Cheryl left this morning on her scooter. A cheery and funky North Van bikeshevik, she pitched her big yellow tent on a platform and relished the rain and the deer bounding through the forest.

Wendy is still here, a brisk British “karma yogi” who finished a stint at Hollyhock and then stayed in the cabin for two weeks in exchange for cleaning and chores. She leaves tomorrow, and Lisa Quinn and bf arrive from Seattle. Betty is here in the Royal Lama Suite, making the most of our mission statement – draped in a brightly striped blanket she meditates in the Hall for hours every day, explores the island, eats bowls of good food and gazes calmly at the sky.

Terry came and went, by bike, cresting a loop up the Sunshine Coast and down-Island to Victoria. We talked as ever and at great length, over halibut burgers in Squirrel Cove – of shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings.

Ben West of the Wilderness arrived, decompressed mightily, and thumbed out yesterday. He ended up hitchhiking all the way to Nanaimo in wet shoes, and wrote a new poem in an underpass near Courtney. Watch for some of his dharmic adventures in a Bicycle Buddha guest post, coming soon.

And last night, Dan came back. In his well-travelled car, with kayak, canoe and bike bristling on the roof like fancy antlers. Dan of Manitoba, who helped build our beautiful new shower hut in June, on a rambling woofffer tour of self-discovery. He has bright eyes and a shiny shaved head. He is comfy in the middle gompa room, bravely attending to his inner compass.

This is when I remember why I am here. To sweep up a room and open the door, make a pot of tea and offer another pillow. I do what I can, and that is enough.