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At a quarter to five at the end of December, the light is fast disappearing at North Pender Island’s small community park on Magic Lake. Children and adults are gathering along the road and the shore while Pender Islands’ own RCMP vehicle tries valiantly to stop optimistic motorists from turning right, into the teeming crowds.
We’re here with visiting family: nieces, nephew, brother and sister-in-law and mother. I point out a corner and tell them to wait there at the end if they wander off during the festivities. “Oh no, we’ll stay with you,” they all resound, but we know they won’t; someone always disappears. It’s that kind of magic - you see something, it draws you nearer and before you know it, you’re snuggling in with strangers.
Already there’s a huge crowd here, with more surging toward us, flashlight beams intersecting and muted voices calling out, trying to identify friends. We move toward the small tent to pick up our sparklers and I give one to each eager child. |
“Can I light it now?” “It’s better to wait until the end. It’s prettier when everyone does it together.”
Of course they want to light a sparkler now AND at the end, but there aren’t enough. As usual, the number of people has been under estimated. There must be five hundred children and adults here, and that’s pretty impressive for a Gulf Island with a permanent resident population of two thousand. I make a mental note to bring sparklers next year.
The six of us huddle to discuss the best viewing point. We want to be able to watch the procession that is about to move toward us from the nearby baseball park, and we want to be able to see the kayak ballet, and the shadow play at the lake’s edge at the other end of the park, where the magic lizard comes out of the lake and dances, and then there’s the events in the middle: fire-eating, juggling, puppets, and who knows what else! Emily Carr once wrote that a true work of art is never finished, and I think the Lantern Festival organizers feel that way too. Every year something new is added to the tradition.
Ravel’s Bolero is issuing from the sound system, its repetitive notes a signal that the lantern procession is starting to move towards us. We strain to watch the surreal parade of waving lights, monster sized puppets and mile high stilt walkers.
Candlelit tissue paper lanterns, some so large they obscure their bearers, flicker and pulse as they advance. Gigantic apparitions stalk regally among the lanterns; they are the stilt walkers, looking for all the world like players in a Greek tragedy.
These ten foot figures representing the four elements of earth, fire, water and air can be quite scary. The bearded and ominous Father Time also looms high above the crowd. A few of the younger children whimper and are picked up. We can hear the soothing voices of the parents explaining it’s only make believe.
The tots perk up, though, when they see the baby bouncing along with the lanterns, perched high in the throne being proudly carried by his father. The tiny ambassador represents the New Year and he loves his work. King for an hour, he gurgles and waves energetic small fists.
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