What I Brought Home From PEI

My heart is full.

I’ve just returned from the East Coast, where I visited family and co-hosted a women’s retreat in Prince Edward Island with my sister, Deb.

I knew this trip would be special, but I didn’t realize just how deeply it would touch me.

My parents were both born in PEI, and some of my happiest childhood memories are from summers spent there with family.

Deb and I decided to make it a road trip—just like we did with our parents growing up. We even packed egg salad sandwiches, just like Mom did when we were kids.

After visiting our Aunt Verna in Fredericton, we crossed the Confederation Bridge and headed to our grandparents’ farm—where my mom grew up and where we spent so many summers as children.

We drove up the familiar driveway, and a man came out and asked if he could help us. We explained our connection to the farm and how much this place meant to us.

Without hesitation, he invited us inside.

“Take as long as you want,” he said.

Much of the house was just as we remembered it.

What struck us both was how small the kitchen seemed. In my childhood memories, that kitchen was enormous. Grandma cooked there all day long. Everyone gathered there to eat, talk, laugh, sing, and dance.

Somehow, there was always room for everyone.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts of going back. We get to see a place through adult eyes while still feeling it through the heart of the child we once were.

As we drove away, I asked Deb to stop so we could go down the road where I used to pick blueberries as a little girl.

And there it was again—that feeling of joy.

It amazes me that decades can pass, and yet when we reconnect with a memory that once brought us joy, the joy is still there.

We spent wonderful time with aunts, uncles, and cousins. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed. We simply picked up where we left off—sharing stories, eating good food, laughing, singing, and dancing.

There was such a beautiful sense of belonging.

And Then Our Retreat Began

We picked up the women at the Charlottetown airport and made our way to our home for the week—a beautiful beach house with the ocean right in our backyard.

It meant so much to Deb and me to share this Island that is such a part of our story.

PEI has a slower rhythm. The women all commented on how friendly people were. They took time to talk to us, and we felt the warmth and pride in calling the Island home.

The rolling hills. The red soil. The fresh air. The beaches. The endless sky.

There was beauty everywhere.

We hiked through incredible places, walked the beach, shared, laughed, and ate the delicious meals Deb prepared with so much love. My sister has an incredible way of nourishing people—not only with her food, but with her loving presence.

We were also fortunate to have beautiful yoga classes led by Dawn Rover, who attended the retreat. Dawn teaches with such passion, care, and intention, and I am so grateful for her. She lives here in London; if you are interested in her classes, let me know.

And, of course, you can’t go to Prince Edward Island without an East Coast party!

One evening, two wonderful female Island musicians joined us at the beach house for music, stories, singing and dancing—and yes, there was a fiddle!

It was so great!

The Ocean Was Our Companion

All week, the ocean was right outside our door.

She became part of the retreat.

The waves. The changing tides. The vast horizon. The sunsets. The feeling that there was nowhere we needed to rush to.

One of the journalling prompts I offered was:

If the ocean could speak to you, what would she say?

This contemplation proved profound.

There was so much spaciousness around us—the ocean, the sky, the beach.

And somehow, that outer spaciousness invited us to discover more spaciousness within ourselves.

Room to breathe.
Room to soften.
Room to listen.
Room to remember what matters.

But as extraordinary as our experiences were, what I will remember most is how it felt to be there.

Connected. Spacious. Alive. At home.

Each of Us a Wave

Years ago, a teacher shared an image with me when explaining consciousness.

Every wave in the ocean is unique. No two waves are exactly alike.

And yet, every wave is part of the ocean.

I thought about that during our retreat.

There we were—ten women, each beautifully unique, carrying our own stories, gifts, challenges, and wisdom. We were individual waves, and part of the same ocean (consciousness).

On our final morning, we gathered for our closing circle, and I asked:

What are you bringing home from PEI—not in your suitcase, but in your heart?

Listening to each woman share was incredibly moving. Deb and I shed tears.

Our mom is 94 now and can no longer make the journey back to the Island. She was so happy knowing we were there—visiting family, returning to the places that shaped her, and sharing PEI with this beautiful group of women.

This trip gave me an even deeper appreciation for where I come from—for family, ancestors, roots, and belonging.

When it was finally time to leave, Deb and I packed my car to the brim and began the twenty-hour drive back to London. But I wasn’t ready. I wanted to stay.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that home isn’t always one place.

Sometimes home is the people who know our story.

Sometimes it is a kitchen that seemed enormous when we were children.

Sometimes it is a road where we once picked blueberries.

And sometimes it is an Island surrounded by ocean that somehow remembers us when we return.

I am home here in London. But Prince Edward Island is home, too.

And I brought a little more of it home with me—in my heart.

And sometimes coming home isn’t about a place.

Sometimes it’s about coming home to ourselves.

With love,

Diane

n Prince Edward Island with my sister, Deb.

I knew this trip would be special, but I didn’t realize just how deeply it would touch me.

My parents were both born in PEI, and some of my happiest childhood memories are from summers spent there with family.

Deb and I decided to make it a road trip—just like we did with our parents growing up. We even packed egg salad sandwiches, just like Mom did when we were kids.

After visiting our Aunt Verna in Fredericton, we crossed the Confederation Bridge and headed to our grandparents’ farm—where my mom grew up and where we spent so many summers as children.

We drove up the familiar driveway, and a man came out and asked if he could help us. We explained our connection to the farm and how much this place meant to us.

Without hesitation, he invited us inside.

“Take as long as you want,” he said.

Much of the house was just as we remembered it.

What struck us both was how small the kitchen seemed. In my childhood memories, that kitchen was enormous. Grandma cooked there all day long. Everyone gathered there to eat, talk, laugh, sing, and dance.

Somehow, there was always room for everyone.

Maybe that’s one of the gifts of going back. We get to see a place through adult eyes while still feeling it through the heart of the child we once were.

As we drove away, I asked Deb to stop so we could go down the road where I used to pick blueberries as a little girl.

And there it was again—that feeling of joy.

It amazes me that decades can pass, and yet when we reconnect with a memory that once brought us joy, the joy is still there.

We spent wonderful time with aunts, uncles, and cousins. It didn’t seem to matter how much time had passed. We simply picked up where we left off—sharing stories, eating good food, laughing, singing, and dancing.

There was such a beautiful sense of belonging.

And Then Our Retreat Began

We picked up the women at the Charlottetown airport and made our way to our home for the week—a beautiful beach house with the ocean right in our backyard.

It meant so much to Deb and me to share this Island that is such a part of our story.

PEI has a slower rhythm. The women all commented on how friendly people were. They took time to talk to us, and we felt the warmth and pride in calling the Island home.

The rolling hills. The red soil. The fresh air. The beaches. The endless sky.

There was beauty everywhere.

We hiked through incredible places, walked the beach, shared, laughed, and ate the delicious meals Deb prepared with so much love. My sister has an incredible way of nourishing people—not only with her food, but with her loving presence.

We were also fortunate to have beautiful yoga classes led by Dawn Rover, who attended the retreat. Dawn teaches with such passion, care, and intention, and I am so grateful for her. She lives here in London; if you are interested in her classes, let me know.

And, of course, you can’t go to Prince Edward Island without an East Coast party!

One evening, two wonderful female Island musicians joined us at the beach house for music, stories, singing and dancing—and yes, there was a fiddle!

It was so great!

The Ocean Was Our Companion

All week, the ocean was right outside our door.

She became part of the retreat.

The waves. The changing tides. The vast horizon. The sunsets. The feeling that there was nowhere we needed to rush to.

One of the journalling prompts I offered was:

If the ocean could speak to you, what would she say?

This contemplation proved profound.

There was so much spaciousness around us—the ocean, the sky, the beach.

And somehow, that outer spaciousness invited us to discover more spaciousness within ourselves.

Room to breathe.
Room to soften.
Room to listen.
Room to remember what matters.

But as extraordinary as our experiences were, what I will remember most is how it felt to be there.

Connected. Spacious. Alive. At home.

Each of Us a Wave

Years ago, a teacher shared an image with me when explaining consciousness.

Every wave in the ocean is unique. No two waves are exactly alike.

And yet, every wave is part of the ocean.

I thought about that during our retreat.

There we were—ten women, each beautifully unique, carrying our own stories, gifts, challenges, and wisdom. We were individual waves, and part of the same ocean (consciousness).

On our final morning, we gathered for our closing circle, and I asked:

What are you bringing home from PEI—not in your suitcase, but in your heart?

Listening to each woman share was incredibly moving. Deb and I shed tears.

Our mom is 94 now and can no longer make the journey back to the Island. She was so happy knowing we were there—visiting family, returning to the places that shaped her, and sharing PEI with this beautiful group of women.

This trip gave me an even deeper appreciation for where I come from—for family, ancestors, roots, and belonging.

When it was finally time to leave, Deb and I packed my car to the brim and began the twenty-hour drive back to London. But I wasn’t ready. I wanted to stay.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that home isn’t always one place.

Sometimes home is the people who know our story.

Sometimes it is a kitchen that seemed enormous when we were children.

Sometimes it is a road where we once picked blueberries.

And sometimes it is an Island surrounded by ocean that somehow remembers us when we return.

I am home here in London. But Prince Edward Island is home, too.

And I brought a little more of it home with me—in my heart.

And sometimes coming home isn’t about a place.

Sometimes it’s about coming home to ourselves.

With love,

Diane