(Post #54) Push Mowers, Happy Accidents & A Very Funky Driving Range

I embraced Nellie tightly before departing from Cordova Bay—expressing my gratitude (perhaps a bit too earnestly) for refraining from doing things in threes. Two unexpected wet patches were sufficient for me. Then I set off towards Sooke, where little Zara was eagerly anticipating my arrival. Her caregiver handed her over, all spruced up for the summer (the dog, not the caregiver), and we began the hour-long journey back to Brentwood Bay. 

As soon as I arrived at the house, I sensed it—that feeling of tranquility and calm that only being immersed in nature can provide. Not that the cat in Cordova was driving me insane, but it was refreshing to swap ocean vistas for the gentle rustle of trees and the melodies of birds. This nomadic life just keeps getting better. Moreover, we still had the nearby ferry and plenty of coastal strolls to keep us occupied. 

Zara and I quickly fell back into our usual rhythm. By this point, she truly feels like a part of my family. This time, everything appeared transformed. Summer had arrived, and what had been dormant during winter had burst into life—plants, weeds, grass, and even more grass. Fortunately, the owner appreciates that natural, slightly untamed aesthetic. She only mows a broad path around the grounds. When she left the manual push mower out for me, I couldn’t help but give it a go. Remember those classic mowers? No fuel, no noise—just you and your arm muscles. It brought back fond memories from my childhood. I ended up giving the place more than just a simple trim. Then an ambitious idea struck me. Why not tackle the edges and stones with a weed trimmer? Where have you heard this before? Yes, the Remy place. Even after my previous mishap with the weed wacker. I didn’t have one on hand, so I contacted a friend from Sidney who’s become quite close. Her husband lent me theirs, and off I went, meticulously trimming around the stones and tidying the unruly spots. Sometimes my “little extra” turns out to be quite the workout.

It’s amusing how these recurring gigs have provided me with an opportunity to reconnect with individuals who were once unfamiliar—like Anna, whom I had only briefly encountered during a previous sit. We had managed to keep in contact, so I informed her of my return to Brentwood Bay. Before long, we were enjoying coffee at her home, just a short ten-minute drive away. It’s incredible to realize that if it weren’t for this lifestyle, I would never have had the chance to meet people like her. That’s one of the most wonderful gifts this journey offers me. Naturally, not everything goes smoothly. 

One afternoon, Zara came bounding into the kitchen, accidentally brushed against the pedal of a stationary bike. I heard a faint thump and when I turned around, I saw a tiny tuft of fur caught on the pedal—no blood on her, but a cut which was starting to look red. In the following days, a scab developed. When the owner returned, it resulted in a vet visit, and it was discovered that she had broken a tiny blood vessel. I felt terrible—my first real casualty in all my sits—and it served as a stark reminder that anything can occur when you’re entrusted with someone’s pet. However, overall, Brentwood Bay remained as delightful as ever. 

Now, I’m preparing for a five-week house sit north island, in a location called Courtenay. I’ll be taking care of an Australian Shepherd named Sadie. I met the owners via a Zoom call, mapped out the three-and-a-half-hour drive, and decided that with the long weekend traffic, I should leave at 5am. This means I need to pack my usual assortment of bags filled with clothes, food, and dog treats, and hit the road bright and early. Just before departing, something rather great occurred. 

While attempting to call my cousin, I accidentally dialed Charles—someone I met at a meetup coffee gathering in Nanaimo a year ago. I had his number because he recommended a vegan restaurant for me and sent the link. Not sure why I didn’t delete it afterwards.

So, I panicked and hung up, hoping he’d just see my number flash and ignore it. No such luck. Charles called back, politely inquiring who was calling his number. I awkwardly explained and apologized, but he remembered me and we comfortably got caught up. I shared with him that I’d be house sitting in Courtenay, as well as my new golf hobby. There was enthusiasm in his voice —he immediately brightened up. It turns out he knew of a “funky driving range” in Campbell River (Velocity Driving Range) with private bays and full table service. What? Now, that excited me. Drinks and snacks while hitting balls? Maybe that’s the trick to improving my swing—lower the expectations with a little wine, and suddenly it feels effortless. 

Naturally, I eagerly accepted the invitation. We’ll arrange it once I’m settled. Isn’t it funny how a wrong number can lead to such a positive turn of events? So, farewell Brentwood Bay and hello Courtenay. Here’s hoping Sadie’s needs are straightforward, and that I can carve out a bit more time for myself. With any luck, the next chapter will be filled with picturesque walks and the satisfying crack of a well-hit golf ball and maybe a playful and friendly toast over the driving range rail.