The Trial Islands Lighthouse, built in 1906, continues to be staffed by two full-time lightkeepers. Photos by the author.
It was the middle of the night when Elizabeth?s husband died. Dark still when the funeral home came to take him away. I watched from the apartment over the garage, knowing what the commotion in the driveway meant, but still shocked when he was taken away. At the time, Elizabeth and her husband Brant were my landlords while I was living in British Columbia. She, drawn and overworked, and he, slowly evaporating as cancer worked him over. They were too young for it. That?s about all I knew.
Five years on I still live in the apartment above the garage when I?m in BC, the house now occupied by Elizabeth alone, Brant?s material things long packed off to find a new purpose. Even his cherished Harley-Davidson eventually rolled out of the garage and followed him down the driveway and up the road. I?ve watched Elizabeth slowly reanimate over these last few years. The smiles at last more ready than the tears. Our bond may have been forged that night Brant died, but our friendship was borne of smaller things: a hike here, a concert there, tea. And then, I brought home the Indian Roadmaster.
She?d always been interested in the motorcycles I?d show up on, but this particular bike touched her somewhere new, which I must say was the norm for the brashly nostalgic green-on-cream Roadmaster upon which I was busily racking up miles. It caused whole towns to swoon. She even...