Done.

A few items to note. The first is that we visited the Vancouver Island Exhibition yesterday. 125 years strong, this year promised to be fantastic. But, for us, it wasn’t. This may be a fact for several reasons . . .

We first visited two years ago. It must have been a Saturday night. Busy, bustling and full of food options. It was also Ribfest. Lots of barbeque brisket, pork, ribs. We were well fed. I remember standing surrounded by flood lights on the baseball diamond turned food truck festa. Carnival lights whizzing nearby. It was an exhibition to remember. That was 2017.

This year we took mum and dad. Year one-twenty-five promised to be good. We went on day one on the Friday afternoon. A few stands, less food trucks. We wandered about after chomping on a burger, pierogies and a steak burrito. Hmm. The Armstrong Fair or Interior Pacific Exhibition was more notable. Mind you, that fair changed over the years as well.

We made the most of the livestock displays and vintage machinery on show. Dad and I watched the tractor pull competition. Amazing to see vintage machinery in action. Dad shared a few stories about his childhood. It was quite a moment.

Meeting up again we all walked through the midway, but didn’t take the plunge. Where was the milk bottle toss game anyways? And right before the exit we circled back and test drove some new Jeeps over a miniature obstacle course.

In all, we missed the numbers of people, the liveliness and variety of food and vendors that we remembered from exhibitions past. Times, one supposes, have changed.

We needed redemption. We drove all the way up the highway back to Coombs. (Remember the goats on the roof?) We bought some in season fruit and then settled into Cuckoo Italian Trattoria. Been there yet? You should go.

A sip of golden, champagne-sweet Peroni Nastro Azzurro, some strawberry cake and hand stretched pizza. We dined while soaking up garden views through the large windows. Topped all off with a heady double espresso.

Celebrating a recent birthday today, we had hoped to relive memories of times past. History, it would seem, wasn’t to repeat itself. Some memories, it would seem, are better remembered than relived.