Once I was back in Vancouver, I got tacos with Nigel and went backpack shopping at MEC. I needed something to use as a carryon so that I wouldn’t be charged for an overweight suitcase again, and Nigel helped me find the perfect one :) Though I mostly picked it because it was a pretty turquoise colour, if I’m being honest.

So after repacking my suitcase and enjoying a cup of tea on Nigels balcony, it was time to hit the road again. This little nomad was L.A. bound. Being that I was still feeling a bit nasal-y, the landing was less than enjoyable. It felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head, and it took about 2-3 hours after landing before my ears adjusted.

After collecting my luggage though, I headed to the shuttle area to get my rental car. I ended up going with Sixt for whatever reason but I lied about a couple things. According to the policies, you have to have your license for at lease a year before you can rent a car, also, if you’re under 25, which I am, you have to pay an additional daily fee. Well I guess they didn’t cross check my application and the info on my driver’s license because none of that stuff came up! A quick call to my mom in Toronto for insurance info, at what would have been like 1am her time, and I was in business. The keys to a black Toyota Camry were all mine!

Now it was time to figure out where I was sleeping that night :/ this is where “flying by the seat of my pants” comes to bite me in the ass. Thankfully I know a lot of people in L.A. (lies) so I messaged my dear friend Cory to see if I could crash on his couch, turns out that was not an option, so I called an old friend that I’d met at TIFF a couple years previously and luckily he was awake an had a couch for me to crash on. I seriously debated booking a hotel, but I was too scared to stay at a sketchy motel alone as a female, and the hotels I recognized were HELLA expensive. The whole being a girl, alone, in a strange city, at night, also produced enough fear for me to rule out sleeping in my car.

The baggage weight capacity for the float plane to Thetis Island was 39lbs; knowing that my bag had weighed in at 59lbs made me eternally grateful for Nigel’s generosity in letting me borrow a small backpack, then again I may have told him I was borrowing a backpack, either way, THANKS NIGEL :D

I made my way to the float planes and hopped into the passenger seat to play co-pilot for the next 20 minutes.

As we took off from the ocean water and glided gracefully over a number of the tiny Vancouver islands I said to the pilot, “You have the best job in the world!” “I stopped working 60 years ago,” he replied. This was clearly his passion; I knew I was in good hands.

We reached the bay at Thetis Island and landed gracefully despite the rough waters below. I went into the marina to wait for my Uncle Dave to pick me up, and enjoyed a hot toddy made with Jameson in the meantime.

Meeting Uncle Dave and Auntie Doreen was by far one of the most incredible experiences. It was meaningful on a level that I can’t quite explain, though as I attempt to do so, my eyes well up with tears the same way they did as I said goodbye 24 hours later.

I think it’s time I tell you a little story.

Many moons ago, I received a mysterious Facebook message from a kind stranger. Her name was Heather Tremblay. From what I remember, she said something along the lines of, “If your dad’s name is Barry Chambers, and his mother’s name is Evelyn Trueman, than you’re the Keegan I think you are, and we’re related!” And sure enough, we were. This moment changed my life forever. Soon after, there was an event in the Niagara region honouring Joseph Trueman (My granny's uncle), along with many other individuals who had died in the line of duty while working as a police officer in the Niagara region over the years. It was there that I finally got to meet Heather and her three kids, who were about my age, as well as another relative, Joy Fera. (That’s the Joy I stayed with a few days ago) Without getting into the whole family tree (which dates back to the 1700’s) I’ll explain by telling you that Joy & Uncle Dave’s grandmother (Matilda Trueman) was the sister of my Great Grandfather (Hugh Trueman). Uncle Dave is also Heather’s Dad, so when she saw that I was frolicking about the Vancouver region, she suggested I reach out to him and see if a visit would be feasible, so I did, and it was.

When I met him, I suddenly understood where Heather had inherited her warm heart and friendly nature, and where my cousins had inherited their height and good looks. His current passion is cycling though at one time he did weigh in at 275lbs when he was crushing it in shot put.

When we got back to the house, I had the pleasure of meeting the love of his life, Auntie Doreen. This woman lights up the room, let me tell ya. Her smile is contagious, and her memory is sharper than that of an elephant. They told me stories of their trips across the U.S. on a tandem bike, and when they looked into each others eyes, I swear the house filled with a warmth that could have burst through the cracks of the wooden cabin they’d built with their own two hands. As Doreen instructed, step by step, Dave began carrying out the recipe for dinner. As he got all the ingredients together, he asked, “Do you like potatoes?”, to which I replied, “I’m Irish! I love potatoes!” So we had salmon, salad, and mashed potatoes. I have to say between this salmon and Steve’s salmon, BC salmon is the shit. Simply put: nothing compares.

As we enjoyed a meal together, Dave mentioned that his romance with Doreen started 60 years ago, and with the utmost confidence he said, “if anyone ever tells you there’s no such thing as true love,” and he looked at Doreen, “you just give them my phone number.” My heart melted. I could have wept right there at the dinner table. Truthfully, it took quite a bit to hold back the waterworks. It was just the most beautiful and honest moment. It gave me hope, and it truly convinced me, in that moment, that true love does exist. That two people can be meant to spend their lives together, and that they can be happy together until death do them part.

I had another moment of clarity and introspection when Dave and I went for a short hike. Walking through the trees as the midday light danced upon the vegetation below, we had almost reached the peak of the hike when we came across a sign and a barrier stating that logging could occur at any time. It was devastating, especially having just spoken about the community’s initiative to buy 44 acres of land to be preserved on the Island. There are only 350 residents on Thetis Island. It’s a pretty small community but they’re tight and connected the way the staff at a restaurant are connected. They support and take care of each other; they celebrate their milestones and achievements, and come together to support those who need it in moments of despair.

On the way back down from the hike I learned that Uncle Dave was an editor at the Toronto Star for 25 years. When I told him that I also enjoy writing, he said, “what are you trying to say?” I was taken aback at first as I realized how important the answer to that question was, and how I’d never thought to ask myself or answer it before. My response was that I want to tell stories. Mostly because I think it’ll be super cool to read about my adventures many years later, but also because I think we can learn a lot from telling stories. Think about it, I mean, we watch stories on TV, in movies and in plays, we read stories in books, we listen to stories in music, we read people’s body language as it tells us a story, and we learn from everything. Whether conscious or subconscious. We take it in and internalize it. We draw meaning from it. We apply it to our own lives and it then affects how we live and act and love. And it’s just as important to tell our story as it is to listen to the stories of others. What is a life lived if not a story to share with the rest of the world. There is wisdom to be gained from everyone’s story, no matter how young or how old. Though I will say, there is some texture and truth that comes from stories told later in life.

The Absent Minded Professor