by Mark Callan
Whitecaps. My brothers and I would always notice them in the distance. The black water darkening along with the sky. Distant thunder. The smell of rain and the cool breath of the wind slowly growing. Panic in the yard, putting things away before the storm arrived.
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A white flannel sheet, a length of yellow nylon rope, some cedar trees between us and the Smiths. Nothing solid, nothing sturdy but solace from the storm nonetheless. I waited for this. I revelled in this--the peace in the chaos, protected by a bedsheet.
I gave myself to it, to go through it. My life was easy. Was I seeking hardship? Was I not strong enough? Throughout my life, these safe and silent places in the maelstrom of the wild made me feel alive. My tent almost blew into the Atlantic Ocean off Cape Breton once, but I braced my back against the wind and the tent held fast. My truck flipped over several times on a logging road in Northern Ontario, but I held on tight to the steering wheel and walked away without a scratch. I fell down a mountain headfirst and landed on a rock with a heavy pack on my back. Then I hiked out of there, got the boat started, steered it back across the lake and then drove an hour to the hospital.
In 2009, cancer ate my brain and crippled me, stole things from me and also gave me safety in a family, and solace in a community and in myself. As I face cancer again in 2024, I am fortunate to have once again landed in the refuge of Callanish. The maelstrom rages but I feel as safe as I did when I was protected by a flannel sheet whipping across a yellow rope.
Mark Callan lives in Whitehorse with his wife Meghan and his three kids Hadley, Claire and Nolan. He was first introduced to Callanish in 2009 and facing a recurrence, came back into the fold in late 2024. His cancer is again in remission.