Today鈥檚 itinerary stretches between our son鈥檚 place in B.C.鈥檚 Kootenay region and my father鈥檚 nursing home in Abbotsford. Highway #95, the two-lane highway connecting Invermere and Golden, B.C. has become one of my favourite sections of that route.
Under blue sky and dumpling clouds, we motor through vast forests, glimpsing occasional vistas of rivers below and mountain peaks above, still patchy with snow. The Preacher drives, munching Scotch mints and counting osprey nests perched on telephone poles.
鈥淭hree...four, with bird...鈥�
鈥淓agle,鈥� I say. 鈥淭hat one was an eagle. Hey. I think we鈥檙e almost there.鈥�
鈥淣ot yet,鈥� he says. 鈥淔ive...鈥� We drive on, watching for my favourite photo stop 鈥� a run-down mountain cabin, set back from the road. It鈥檚 almost a friend now. In the decade and a half our son has lived in the Kootenays, I鈥檝e shot it often, in every season but winter. Even though B.C. raised me, winter mountain roads don鈥檛 suit this particular flatlander.
鈥淩ats. That was it.鈥� Avoiding logging trucks, the Preacher makes a three-point turn on 95鈥檚 narrow shoulders.
The old house has aged. Its roof sags more than ever. I snap some photos with affection, wondering if I鈥檒l see it again before it collapses.
We carry on through Glacier National Park. 鈥淔rom son to father,鈥� I say, thinking aloud as we descend Roger鈥檚 Pass.
鈥淗耻丑?鈥�
鈥淲e just left our son, and we鈥檙e heading to see Dad.鈥� My father鈥檚 almost 94, a little like the old house, but eager for my arrival.
鈥淥h, right.鈥� The Preacher keeps his eyes on the road, passing slower traffic and varying his speed for a construction zone. YOUR SPEED, 101 km, reads a digital sign. He slows to fifty. We enter and exit a matched pair of snow sheds.
鈥淐heck your brakes before descent,鈥� a yellow sign reads.
鈥淕ood thing you got the brakes done before we left,鈥� I say, as we slice between spear-like cedars, rising on my side, dropping steeply on his.
鈥淲ell, that was very nice.鈥�
I glance up from my computer. 鈥淲hat鈥檚 nice?鈥�
鈥淲e missed a falling rock,鈥� he says. 鈥淟anded about twenty feet ahead.鈥�
鈥淗ow big?鈥�
He circles his hands. 鈥淏out so.鈥� I ponder the grace of protection, then shift thoughts to our Heavenly Father鈥檚 surrounding handiwork. Fireweed in full bloom. The panoply of greens lining the mountainsides. A single mountain sheep perched imperiously on an almost vertical rock slab to my right. A pristine mountain lake.
鈥淚鈥檓 so glad,鈥� reads the back of the vehicle ahead. Me too. Glad for this long-awaited vacation. Glad for our glorious country. Glad for the Preacher at the wheel. Glad for travelling mercies. Glad for pleasant days spent with our son. Glad for the expected reunion with Dad and other relatives.
A more lasting present accompanies the gift of every vacation 鈥� the opportunity to make precious memories. My vacation 鈥� and yours too 鈥� will pass, but our memories we get to keep.
The tag reads: With love from God, giver of every good and perfect gift.
Thank you, Lord 鈥� for each one.
