When Jordan suggested an over-night trip to Victoria for our anniversary, I knew immediately the one thing we had to do: visit the E.J. Hughes art exhibit. I have been enchanted by his paintings from the first time I saw his yellow and orange tugboats.

            The essence of a true road trip is to remain flexible, making spontaneous stops at places you have often driven past, telling yourself that someday you will actually stop.

But our first order of business was to finally get me a BC driver’s license. Well, sort of! Apparently, when you first become a resident of BC, they only let you have a two-year license. If you are very good, they will let you then turn it in for a regular one.

            Only slightly indignant, we were soon on our way to Victoria via Mill Bay and Butchart Gardens. Suddenly, Jordan changed gears, and headed into Ladysmith. He thought it would be neat to see where the Sounder is printed. Unfortunately, it was lunchtime, and we didn’t get to hear the exciting sound of presses turning, but we did get a copy of the paper, hot off the press. 

            Off to Mill Bay and the ferry, but some things are best done with some planning (and a schedule.) Taking a small ferry is one of them. With growling stomachs, we decided to skip ferry and garden, opting for lunch instead. I was also starting to worry that we wouldn’t have time to get to the gallery before it closed at five.

            As we were cruising up the Malahat, we saw the Malahat Mountain Inn and unanimously decided that we would stop there for lunch. You have to be capable of making sudden and unanimous decisions on the road; a busy highway is not the best place for a family meeting. We had a lovely lunch with that spectacular view of the Saanich Inlet and we would have liked to linger, but the day was getting on.

            Memo to myself: Self, make sure that you have a detailed map of Victoria the next time you go.

            The art gallery was not actually that hard to find; it was the sudden detour we took. As we were driving down Fort Street, I spotted a brilliant blue kitchen stool on the sidewalk of a second-hand store. Jordan and I have a penchant for old kitchen stools, the ones that have layers of paint. From a moving car, this appeared to be a primo specimen. By the time Jordan had figured out that I was screaming, “Stool! Stool!” we had driven several blocks past. After a fewl wrong turns, we found ourselves in front of the right store, parked in a quasi-legal spot. My fine eye for junk had not failed me, and the stool proved to be a keeper.

            Finally, we arrive at the art gallery. The show was everything I thought it would be. It was more than a show of fine works of art, it was also a personal stroll through this brilliant man’s life, from his beginning years, through the war years and his tugboat years, right up to his more pastel current works. I was intrigued with his detailed pencil sketches with the copious lettering, codes used to recall colours later when he rendered the finished piece. I was very moved by his paintings from the war years; there was something very dark and almost frightening about them. But I was most infatuated with his ferries, tugboats, and detailed harbour scenes. I read that this style of painting is called “primitivism.” I am sure this must mean that the paintings are meant to stir our most primitive emotions.

            As we were leaving, the receptionist told us that Hughes had been at the gallery that afternoon. He had arrived with two other men, one of whom came over and purchased tickets for all three. She told us he doesn’t like people to know he is there and make a fuss over him. I had to wonder if we would have met him if we hadn’t made so many stops along the way.

We finished our anniversary with some shopping, treating ourselves to a fabulous dinner and dancing until late to the not-so-Irish blues band playing in our hotel’s pub.

            We woke next morning to the howl of that crazy windstorm. Undaunted, we pushed our way through the rain to Capital Ironworks, one of our favourite shops. When shopping there, it is wise to repeat these words to yourself: If you don’t need it, it isn’t a bargain. This will prevent you from walking out with bags of cute but unnecessary stuff.

            Due to weather, we didn’t even consider going to Butchart Gardens, but headed out of the city. We remembered to stop into Whippletree Junction, a cluster of interesting shops near Duncan, and I discovered the wonderful yarn shop. I couldn’t wait to get home and start my new sweater, having decided to move beyond dishcloths.

            We arrived home to a power outage, and it didn’t seem like a wise move to start a new knitting project. And so, by candlelight, I revisited the Hughes exhibit in the book we had purchased, reading the stories behind his pieces until I had a headache from the flickering light.

            Ah, yes, another anniversary well spent!