What I brought back from Gibson Island, besides stories of some amazing, beautiful, strong women:
this 2-1/2 lb. chunk of rose quartz. I would think twice about taking it today. Back then, it was a tangible symbol of the powerful feminine for me. Today when I picked it up to photograph, it had the same weighty presence, iridescence, soft color, sharp edges. Perhaps even a ghost of the spider egg casings that I found clinging to it 30 years ago.
This photo surfaced today on FB, taking me back 30 years. A women's canoe trip led by Britta Wolfert. Taken near our camp on tiny Gibson Island, in the north channel of Lake Huron, Ontario. I am on the left and Carrie is on the right, clearly ecstatic under a rainbow. We look as if we are airborne, and we could be.
17E to Blind River. Canoe Blind River to Lally Point.
Still at Lally Point. Water too rough - sun beginning to peek out. (We see) Jeff's canoes rounding Gibson and Sanford Islands. Expects to see us at Gibson?
Lally Point to Gibson. Walked all around the island first. Set up camp. Canoe to Sanford's bay to collect wood and water. Choppy waters and a few whitecaps 2-3 ft., back to Gibson. A mite intimidating. Gibson a safe haven, already feels like home.
Drizzly warm morning on the edge of the dream realm, remembering the moonrise. A glorious morning and a wandering night. At peace, I know who I can rely upon. Om.