The deep, landlocked fjord

Sun lifts from a low eastern hill, a warm honey ooze that seeps down the slope to settle on the shoreline, then the lake. The surface shifts from ebony blue to emerald. One more moment and the water’s Olympian, a bronzy glimmer of silver and gold, leaves the deep, landlocked fjord surrounded by dusty brown and green, to reflect a shimmering sky.

The stretched crook of water has lain in the valley since before the First People arrived, before coyote, salmon, or bear. Gradually, life prospered – bitterroot, Saskatoon berry, ponderosa and maple, bunchgrass and cacti, with sunflowers bursting in lemon – as the lake, this last remnant of glacier, made its arduous way to the south before turning west, to meld with a slow-rising sea.

Seasons transpire. And a boy wakes in his bed, the first sound of the day a mourning dove. Its melancholy ah-ooo-ooo-ooo emanates from above the boy’s home, a compact house nestled next to the lake. Despite the sorrowful timbre and pulse, it’s a soothing song to the boy. A comfort. Something he associates with a Sunday.

First spoken language

The now brings me back to this area named for its first spoken language, nsyilxcən. Okanagan. And the body of water called kɬúsx̌nítkw. Okanagan Lake, or Lake Okanagan. It centres on this broad glacial valley, running mostly north-south with a jog partway down, creating a continuous freshwater shore that boasts an endless array of sunrises and sunsets.

As you’ve no doubt deduced, I am that boy. And the man. Although Vancouver and Vancouver Island are where I reside, the Okanagan is my original home. Where I spent the first twenty years of my life. Next to that watery spear, piercing the heart of the region.

Having spent a season on Vancouver Island, which I shared in a previous book (A Season on Vancouver Island), I found that region to be another new home. The island is now as much a part of me as memories of growing up by the long, crooked lake in south-central B.C. Although Lake Okanagan dominates the interior valley, countless pools and ponds accompany the dominant body of water. Kalamalka and Wood lakes, Skaha, Vaseux and Osoyoos. Not to mention high and low tarns, home to sunfish and trout, a few bass and perch, thick scaly carp, and pink-fleshed, landlocked salmon called kokanee.

Four separate seasons

Something I’d hear growing up, shared with pride, is that the Okanagan enjoys four separate seasons. Each timeframe is distinct and appealing. From an abundance of apples and pears in the autumn, to snowy winters that keep skiers happy, to sunflowers in spring, to what may be the star of the seasonal show, glorious sunny, hot summers. A time when each lake becomes its own playground, a place for picnics and boating and swimming.

It would be a few years before I learned of the Four Food Chiefs, a precious land-balance synonymous with the seasons. I still associate this time of year with returning to school, college, a “proper job.” Time of transition, impossible to dress for, every item of clothing like Goldilocks oatmeal. But now, with car windows open, I recognize the season’s aroma as leaves turn, changing colour and wilting, eager to melt into the earth. A time of fall fairs and harvest, pumpkins and gourds. Costumes for trick-or-treating.