Long leisurely flexible afternoons with Alvina
Sundays on Salt Spring, we'd to rise for a late morning brunch. Alvina would make her special poached eggs with whole grain toast and blackberry jam from the wild berries at the edge of her property.
Afternoons at Alvina's felt long and leisurely. While we adults sat and talked , Yasemin would play quietly with some of the shells, carvings, or other exotic clutter that filled Alvina's small house.
Eventually Alvina would rise. "I got some nice halibut from a local fisherman. We'll have a meal before you go." Her voice was soft and her hospitality gentle. She was a fabulous cook. My husband would make a salad while Alvina cooked the fish.
For Yasemin, Alvina would get out a certain dish, a special place mat or spoon or a tiny object to set beside her plate.
I'd clear space on the table and spread an ironed batik tablecloth from the buffet drawer, then lay out the dishes and the soft folded cotton serviettes. While we sat companionably over our meal, I'd look through the kitchen window at the wide half-shaded wraparound wooden deck at the pots of bright petunias and impatiens and yellow pansies.
Then time would telescope back; it would be time to go. In her little cream Toyota Alvina would drive us over the hilly winding roads, through the flashing light and shadow of arbutus and alder, to walk on the ferry at Long Harbour. Engines revving, the ship would vibrate as it backed and turned, and we'd wave till Alvina was out of sight.
Afternoons at Alvina's felt long and leisurely. While we adults sat and talked , Yasemin would play quietly with some of the shells, carvings, or other exotic clutter that filled Alvina's small house.
Eventually Alvina would rise. "I got some nice halibut from a local fisherman. We'll have a meal before you go." Her voice was soft and her hospitality gentle. She was a fabulous cook. My husband would make a salad while Alvina cooked the fish.
For Yasemin, Alvina would get out a certain dish, a special place mat or spoon or a tiny object to set beside her plate.
I'd clear space on the table and spread an ironed batik tablecloth from the buffet drawer, then lay out the dishes and the soft folded cotton serviettes. While we sat companionably over our meal, I'd look through the kitchen window at the wide half-shaded wraparound wooden deck at the pots of bright petunias and impatiens and yellow pansies.
Then time would telescope back; it would be time to go. In her little cream Toyota Alvina would drive us over the hilly winding roads, through the flashing light and shadow of arbutus and alder, to walk on the ferry at Long Harbour. Engines revving, the ship would vibrate as it backed and turned, and we'd wave till Alvina was out of sight.