It was the fall of 2006. I had been asked to come to the town of Rock Creek, half way across the province of British Columbia right down by the US border. The community had paid my expenses to come and speak to them about Court Watch, a program I used to endorse as a police officer. Happy to accept the offer, I took the opportunity to visit friends just east of Midway. It was a beautiful clear fall season and my short “business” trip was punctuated by great walks through the hills. I enjoyed fabulous meals, friendship with the Robb’s, whose getaway log house I stayed in, and just generally languishing in the serenity of the place. I spent time too with my friends Pat and Cathy at their little log cabin in the hills, so to say that I was relaxed and at peace when I drove home a few days later would be an understatement.
I was alone for this trip. Joy had stayed in Gibsons. I left the Robb’s at about five on a morning that promised to bring the quintessential fall day. It was clear, just a bit crisp, and the fall colours embraced the valleys as I headed west. At about eight in the morning I was driving through the small town of Keromeos. This community is situated right on the highway at the base of the imposing slopes of huge hills to its north. Its geography means that Keromeos is a hot, dry climate. As such it is the ideal area to grow fruits and vegetables. The community itself must look like a patchwork quilt from the air, the fence lines providing the “stitching” between the varied, multicoloured fields of produce. Lined with numerous fruit and vegetable stands, the highway slices the community in two. These small businesses are a must stop, particularly at this time of year, for any transient to dally and sample the bounty of the season. That’s what the name of Keromeos conjures in one’s mind at the very mention if its name. It is the place of wonderful, tasty fruits and vegetables. I obeyed the unwritten demand of the place and stopped to buy some produce at one of the stands at the west end of town.
As I walked back to my car with a box of squash, the morning sun glinted off the pumpkins stacked high beside the building. The flash of colour, the peacefulness of the time, and the sheer joy of just experiencing the day all created the moment. It was one of those times when a painting called to me. I have never been one to paint a still life, yet this composition was compelling. It demanded my attention. And so, I took the time to get my camera and take the shot. A few weeks later the painting was done, and it will always foster fond memories for me, memories of that perfect fall day as I drove half way across the province of British Columbia.
It’s a simple painting of a simple subject, but it speaks to me. It’s simply called “PUMPKIN MOUNTAIN”.
