Neighbourhood Folk - House Concert - Fall Equinox 2025 - Entry - Taking the Plunge - 2025 09 25 2/13

Lynn Canyon - 2005 03 03
- the cool, late afternoon light of early spring glancing off cold stream tossed boulders

 Entry - Taking the Plunge by Virginia Bowden

Well into the afternoon, on the day of the concert, I was reviewing my lists and checking what was left to do. It occurred to me that I was going to need introductory words to set expectations and get us all on the same page. Where to start?

Virginia brought this poem and shared it at our Neighbourhood Folk - First Sunday - September 2025. As soon as I thought of it, I knew it needed to be the cornerstone of my introductory words to set the stage for the house concert.

Today it is the 30th of September. A full week since I started this writing. It has taken me days and many hours to prepare to write this short piece. I had an idea of bringing in interleaving stories, of swimming, over generations, of women. Of our creative works, both domestic and artistic, that mark the passing of our lifetimes into our collective history. Of the importance of our creative works, no matter how polished or perfected, to be shared with people we trust to be kind, to be supportive, to be courageous.

I wanted to share my sister's story of swimming this summer off the sandstone shore of Protection Island. Of swimming far out into the deep water of the Salish Sea, and her feeling of connection to our departed Mom, who was also a swimmer. 

When we were children, our family would spend a month of the summer on Gabriola Island in a little converted cabin on Descanso Bay. Dad would be away at summer school and Mom would be looking after all six of us kids. We hauled water in buckets from the well, Mom cooked on a Coleman campstove, we built rafts and waited for the tide to come in to see if they would float. Once a day, once the tide was up high enough to avoid walking on the barnacles, my Mom would put on her white one-piece bathingsuit and her white bathing cap and wade into the cold, inky waters of Descanso Bay. She would push off and swim gently, gracefully, like a glistening sea creature. There was no splashing. She glided through the water using her effortless strokes of the Australian crawl. Some days she would swim to mushroom rock, pausing on the rock before diving back in to swim back to us. Rare days she would swim all the way to the ferry dock. She would climb out and then walk back, in her bare feet on the gravel road, all the way around the bay back to the cabin. We kids, usually a rambunctious, rowdy lot, we were quiet while Mom was swimming. Once she was back, dried off from her swim and changed back into her regular clothes, we were off again on our own adventures. 

My sister recalled these memories of Mom's great swims. I was always a little in awe of Mom's swimming in the bay because I had a fear of sea monsters and did not like going out too deep in the water for fear of long, sinuous tentacles reaching up from the kelp forest and pulling me down. My sister told me how it felt to be folded into the ocean's embrace, buoyed in the salty water, pulling herself through the waves and feeling attuned and close to Mom in that moment. Feeling like Mom was there with her, or, rather, that she was with Mom.

Virginia's poem reminds me of a legacy of women, over generations, swimming. The cold water grounding us and snapping us back from the day to day concerns of family, work, the tedium of chores and the uncertainty of life on earth. Feeling the strength of our arms, legs and breath, that we were strong enough to meet the challenges that wait for us on the shore.

Virginia's poem also evokes that sense of taking the plunge, no half measures, you are in, or you are out. In the case of this first house concert, it is about taking the plunge to make our creative work visible, to share it, to admit that we made something and we want to show it, that we hope you can appreciate our creative work and applaud our efforts.

Virginia's poem marks the beginning of a new phase in the work of Neighbourhood Folk. Of bringing our work forward, of bringing it front and centre, to share with our friends and family. In this case, our work is the music of our lives, our friends, our families, our generation. It is also the music of our time, of this moment in time. It is the music of previous generations who have weathered difficulties and survived, transformed, and evolved to be the people we are today.

We take the plunge to stand in front of our modest assembly and say, "Listen to this. I have been working on it for some time. It is a work in progress. I might make some mistakes, but it is worth listening to, nonetheless."

In this sense, we are inspired by our multi-generational households and neighbourhoods. We are inspired by our neighbours who are raising young children, weathering marriage difficulties, looking after elders, or managing through our own processes of aging. We are inspired by all our efforts to come to terms with what it means to be a caring human being in the world today.

People were arriving for the house concert. Some a little early, some on time, some a little late. All were welcome. We took the plunge together, to share creative works, to read poetry, sing songs, and tell the stories that bring the songs to life. Once we started, there was no going back. Once we started, we were a happy band of swimmers, jumping into the unknown of sharing our creative works and celebrating the moment of doing so.

Google Sites - Collected Works

Substack - Table of Contents