Remembering Jo

 

They celebrated Jo's life last week in James Bay.

I couldn't be there and so I sent the following words about my friendship with Jo. 

Several people have since contacted me about the piece and I decided to copy it to my blog because friendships are what carry me through every chapter of my adventures.  

I've written about how volunteering creates community and it's as a result of a chance opportunity to volunteer that I met Jo. 

                                        💙💙💙💙💙

After I moved to Crete last year, I often thought about Jo. I missed our weekly conversations at “the church”, our long walks around James Bay and beyond, first with Benny and later with Laila, the movies that mattered to us, the concerts at Hermann’s, the talk about food and how to prepare it, and the simple pleasure of just hanging out. For several years before I met Jo in the spring of 2023, I was curious about who lived in that white house on Kingston Street where a cat was often soaking up the sun on the front porch. And then, wonderfully, we discovered each other as volunteers at the Community Lunch.

Exploring  my new surroundings on Crete, I would notice things Jo would enjoy: the colourful produce that changed with the seasons in the fruit and vegetable markets, an art gallery, archaeological ruins, seascapes, the best beaches for collecting sea glass, an interesting food item. Jo often talked about coming to visit. Sometimes I felt as if I were on a scouting mission, gathering places and pleasures so that, when she came, we could create the perfect itinerary together. I took photos, and Jo would comment.

In late July, I travelled to south Crete for the first time, crossing the mountains to the Libyan Sea to the former “hippie haven” of Matala. This is the place that was immortalized in the song Carey by Jo’s all-time favourite singer, Joni Mitchell. It’s where yellow sand from Africa  blows in with the sirocco and, as I   hummed my way around the caves, the lookouts and the tourist traps, I noted the places Jo would want to see. There is even a Mermaid Café in Matala — not the original, but still. There were lots of cats too – this is Greece after all!  When we drove away at sunset, Joni’s “Matala moon” was beginning to rise over the sea.

I look back at those Matala photos now and think of Jo — they are one more way to remember her. The other evening, I found Carey on Spotify and called up the lyrics. I needed to know more, and what struck me were the coincidences. First off, who was Carey? It turns out there is no "e" in his name and he was a cook at the Mermaid Café, a gathering place for cave-dwelling backpackers, US draft dodgers and artists.  A local haunt that offered affordable food while guests solved the problems of the world. Jo would have been right at home, I decided.

I liked what else I found out about Cary. He returned to his home in California before doing two tours with the Peace Corps in western Africa. He has written a collection of memoirs about his travels, forages mushrooms, still cooks, and attends silent retreats regularly. I think Jo would have approved.

In the song, Joni sings about putting on some silver, and I’m reminded of Jo with her varied collection of dangly earrings, her quality thrift-shop finds, and her love of comfort. Just like Joni.

Each time I listen to Carey now, I’ll  be picturing  Matala: its cats, the caves, the shimmering sea and those trees along the beach that sway gently when the wind blows in from Africa.  I’ll also linger on memories of what made Jo the special person that she was – her friendship, her curiosity, her easy gift of conversation and her fierce sense of justice.  I’ll  be grateful that I finally got to know the person who lived in the white house on Kingston Street.