My instincts have always been strong and, for the most part, reliable. They’ve gotten me out of some tricky international traveling situations that I really had no business escaping undamaged. Many of you may ask where those instincts were when I got myself INTO said trouble. But, of course, no one’s perfect — especially the young, rash and (seemingly) indestructible.
My instincts around food have an even better record. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had cause to doubt them. So when I went down to the dock the other day to meet a fishing boat that makes periodic stops here on Pender, it didn’t occur to me for even a moment to check that my internal alarms were on and functioning.
Perhaps it was a crossed signal. Maybe I was in a dead zone (there’s a couple on our little island full of hills and trees) or, more likely, I just wasn’t listening because I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer to my question.
