HOSPITALLER IN WAITING
By Susan Musgrave, Hollyhock Presenter. Write from the Heart.
A novel, called Sanctuary, contains this bit of wisdom “If you work on your mind with your mind, how can you avoid an immense confusion?” –Seng-Ts’an
My solution is to not work on my mind. I stare out the window instead, from my beautiful luminous house on the banks of the Sangan River on Haida Gwaii.
My home is my sanctuary. Tonight I am pickling sea asparagus picked from the banks of the river after I’d solemnized a marriage for a couple from Smithers. Eric wept through his vows: when they poured me a glass of champagne, to celebrate, I said to him, “You seem like a lovely person. If the marriage doesn’t work out, would you be available?”
My husband always told me I lack something called filters.
Gayle and Eric had planned to honeymoon in their camper. Two days after they’d wed, Gayle emailed asking if they could stop by for a visit. I don’t usually invite people into my sanctuary because I need my alone-time and, of course, my rest. My rest that is unrest, truthfully. How can a writer, trying to avoid her mind, ever succumb to rest?
My husband used to say I was the only person he knew who could pace while sitting down. It must be my Irish ancestry. “God rest him in his grave,” was something I heard so often, growing up, I thought the grave was the only place people ever went to rest.
As I resumed staring out at the falling rain, I wondered if Gayle had reached out because their marriage was falling apart prematurely, and how I could help. I wrote back offering them three nights at Copper Beech House as a wedding gift. They accepted right away. Their camper, it seemed, had sprung a leak, directly over their marital bunk.
Long before our modern system of hotels, and paying exorbitant prices for a place to lay your head, medieval Ireland operated under the native Gaelic legal system, Brehon Law. Hospitality, completely free for travellers, wasn’t just a polite suggestion; it was a strict legal and religious obligation.
Gaelic hospitallers were high-status landowners appointed to run open-door guest houses. Their kitchen fires were required to burn 24/7, with a massive cauldron permanently filled with fresh boar meat so that anyone arriving at any hour could be fed.
Hospitallers were entitled to maintain a staff of at least 100 labourers to run the estate. I knew there’d be a catch. Where would I find 100 labourers in Masset willing to work for a thin bowl of hog-jowl gruel once a day?
Eric and Gayle wrote in our guest book: “Our honeymoon stay in Cloud 9 was exactly that. The beauty and generosity of the land is reflected here at Copper Beach House. Thank you for creating such an unforgettable experience.”
This message meant more to me than any amount of money could ever have. Eric and Gayle brought out the inner hospitaller-in-waiting in me. God rest us all in our graves.
