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Vista

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I really do hope that I am not going to turn into a massive bore about this, but one of the most splendid features of our new North Saanich home is the view from the reception rooms and the master bedroom of the sea and the mountains. Just to clarify with regard to our location – we are on the east side of the Saanich peninsula – facing east. Our view is of Bazan Bay and of the most southerly of the Gulf Islands, and thence on to the American coast beyond the Georgia Strait.

The garden is well screened by trees and mature shrubs which gives the property a blissfully private feel, but there are also two significant openings through which the vistas are revealed. Through the southern of these can be seen Mount Baker – more than 70 miles away on the American mainland. If – when I get up in the morning –  the sun is showcasing the mountain in glorious silhouette it is virtually impossible not to want to take yet another picture of it…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidThe northern opening looks out over Bazan Bay, with Sidney to one side and Sidney Spit to the other. This view is also extremely pretty in the morning light, but also regularly features the Anacortes ferry – threading its way from Sidney out through the islands to the American coast – and flotillas of yachts of a wide variety of sizes enjoying the sunshine and the peaceful waters.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid Photo by Andy Dawson Reid Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe full moon a couple of nights back demonstrated that it is not only the sun that can reveal this landscape in all its glory.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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I am one of those people for whom a vista – a distant prospect – is of considerable import, whether I be in my own home or off traveling. For as long as has been possible – in other words, ever since I could afford so to do – I have chosen to live in a domicile with a view.

I feel sure that someone, somewhere, has written a learned treatise on just why human instinct seems – for most of us at any rate – to be thus inclined. I would be surprised if this disquisition did not posit the survival instinct as probable cause – the desire to live on a hilltop that one might better recognise approaching danger.

The poet’s cynosure might lie elsewhere – perhaps on the notion that gazing upon a distant panorama is in fact emblematic of our longing for the unobtainable – for that which is beyond our reach – and that the resultant wistful longing tugs at our heart-strings in a manner that we find strangely gratifying.

As I say – I am sure that there have been studies of this phenomenon. I – however – could not find one and you will have to make do instead with one of my favourite poets…

Into my heart an air that kills,
From yon far country blows.
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain.
The happy highways where I went,
And cannot come again.

A. E. Housman

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

 

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