Lessons from the Ferry Line

One of the teachings I’ve been gifted while visiting in community is the importance of being a good guest.

To walk softly. To listen before speaking. To pay attention to what’s happening around me. And to do my best to ensure that my presence does not create inconvenience for someone else. 

For the past ten years, I’ve been travelling to Penelakut Island to provide oral health care. Penelakut, a semi-remote community in the Gulf Islands, is accessible only by ferry. When I began providing dental services here in 2015, there was no dedicated clinic in the community. Until just last week, the Nation didn’t have a fixed dental space. Every appointment meant packing up instruments, supplies, and equipment, and bringing the clinic with me.

In those early days, I would drive onto the ferry, the same way most people would. In fact, I didn’t think twice about it. But one day, a mental health clinician shared something that completely shifted how I thought about being there.

She told me she always walked onto the ferry because she never wanted to be the vehicle that kept a community member from getting off the Island.

Those words landed with me.

You see, Penelakut’s ferry is one of the smallest in the BC Ferries fleet. Community members often line up early in the morning for sailings that might not leave for hours, just to make sure they can get to work, attend an appointment, or travel to the mainland. Every time the ferry lands, folks head to the lineup to move their vehicles forward, inch by inch. The route is shared with Thetis Island, and in the busy summer months, sometimes only a handful of vehicles from Penelakut make it aboard.

After hearing this perspective, I changed my practice. I bought a collapsible wagon, organized my gear into totes, and started walking on. It’s slower and a little heavier, but it feels lighter in spirit. Especially when I’m passing a long vehicle lineup on my way to head home.

It’s a small way of walking softly, of honouring the people and the place. Of remembering that my presence should never inconvenience someone else.

And because every teaching comes with a little humility, here’s mine: when you leave your vehicle behind, always, always put your car keys in your bag. Realizing they’re sitting on your desk across the water makes for a long, humbling trip home.

So now, whenever I’m visiting another community, I pause for a moment and ask myself: Do I really need to bring my vehicle? Or can I walk softly, and simply carry what I need?

🧡 Kim