I'm going to tell you a secret and you must promise to keep it between us. It is a story of my sister, Maud.
My parents had a diverse group of friends; wild and wacky, they were a combination of boat people, firemen, artists and the off-beat drifters my mother has always liked to collect and invite to family dinners.
Two of their closest friends were Sue and George Fisher. George was a ginger-haired tugboat engineer with an easy laugh and a snail farm where he bred and sold BC's indigenous snails to overseas restaurants. Fascinated, I asked George to explain the secrets of the snail mating ritual in more detail so that I could use it as my science project at school. Henceforth, I set up an elaborate habitat in an old fish aquarium in Mom's kitchen and watched the maniacal little mollusks do their thing, taking detailed scientific notes. It was no surprise that I got an A. My teacher was astounded to know that not only are snails hermaphrodites, but foreplay in their sexy, slimy world, lasts between two to twelve hours! I suppose if you only move at 55 yards an hour and have been around for 60 million years, it should come as no surprise that you are a self-protective species fairly committed to reproduction. Even now when I see one of those inauspicious fellows cruise by at their steady pace I stop to give them a knowing look. But really, if Liza Minnelli can continue to benefit from a long line of suitors without public outcry, then who are we to deprive snails of the intense, prolonged lovefests they prefer?
Sue was an outrageous Aussie, with a booming voice that liked to shout things like, "Look at these calves, Barbara-Ann!! Have you ever seen more incredible calves?! I've been working out like a fiend and I feel FABULOUS!" Mom, no shy church mouse herself, could only make placating noises and smile at Sue, loathe to try and compete with such explosive Antipodean enthusiasm. Sue and George also had two red-headed teenaged sons that made my pre-teen heart swoon. The boys taught Morgan and I how to play Foosball in the back room and in an effort to gain Gorgeous Bradley's undying love I became the fiercest Foosball competitor the island has ever seen. Unfortunately, with hand-eye co-ordination that came naturally even at age 6, my pint sized brother shamed me in front of my true love's eyes. I blamed him when, by age 12, Bradley still hadn't proposed and my dream of three perfect mini-gingers was irreparably shattered.
So it was (and as with most boat people), Sue and George couldn't fathom living far from the ocean and had a beautiful home on the water in Lanztville, on Vancouver Island. They took full advantage of their fabulous pad and hosted regular, earth-shattering parties that lasted well into the night and echoed out across the bay, scaring the loons. Morgan and I were well used to these sorts of events, being the offspring of such social people, and had grown to love Sue and George's house. We taught our Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Juno how to play hide and seek among all the cars parked out on the back lawn beside the vegetable garden. We would tell him to sit, stay and close his eyes as we ran, frantic and giggling to find a spot where he'd never find us. Juno, being a intelligent fellow with a tracker's nose and keen sense of logic, would simply crouch down and peek under the entire group of cars, spotting us both immediately. Then the race would begin, the two of us crashing into side mirrors and bike racks as we tried to outrun Juno back to the house. We always lost and he always whined pitifully after, so stressed with the responsibility of not only protecting us from the Fisher's two villainous cats, but also not losing us on his watch. Why did we always try to escape?
It was on one such occasion when the true crux of this tale occurred. On an unseasonably warm evening in late November 1985, Sue and George hosted a huge family reunion. My parents, childhood friends, were in attendance and knew everyone there. After several hours, the party was noisy and crowded and people were spilling out onto the sand that jutted up to the front porch, claiming logs and starting beach fires. Alcohol was in abundant supply and the generous hosts were keeping everyone's glasses full. It was amid the din of a raucous sing-along and under a smudgy blue haze of BC bud, that some sharp-eyed guest first spotted furtive movements further down the shore. Much elbowing and shushing conspired to bring the whole group's attention to the tiny dinghy that was casting off the shore and stealthily heading out into the dark. The almost silent dips of the oars across the midnight-flat water were clearly heard on shore as it was a windless night under a full moon. Laughing and speculating, someone called for George and demanded he bring out his high-powered nautical telescope and sets of binoculars as it was now becoming clear where the cast-away lovers were headed.
Maud island lies a mere two kilometres from Lantzville and is home seals, sea birds, eagles, sea lions and many species of fish. The short journey off the beach is well worth it for true wilderness enthusiasts and perhaps this is the excuse they were planning to relay once they returned to the party. In any event - and to the eternal glee of twenty five of their closest friends - no excuse was necessary after all, as George's telescope captured in vivid detail the true motives behind my parents' escape. Though an outwardly charismatic and popular couple, they were certainly not the sort of people who could stomach witnesses to events of an amorous nature. Alas, their sincere wish to maintain their dignity under these inconceivable circumstances, was in vain. As their dinghy pulled back to the beach, they were surrounded by jovial, back-slapping well wishers and lewd winks. Their worst fears were made a reality.
The ripples of the evening did not end with their boat ride; nine and a half months later, on September 9, 1986, my sister Bridget was born. Already the butt of endless jokes, their friends begged them to name her Maud and though my parents briefly considered it, the embarrassment surrounding her conception was just too fresh to laugh about yet.
Regardless of the haphazard planning behind her arrival, Bridget became the freckle-faced jewel of our quirky family. One of the two loves of my life and a soul who presence I can't imagine the world without, she is precious beyond compare. We three are all as different as they come, Morgan, Maud and I, but we are bonded by a childhood of rich adventure and self-expression; sealed with a love cemented in our adult lives. We are a gift to our parents, but only because of them do we truly appreciate the complex nature of life and our places in it.
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