I drive along North Road towards the south end of the island, and note with some annoyance that a vehicle a ways ahead of me has stopped, in the middle of the *#$%^@! road, for no apparent reason. On the other side of the road, a white truck is backing up to get back to the stopped car. Both drivers roll down their windows to have a chat. Nobody pulls over, because we chat in the middle of the road on Gabriola, even if there’s somebody waiting.

After saying few choice words under my breath, I’m thinking that I should try to cultivate kind thoughts about this display of neighbourly friendliness. Then I notice that the guy who backed up is ______, who did some work for us, did a show-stopping favour for us at the same time, and has been much treasured ever since. I’m going to make him a scrumptious thing next summer, though he doesn’t know it yet.

My heart thaws, imagining that he’s backed up to say hello to his wife or a long-lost friend. I’m not grumpy anymore. I like Gabriola’s community, and I’ve been here long enough that I can chill for a few minutes while people take the whole road to greet each other. Take your time, ______, take your time.

(In spite of the marshmallow-hearted nature of this post, I will have to drown you if you use this story in a Gabriola tourism brochure.)