to jobs, I was relieved that Joel had daily work and I could stay home, look after Jason, grow a few house plants, cook meals, and slowly turn the hard back lawn into a vegetable garden. Joel and I discovered through the newspaper that there was a “garbage day” in nearby Oak Bay, so we climbed into our schoolbus and drove through that neigbourhood and scored two bicycles we could use. What a find! There was even a baby seat on the back of Joel’s bike for Jason to ride in.
Although we had no car, and driving the schoolbus around was ridiculously awkward, we were glad to have bikes. But since we were young and strong, both of us in our late twenties, walking was our chief mode of travel, and our beautiful Lanch could come everywhere with us. One evening our friend on Ernest Avenue invited us to join a party at their place after dinner. Unable to both go, since Jason had a sensible bedtime for a little one, one of us would have to go alone. I was the lucky one, so I walked there with my walking partner, Lanch.
The distance between the houses was easily covered in an hour, so Lanch and I wandered down city streets that were almost empty except for a passing late-night driver, since Victoria shut down at six o’clock, such a change from the streets of Montreal. We passed the empty lot at Mayfair Shopping Centre, passed George Jay High School, and took our time walking along Hillside Avenue, which we discovered started out as Burnside Avenue and turned into Lansdown Road when it crossed Richmond, which is where Lanch and I turned left on our way to Ernest Avenue. I know Lanch enjoyed walking and sniffing, stopping, peeing, walking, sniffing, and walking. It was one of his greatest pleasures. I enjoyed his companionship, the wag of his tail when he smelled something exciting, the jingle of his dog license and name tag against his collar as we journeyed on. I enjoyed the freedom of taking a long walk after a day of parenting and housework, a chance to talk to myself, think things through, feel like my own person once again. Not that I disliked parenting or housework, but it was a joy to have this long stretch of time to walk and think. Lanch and I were good companions.
I know there were a lot of people at that party, and I know that there was a Linda Ronstadt record playing. I found a comfortable armchair and Lanch and I sat down. I watched people while Lanch took a nap. When he and I had both had a drink or two, and I had nibbled a few nuts and chips, we set out on our return walk. Everything was just as quiet going home. Perhaps we walked a little faster. I think there was a quickness to Lanch’s step and possibly I pushed myself to walk a little faster. Bed and home and family awaited us.
Evening strolls were something Lanch and I always enjoyed if the weather was clear. We found that Victoria was drizzly most of that spring. I enjoyed the spring showers that watered the garden. But mostly the rain was enjoyed from inside our home. We had a large fireplace that devoured the beach wood we collected. And how did we manage to collect beach wood while living so far from the ocean? We read the British Colonist or the Victoria Daily Times, the two local papers which didn ‘t merge until 1980 to become the Times Colonist. We studied the want-ads every day and found an ad for a station wagon for sale for ninety-nine dollars. Joel jumped up and phoned the listed number, and within minutes the seller had brought the maroon and black, hand-painted Ford station wagon around to our house. We all looked at it excitedly. I seem to remember some hand-clapping from Jason and me, and when the money changed hands, we were the new owners. So, after this amazing purchase we packed our whole family, minus Krishna who preferred his home, into our station wagon, drove to Clover Point, and collected large, flat pieces of driftwood that provided us with bookshelves and benches, items we had to leave behind when we came west. We roamed the pebbled beach, added to the thundering sounds of the waves that were crashing away down the beach with our own, “ooohs,” and “aaahs,” and took turns impressing each other with our rock-skipping. Jason and Lanch played with sticks, sniffed at shells, and collected them to display on our soon-to-be driftwood shelves. Finally, when we had played long enough and were ready to go home to tea and a fire, we loaded the firewood we needed into the back of our station wagon and brought it home to burn. We didn’t know then that the salty, sandy wood wasn’t good for our fireplace, but since it was soon to be demolished, I suppose that it was okay. We sat by the fire, Jason playing with Lego, Lanch curled up on my homemade rag rug, and Krishna snuggled in my lap.
Evenings were my time to walk with Lanch. We explored the neighbourhood and discovered new places we could see and smell. One quiet, starlit night we had walked uphill along Cloverdale Street and then wandered down Quadra Street, when we saw the Church of Latter-Day Saints, or Mormons, and thought we’d have a sniff and look around. As I was standing under an overhead light, reading a sign on the church wall, a car with three men in it drove into the parking lot. Lanch and I were not afraid. I know I wasn’t because my companion was brave and strong. Lanch didn’t seem worried either, so I guess he didn’t sense danger from these people. One man stepped out of the car and asked me why I was there. I explained my dog and I were out walking, and I saw this place and was curious. They asked me about where I was from, how long I lived here, my husband, what he did, and if we had children. We continued our discussion, them asking a lot of questions and me answering simply, and finally, they asked what I knew about their religion, and I said, “Not much. But I do have a copy of the Book of Mormon.” Receiving this information, and possibly noticing that I was wearing a head scarf in the style that some of the more conservative religions do, since it was my way of controlling my long, thick hair, and maybe seeing me as a possible convert, they asked if I was interested in a job. I replied that I would like work, as long as it didn’t interfere with my time at home with my son. I guess I passed all their tests, so I was told that if I showed up at The Coffee House in Mayfair Mall the next evening, I could see about starting work there as a waitress.
Once again, our return trip was a little less languid than its beginning. We arrived back home with the news of the job offer. Joel and I talked it all over and I decided I’d give it a try. We could certainly use the money if my hours and Joel’s didn’t overlap.
My first shift was terrifying. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to walk up to a customer, open my mouth and say, “What would you like to order?” I was trembling with anxiety and could not open my mouth. I stood there mutely, until the customer just told me what they’d like to order. I wrote it down and scurried away. But by the end of the evening I was standing, pencil in hand, with the confidence of success. Thanks to my gentle walking companion I had a job. I waited on tables there for three or four months and eventually worked at a fancier restaurant. But that’s another story.