Free Hundreds and Thousands by Emily Carr Page B

into motors; snorts and dust clouds are increasing. Two Boston terriers that have been tied up all day are worn out with squealing and only give piercing wailing, yelping whines at intervals. Mrs. “Pop Shop” has subsided into her wicker chair on the platform behind the pop booth. She is very fat and billows all over it. I can see the tired sag of her fatfrom here. I haven’t heard one person, no child or anyone, laugh today. They rush and tear to get, but don’t stop to enjoy the getting. I’m longing to paint. Why don’t I? I must go into my closet and shut the door, shut out Henry and camp cooking and visitors and food and drink and let the calm of the woods where the spirit of God dwells fill me, and these ropes that bind my hands and the films before my eyes fade away, and become conscious of the oneness of all life, God and me and the trees and creatures. Oh, to breathe it into one’s system deeply and vitally, to wake from sleep and to live.
AUGUST 31ST
    A wet day in camp. The rain pattered on the top of the Elephant all night. Mrs. “Pop Shop” and I went for our nightly dip in the river. It was cold and took courage and much squealing and knee-shaking. Neither of us has the pluck to exhibit the bulges of our fat before the youngsters, so we “mermaid” after dark. I dare not
run
back; the footing among the cedars is ribbed with big roots. One’s feet must pick and one’s eyes must peer through the dim obscurity of the great cedars and maples. Once inside the Elephant, scrubbed down with a hard brush and cuddled up to a hot bottle, I thought I loved the whole world, I felt so good. But last night as I stood in my nightie and cap, a male voice made a howl and a male head thrust into the van. Well, all the love and charity fled from my soul. I was red hot and demanded his wants. By this time the dogs were in an uproar and I couldn’t hear his answer. Finally I caught, “Can I get any bread?” “No,” I replied tartly, “The shop is shut out there.” He disappeared in the night and then I felt a beast and ran to the door to offer him what I had in camp but he had vanished, swallowed up in theblack night. I might have been more tolerant, but I hate my privacy being torn up by the roots. I thought of that one word “bread” every time I awoke.
    At 6 a.m. we got up and climbed the mountain to a nursery garden. The little woman was a wonder — five babies under five years and yet she was smart and active. By 7:30 her house was all in order, baby washed and being fed. She is the kind who ought to have a family; they don’t annoy or worry her. The whole place spoke of thrift and contentment. I did admire that woman and family.
SEPTEMBER 5TH
    It started to rain last night and has rained all day. I packed Henry off home because his shelter was too slim. Anyhow he has had two good weeks. I had spent all day rearranging the camp for rain and snugging it up. I moved the “Monarch” range up close in front of the awning. The great cedar hangs over it and sheds off the rain. Woo in its innards is dry and cosy. She loves her cedar home. The woods are delightful in the rain, heavily veiled in mystery. They are delicious to
all
the senses but most to the smell. An owl came and sat on my cedar beside the fire. How I love it when the wild creatures pal up that way! The van is cosy, come rain, come shine, and all is well. Now Henry is gone I hope to try and work. Perhaps it wasn’t Henry; maybe it was me. I care much too much for creature comforts and keeping the camp cosy and tidy. It seems necessary, especially with all the creatures. Mrs. Giles, the nursery woman, said that when her small boys went home and reported that there was a lady in the Flats in a house on wheels, with four dogs, a monkey and a rat, and a hopping boy, she thought it must be a section of a circus or travellingshow. They also reported that when they came into my camp I chased them all off with a broom. I believe I was considerably