blue-black pines on a hill

blue-black pines on a hill,

azure sound, lapis islands,

indigo sunset clouds

While we're waiting in line at Swartz Bay to drive onto the ferry that will take us from Vancouver Island to Fulford Harbor on the little island of Salt Spring, a man in a bright yellow jump suit pulls up to the dock in an aquamarine dingy with a coral red interior -- a riot of primary colors set against the slate blue water and weathered gray wooden dock.

Perhaps he works for the logging operation going on in the bay where a couple of tug boats are herding floating logs. A huge ship that looks like some kind of floating factory looms behind them. So the timber, logged in Vancouver by a company with the Scottish name, Campbell, based in Nassau, must be destined for the Bahamas.

Just as the ferry is arriving, a herd of school children hurry down the ramp. They must live on Salt Island but take the ferry every weekday to school on Vancouver Island, a 35 minute ferry commute each way, not counting transportation from school to ferry to home. On board, the e-generation are mostly engrossed in video games and texting.

On Salt Spring Island we're met by Teresa, a friend who lived in Fairfield for a long time.

Teresa takes us to a little cafe for a snack, a popular hangout for friendly people and corgis.

Inside the cafe, a colorful bouquet of poppy anemones in luscious shades of red, blue, pink and white greets us.

Coast Salish traditional wood carvings are displayed on a board covered with burlap from Guatemala, where the indigenous people also have a long tradition of handcrafts.

The weather is sunny but a little cool, so I order hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a sprinkling of powdered cocoa, a fair trade import from coastal Guatemala, where the Maya still grow ka'kau'. I imagine a ship bound for the Bahamas carrying timber products from British Columbia passing a ship from Guatemala with a load of cocoa somewhere along the Pacific coast. Small world.

After our treats, Teresa leads the way past vineyards, a honey store and a glassblower into what she calls "wilderness" until we're bumping up a gravel road to the top of a hill where the World Peace House perches. 

From the house we have an incredible view to the east across Puget Sound to Mt. Baker and the Cascade Range in Washington State.

Whitetail deer browse on the mowed grass around the house and then fade into the surrounding woods.

In the evening I sit on the hillside to watch the sun set through bands of clouds, a study in shades of blue.