Life's a Stitch

Going on a treasure hunt

The first time C lost his wedding ring, it wasn't a big deal. It was six months after the fact and we had bought the cheapest gold band possible, anticipating a time when we could find something he really wanted. It took him 20 years. On that special anniversary, we agreed no gifts. He surprised me with one of those sets of Matryoshka-like boxes in a box, each one diminishing in size. In the last one was a wedding ring. For him. Sweet man, he knew it bugged me that it took 19.5 years to replace the first one. This one was (was is the key word) a double eagle design in yellow gold, carved by a Squamish band artist.

Two decades later, the second time C lost his wedding ring, it was more painful for both of us. It started out as a real treasure hunt for me, a combination of geocaching and mushrooming on one of my favourite lakeside trails.

Back up a day. Having lunch with friends we noticed C "wearing" his ring on his pinkie. You see, it had become bent out of shape carrying boxes during our move. Two of us mentioned "you're going to lose that ring." Was it prophesy or, as an former coworker used to say, tempting the devil? Because sure enough, when we arrived home the next day, he noticed the absence of gold on his hand. 

He was sure it happened while I was geocaching and he went ahead to raid a patch of wood ear mushrooms we had noticed along the trail.

While searching he stepped in a soft patch of muck from an underground spring, and while extending his hand for balance, it, too, became sucked up to his elbow by mud. That's where, he figured, he lost the ring. When he went back to look, he triggered a mini mudslide, inadvertently committing his gold deeper into the earth.

While checking our "lost" ad on Craig's List I noticed a posting for The Ring Finders - Metal Detecting Service. How cool is that? Right up my geocaching, mushrooming aka treasure hunting alley. On the phone with Bill, he explained that the ground is constantly shifting, and the sooner you search, the higher the success rate. That meant that the ring could be deeper yet into the mire. So when we met with him and his wife, Laura, it was almost three weeks after the fact. We signed the contract, specifying the reward we'd offer if the ring was found. 

We asked the usual newbie metal detecting question:

What was your most interesting find?

A load (or would that be lode) of silver, in the form of bars, that a guy had buried in the forest many years prior, the spot marked with a piece of concrete. Turns out his second wife buried a pet possum in the woods and noticed an odd piece of concrete on the ground and placed it to mark the grave. Oopsie, she was unaware of the intent rock's original position. 

Bill told us of a very common scenario, the ring chucked in anger. Laura confirmed, you would not believe how many of those calls they get. He does his best to re-enact the scene for an accurate search, giving the person a fake ring to throw in anger, just as they did the first time, and scanning the area where it lands.

We gave it our best efforts, C digging shovels full of heavy wet claylike soil, Bill scanning the ground, me cheering them on. They checked the lake where C washed the mud from his hands, to no avail.

That ring is truly recommitted to the earth. So we gave Bill a contribution for his effort and accepted that it was a lost cause. Insult to injury: I burnt the mushrooms while dehydrating them. Many lessons learned that day.

 

 

 

Success at 621 days!

We did it, 621 days after moving out of the house in the rain forest, and after 352 days of demolition and reconstruction, we've received our official occupancy permit. The only stipulation is the requirement for a front door peephole or security camera. I appreciate the intent, but when did that become building code?

The sky is so big from the upper level family room and deck, it takes my breath away: 

My second favourite room:

Look carefully - we found a home for my Scottie collection, visible from both inside and out. The parade will continue across the three windowsills on that level: 

The interior rock and cedar wall mirrors the outside of the house, both Chuck's design.

Although we have a lot of work ahead of us unpacking and organizing, it feels wonderful (I'll let you know if that gets tempered after the final bills are in), but we're most grateful that we had the opportunity to land in the town of our dreams. We're taking reservations for visitors.

 

 

Seagull poop or toothpaste spit?

Renovations require decisions based on tiny samples. Think little squares of counter tops, paint chips and rectangles of flooring. In our case it all worked out...except for the main floor powder room. The one most used by visitors. I was expecting a black background with random sparkly bits, but there were random miscommunications in this project, this one more notable than others.

It looks to me like black and grey speckled rock with hints of rust, splattered by a passing seagull. Quite appropriate, though, for a beach community. My daughter told me it didn’t look too bad in general, but the white splotches looked like toothpaste spit. Lovely.

Where we really did well countertop wise, is in our walk-out basement suite. Despite discouragement from our builder, we reused the houses’s original kitchen cabinets along with its blue pearl granite counters. The island is on casters for the option of instantly changing the kitchen layout.

Those counters successfully survived removal, multiple relocations including a stint outside in the dead of winter, and recutting. Reusing them cost less than installing Formica. Wish there had been enough for the powder room.