Oyster Bay is located approximately half way up the east side of Vancouver Island.
It’s where my Father spent most of his teen years and the focal point of most everything that happened on his side of my family. It is the home of some of my fondest memories as well as some of things that never should have happened.
It’s forty acres that was farmed when Dad was young; by the time there were grandchildren, however, most of it had returned to forest and swamp. The outbuildings survived, full of all sorts of treasures: a tractor, old logging equipment and things that had drifted in with the tide.
The beach across the highway was where we would spend our summer vacations. The tide would go out for miles revealing pools full of fish, crabs, sea weed and geoducks to stomp.
It’s where we’ve celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, where weddings have taken place and where many of us will spend eternity.