It was with mixed feelings: sentiments towards the house, the garden, and all the work we've put into it alongside excitement for closing a chapter and opening a new one. As we closed in on getting every last thing out of the house it became very evident that change was imminent and things would not be the same - ever. I noticed a cedar at the top of the hill that we planted a few years ago, now five feet tall, and the alders by the front bridge, now 20 feet tall, seedlings when we moved in. I noted the creeks changing morphology, and the restoration work we've done just in the past year that has begun to flourish. A part of me questions why I would leave the paradise we've built, and then I recall the restlessness stirring within me, the desire to see new places and collect new experiences.
After the final goodbye to the house, and tying up loose ends in town, we paid our final tribute to the salmon at the Kennedy Creek Salmon Trail. They return to the stream throughout the month of November. A few years back I did research on salmon and Kennedy Creek (since its upstream portion is in my backyard), and I've done many wanderings, drawings, photographs, and wadings in these waters, so the creek and the falls are very close to my heart.
I've been here at the cusp of October/November before only to find a couple chum here and there, but with the rains we've had in the last couple of weeks, I had a feeling the fish would have started swimming upstream. In my favorite viewing area there were many courting pairs.
My most vivid revelation was that the fish we saw today were likely from the eggs that hatched the year we moved in to the house: chum typically return to their home streams to spawn between 3-5 years of age. It gave me a sense of closure, and acknowledgment that a new page is turning. Salmon not only contribute to ecosystem health in the literal sense, but embody a metaphorical story of life in their ageless cycle in the Pacific Northwest.
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