Old Farm Bed & Breakfast Indian Summer on Vancouver Island

Spanning an area as vast as Belgium, Vancouver Island is a mosaic of histories, once whispered by the rivers and echoed through the forests. It’s a place where one might wonder if the spirits of the First Nations still linger, their essence interwoven with the very air.

In stark contrast stands the geniality of contemporary American society, where the winding roads seem almost at odds with the fiery hues of the autumn leaves. One ponders the existence of tourism amidst such untouched splendor and whether the wisdom of the First Nations, some residing in modest mobile homes, could unlock the deeper essence of this enchanting locale.

The journey begins with a bus ride from Vancouver City, followed by a serene ferry crossing to Nanaimo. The transition to the island life is as gentle as the climate, which graciously welcomes the Indian summer.

Barbara and George MacFarlane, the endearing hosts of the Old Farm B&B, greet visitors with warmth and simplicity. Their century-old abode is a testament to their laid-back and hospitable nature.

From the honeymoon suite, the view encompasses a tranquil bay and, in the distance, a stockpile of logs—a tangible reminder of Canada’s robust timber industry.

Over glasses of Cherry Point or Pinot Blanc Auxerrois, the couple recounts their odyssey to Vancouver Island. Barbara’s narrative begins in Zambia, where her father’s career as a copper mining engineer unfolded, while George reminisces about his days as a distinguished journalist in Toronto. For eight years, they have poured their hearts into their B&B in Cowichan Bay, ensuring every guest feels cherished and every breakfast is an affair to remember, complete with embroidered tablecloths and gleaming silverware.

Plans for a new kitchen are in the works, a dream that is both ambitious and costly. Barbara envisions it with fervor, and George, ever supportive, shares in the dream, though I sense the peril of hastening towards an investment for a fleeting desire.

At 78, George’s spirit remains youthful and his mind, ever curious. He engages in conversations with ease, coffee cup in hand, perched comfortably on the edge of the sofa. His presence adds a refreshing dimension to the cozy interiors and the immaculately kept garden.

Venture just 10 kilometers north to Duncan, a quaint town where totems stand tall, their stories etched in wood, proudly encircling the town center. As if on cue, a freight train, over a kilometer long, rumbles through, its horn echoing a bygone era, reminiscent of a scene straight out of Tintin’s adventures in America.

The MacFarlanes, embodying the Canadian wanderlust, are set to trade the winter chill for the balmy embrace of Hawaii’s beaches. In their stead, a pair of friends will hold the fort—an intriguing testament to the community’s camaraderie and trust.

Battling jet lag, I found solace in their “casibot,” a cozy, round, and sheltered terrace, at the break of dawn. Gazing out at the bay, I was transported back two decades to a time when, after a five-day trek, I encountered gold prospectors along Eagle Creek, nestled within Northern California’s Redwood Forest. It’s a reminder to savor the moment, to fully absorb the spirit of the place.

Cowichan Bay, a charming fishing hamlet, lies cradled by farms along the shoreline, all under the watchful gaze of the majestic Mt. Tzouhalem. Duncan’s growth spurt began with the arrival of the E&N Railway in 1887, transforming it into a beacon for small businesses and hopeful settlers.

Now, the railway station stands as a national treasure, while over 80 totem poles rise throughout the town, each a silent guardian of the legends, myths, and familial bonds of the Cowichan people.