Written by Julie A. Ferraro
Contemplative in Residence for the Hermitage Society 2024-2025
When I arrived at the Brandt Oyster River Hermitage on November 2, 2024, as the first “contemplative-in-residence”, I was pleasantly surprised by the deer grazing on a selection of underbrush to the east of the dwelling. It stared at me as I stood on the back deck, not exactly welcoming, but not hostile.
I saw this as a harbinger of things to come.
Within days, my camera caught a much younger deer stretching to munch on some leaves in the same area. As the rapids on the Oyster River provided a constant symphony, I settled in to a routine of writing in the morning and watching the sunrise.
Except, most days, that sunrise was hidden by thick clouds and rain.
Through what can be called the “winter months” on Vancouver Island’s eastern shore, rain proved a near-constant, with sunny days a rarity. The temperatures weren’t uncomfortably cold, but I couldn’t get outside to interact with nature as I’d initially hoped to do.
And the deer – wisely – kept to the shelter of the massive trees on the property as the rain poured down, as well (I guess, because I didn’t see them after those first couple interactions).
I learned patience from all that rain, the patience of expectation that the sun will again shine and dry out the ground so it’s possible to walk to the post box without bringing back a plentiful coat of mud on my hiking boots.
That, in itself, was another source for learning patience: the Canada Post strike that ran from mid-November to mid-December. I hadn’t expected much in the way of mail while at the Hermitage, but having it delayed for nearly two months due to the tremendous national backlog raised an awareness in me of how inter-dependent human beings are on each other, and confirmed my belief of how we must treat each other fairly and with respect – whether regarding wages for labour performed or cultural and lifestyle differences.
Oddly enough, the constant rains ceased for awhile in January, to be followed in February by the one and only snow of the season – about 8 inches. Watching the flakes fall was a delight, combined with the fact that I wouldn’t have to shovel any of it. (Coming originally from northern Indiana, such heavy snows had been a bane rather than a blessing, living on a corner lot with ample sidewalks to be cleared!)
Then, the cycle of rains commenced anew, and I settled in once more to my patient waiting for the sun – which came back in force just the week before my departure!
I am grateful for my time at the Hermitage, and the lessons in patience that living there taught me. I hope that future contemplatives-in-residence have an equally intense and invigorating experience!