Island Time - Part Two

Over these past months we have written about the independent and self-sufficient people who live in our area of northern British Columbia. Our stories describe colorful, eccentric, resourceful, hard-working, and just plain good folks. We were first introduced to this kind of community while spending a month on Cortes Island ten years ago. It was like revisiting my past… life as it was lived a quarter of a century earlier. I don’t know what Cortes Island is like now, but here is what it was like then…

Ferry Godmother

Everyone told us that there should be no problem hitching a ride along Whaletown Road, especially on “mail day” when the locals drive to the Whaletown Post Office to pick up their mail. This is Friday - a mail day - but having newly arrived, we didn’t realize that the ferry landing is not actually in Whaletown, but down a road just short of there. The car that picks us up takes us only as far as the turnoff.

We still have a ways to walk, but we’ve allowed ourselves plenty of time, so we continue at our leisure, walking past hippie-style homesteads scratched out of the hemlock and cedar forest. In the early morning hour a rooster crows and two domestic geese cross the road in front of us. I can smell wood smoke and see the wispy tendrils that rise from a chimney into an overcast sky.

Cars are already parked on the steeply sloped ferry landing; drivers sit idle at the wheel, waiting for the 7:50 a.m. ferry; some snooze, some smoke. Then I see a young woman pushing a cloth-draped wheelbarrow up the ferry lane. She is probably in her early 30’s, with light brown hair pulled back into a tidy bun. The wheelbarrow is filled with hotpots of coffee and hot water, a selection of tea or cider packets, orange juice and fresh from the oven apple-strudel muffins. Her name is April. I heard that someone had stolen her wheelbarrow a few weeks ago from behind the ticket booth where she stores it between ferry departures. She had written a plea in the island flyer, asking that her ‘livelihood’ be returned to her.

TO WHOMEVER BORROWED MY WHEELBARROW:
Please return it promptly since you have also taken my livelihood.

Thankfully it was returned, and we buy two cups of coffee and two muffins from April. We sit down on a wooden box to eat them, and watch April push the wheelbarrow up the line of cars, stopping now and then to hand cups of coffee or muffins through open windows. When she reaches the last car, she returns the wheelbarrow to its place behind the ticket booth, puts the coffee, tea and muffins into her pickup truck and leaves …to return at the next ferry departure in two hours. Around here, April is known as the “Ferry Godmother.” (February 1998)

… P. L. Morningstar
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Island Time

This is the slow time of the year, the lull between winter and spring. Slowing down for an American is not an easy thing to do… but we are learning. Our first experiences with this slower pace came while we were sailing in northern waters ten years ago. We called it “Island Time.” It was February and we were moored in Gorge Harbor on Cortez Island. Then as now, I wrote daily in a journal, trying to capture the moment.

IF IT’S MONDAY
IT MUST BE MAIL DAY

Situated on the northern end of the Strait of Georgia, Cortes Island is a remote, densely forested and sparsely populated island. About 800 inhabitants live on the south end, the north end consists of Crown land and Klahoose First Nation tribal land. While residents of Quadra Island are only a ten-minute ferry ride from Campbell River (Vancouver Island), the nearest city of any size, residents of Cortes must add to that a 45-minute ferry ride to Quadra and a 10-mile drive across the island to catch the ferry at Quathiaski Cove. Fishing, oyster farming, logging and alternative-lifestyles typify this island where time is measured by days, not hours and minutes.

“Tell us a little about the character of Quadra and Cortes Islands and how they differ,” Bob asked Nancy the Realtor.

She laughed. “Let me sum it up with what Campbell River merchants say... when the Quadra/Cortes ferry arrives, you can always distinguish Quadra residents from Cortes residents by this... people from Quadra ask what time it is; people from Cortes ask what day it is.”

I nodded, thinking I knew what she meant. That was before I had been to Cortes. Now that I have been here on Cortes Island for a week, I can say I REALLY know what she meant. If you forget what day it is on Cortes and show up at the tiny grey-shingled Whaletown post office on Tuesday, you will find it closed... it is only open on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Of course, you also need to know the time because post office hours are 8:30 to 9 in the morning and 1 to 4 in the afternoon. To old timers, mail day is still called “boat day” because of the connection to the days when the Union Steamships made weekly mail runs to these islands. Ferry service did not arrive on Cortes Island until the late 1960’s. If you don’t have a car and need to hitch a ride, the locals say to do it on Mail Day, when there is more traffic on the road.

Dr. Phil Foster is the island’s only physician... office visits are by appointment on - you guessed it - Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the Community Hall. However, he does make house calls.

Time is illusory here and we find new ways of marking it. When we were moored near the ferry landing at Heriot Bay (Quadra Island), we became very familiar with the ferry schedule, and the gentle rocking of the boat in the ferry’s wash became our clock. Here at Gorge Harbor, our alarm clock has become the BCtel (British Columbia Telephone) Beaver floatplane arriving at the dock with a work crew at 8 every morning.

Little by little our own pace slows – matching our time with ‘island time’ and getting to know the folks who have chosen to live here. (February 1998)

Sailing and living in the Discovery Islands of British Columbia, introduced us to a different way of living. Author Henry Miller once said, “One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” Our 1998 winter passage led us to rediscover our place in nature, changing forever our view of the world and how we want to be in that world. Our needs were few and easily satisfied, helping us to realize that we are truly rich in all that matters. Those lessons paved the way for living off the grid in the north.

... P. L. Morningstar
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Conversations with Yu-Ling

Yu-Ling is not a lap cat. He requires his own chair. So on these long winter nights during the arctic outflows I set out two chairs by the wood stove. I sit in one and he sits in the other just like any other pair of duffers. I pretend to read and Yu-Ling… well, Yu-Ling sits. After the fire seems to be doing well we both retreat to the bed that Morningstar has been keeping warm. Yu-Ling will sleep on top of the comforter next to the wall until its time to tend the fire again. Then without complaint he follows me out to the kitchen and takes his seat in the chair by the stove and watches as I gather up wood to feed the fire. Then we sit together for awhile and enjoy the warmth.

With the second arctic outflow this winter I found that Yu-Ling was almost the perfect conversationalist. Recently we have been musing on just how thin the veneer of civilization is, how just below the surface the most primitive of animal instincts still lurks. You only have to read the headlines to see how fragile this human pretense really is - in Africa or Iraq or Pakistan or New Orleans.

Opining on this question was something that authors as diverse as Sigmund Freud in Civilization and Its Discontents, Edgar Rice Burroughs in Tarzan, and William Golding in Lord of The Flies, all had in common. Each answered in their own way in terms of process, but it seems apparent that they each viewed civilization to be a very thin veneer indeed, and something not to be depended on without either due caution or a certain skepticism, much like trusting Spring ice.

Theodore Dalrymple wrote in the National Review, September 26, 2005 an article entitled The Veneer of Civilization Utterly Removed. It focused on the looting in New Orleans following Katrina. In his article Dalrymple reprises Golding's Lord of the Flies and he states:

Is it enough just to sit back and sigh that human nature was ever thus, and that what has happened in New Orleans is exactly what any attentive reader of William Golding's Lord of the Flies would have predicted? In that book, you might remember, a group of English schoolchildren, all from good and civilized homes, is cast ashore on an isolated tropical island without adult supervision. Before long, a kind of savage order exerts itself, with the most ruthless rising to positions of leadership. In other words, take external constraint away from even the most civilized (as the English still prided themselves on being in 1954, when the book was published), and savagery results because raw human nature decrees that it should.

Yet this is perhaps a little too easy and falsely comforting. After all, even in New Orleans, most of the people left in the city after the hurricane had devastated it were not looters, at least not of items carried off wholesale for future sale. The roaming gangs that so complicated the rescue effort, and that preyed on people more unfortunate than they, were a comparatively small proportion of the population. While it is true that all of us who were born with original sin (or whatever you want to call man's fundamental natural flaws) are capable of savagery in the right circumstances, by no means all of us immediately lose our veneer of civilization in conditions of adversity, however great.

Probably the most relevant and disturbing comments on this subject come from the 1970 article Human Savagery Cracks Thin Veneer written by the historian Arnold Toynbee and recently republished on Common Dreams. It deserves to be read in light of the reemergence of torture as a defining issue of the Bush administration and the failure of the government in opposition to take any kind of decisive action to stop the use of these barbaric practices. He clearly and convincingly puts us in the ugly place as Hitler's cohorts; Toynbee states almost a half century ago: "We realize now that Hitlerism was not just an isolated aberration. It was an ominous sign of the times. It portended the present resurgence of the savage human nature that is breaking out, through the veneer of civilization all over the world today." And continues. Only this time, we are the savages. We can claim no high ground.

It is late and the fire is burning well now. It is time for Yu-Ling and me to return to bed. I hold on to the last line of Dalrymple's quote for some sort of early morning reassurance and direction for the coming day: "A veneer may be thin, but this makes it more, not less, precious, and its upkeep more, not less, important."

... Bob
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Bird Day

Sunday. We decided to take a quick drive into Kitwanga to pick up some essentials at the general store. We always look forward to this drive down the Backroad, never knowing what we will see along the way. We’ve seen everything from a black bear sitting in the middle of Sedan Creek on a hot, summer day to a cougar dashing across the road at twilight. The cameras, of course come with us. Today was bird day… three ravens, two eagles, and a ruffed grouse. We had just come down one of the switchbacks into Cottonwood Canyon when Morningstar spotted an eagle lifting off from Sedan Creek. Three ravens also flew up and landed in nearby trees. I turned the Jeep around and went back to the bridge, but could see nothing. The eagle was too far away, so I resumed driving up the next switchback out of Cottonwood Canyon. Suddenly Morningstar yelled, “Stop, there’s the eagle. No – there are two eagles – in that tree.” I pulled over and Morningstar hauls out her old Nikon D100 camera, the one that died in Halifax and was later revived by the Nikon service center. With her telephoto lens (no tripod), she grabbed two shots – you see the best one here.
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Yu-Ling's Tent

O.K. I admit that this is something like having pictures of grandkids, but... any how. Yu-Ling got hold of this piece of cardboard and started pulling it around the cabin and gnawing on it some days ago. Sort of like Snoopy's blanket. Then he discovered that he could burrow under it and make a sort of pup tent. Now he hauls it around and sets up his tent and sleeps under it. We never know for sure where he may be napping next, but it is usually somewhere near one of us.

...Bob
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Fifty Years Today

In 1958, I was a college freshman looking forward to summer employment at Crater Lake National Park. I lived in Akin Hall, the women’s dormitory on campus, and can remember sitting with friends on the second-floor fire escape one clear night to watch Sputnik cross overhead, imagining that we could hear its radio signal. It was the first man-made object to orbit the earth and it had been accomplished by the Soviet Union. Our nation was caught up in the Second Red Scare, fearful of the spread of communism and worried about espionage by Soviet agents. We were in the middle of the Cold War arms race; each side was busy testing nuclear bombs and missiles. And there were many who were concerned that we were in danger of a nuclear war.

A Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament or CDN was begun in Great Britain. The group sponsored mass marches and sit-downs in London. Bertrand Russell was head of the group at that time and asked that a symbol be designed for the demonstrations. British artist and conscientious objector Gerald Holtom designed the symbol that we now recognize as the Peace symbol, one of the most widely known symbols in the world. It was unveiled February 21, 1958 – fifty years ago today - and made its public debut at a 1958 Easter weekend anti-nuclear march. It later migrated to the U.S., where it was adopted by student pacifists and later by the anti-Vietnam War movement.

We haven’t made much progress in fifty years. Now we have an endless “War on Terror;” we wage a preemptive war on another nation by claiming (falsely) that they have “weapons of mass destruction” while we continue to develop and sell our own weapons of mass destruction. We have invented and manufactured atom bombs, napalm, bunker-busters, cluster bombs, neutron bombs, space lasers, and phosphorous bombs. So far, the United States has refused to sign treaties against land mines, child soldiers or the weaponization of space, and call “quaint” and “obsolete” the Geneva Conventions against torture and war crimes (please read Love, American Style on Common Dreams). If the budget is approved, military spending will increase 36% in the 2009 US Federal Budget, giving military spending 54% of the total budget The USA, responsible for about 80 per cent of the global increase in military spending in 2005, is the principal determinant of the current world trend, and the United States is already spending more for defense than all the other nations in the world combined. From the 1950’s "The Pogo Papers," come these famous words spoken by Pogo, "We have met the enemy, and he is us." Let’s get those Peace symbols out on the street. We need them now more than ever.

... P. L. Morningstar
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Frost Feathers

Night stalks with icy breath

Leaves behind frost feathers

To sparkle in the morning light


... P. L. Morningstar
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Season of Ice

I call this the “Season of Ice.” There is still snow on the ground and we continue to have snow flurries from time to time, but I am most intrigued with the many forms of ice that I see. With temperatures hovering around the freezing mark, the afternoon sun melts the top layer of snow on our road, and then refreezes at nightfall, turning the precipitous switchbacks on the Cedarvale-Kitwanga backroad into a breathtaking toboggan run. Even though the road maintenance company does a pretty good job of keeping the worst parts of the road sanded, there are times when I just hold my breath and hang on for dear life. The Jeep has four-wheel drive and studded snow tires, which of course help, but it is really Bob’s driving skills that get us safely there and back again. Those skills, acquired long ago in Pennsylvania snow country, have proven to be a great asset, and have earned my grateful admiration.

Other forms of ice catch my attention on the long drive from Kitwanga to Terrace. The Skeena River runs along one side of the highway, the wide flow of summer now reduced to a narrow channel between thick irregular sheets of ice that reach out from snowy banks. Ice cakes float in the shallow water like puffs of spun cotton. On the other side of the highway are rock cuts where natural springs and seeping water have created delicate ice stalactites that drip down the stone face, and immense frozen waterfalls tinted aqua blue. Water continues to flow and the wall of ice grows, a frozen tribute to winter.

Finally, there is our own Stronach Creek, the source of our water and power. It tumbles down the mountainside, runs through a culvert beneath the road, then splits into several branches; the strongest flows to the beaver pond, two others toward the cabin. In places it is frozen and so covered with snow, that only the slight sound of running water tells us where the creek flows. The more vigorous open water is rimed in delicate crystalline forms. The other day I decided to put on my snowshoes and hike along the creek to photograph the ice. I was amazed at the diversity I found. There was ice so transparent that it looked like a pane of glass, some with crystals and swirling patterns that resembled Chantilly lace, single rocks sheathed in a cage of frozen water, frost feathers on a naked branch, amorphous blobs of opaque glass, and sparkling waves of beaded diamonds. I shot close-ups, then enlarged and cropped individual sections of the photos to reveal the unique and extraordinary beauty that I found. (The photo above is of ice-encapsulated rocks, and the shallow water that continues to flow over a bed of colorful pebbles.) I now have a different view of ice. It is much more than frozen water lines, and slippery footing. Ice is a work of art.

Tuft of golden moss frozen in ice crystals

... P. L. Morningstar
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Joey

Joey was telling me about dog sleds and a team of sled dogs while he was filling up the jeep. A truck loaded with sleds and dogs had stopped at the gas station the day before. Pretty cool. It was a working dog sled - not for racing or show, and was headed up the highway to Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories. Some sort of expedition. The whole time that he was telling me about it, there was a woman standing nearby. She had been walking her dog. She kept making comments. I think that she had seen the truck. So there she stood, dressed like a fur ball while this tiny dog in a knit coat kept running out on one of those extension leash things - like it should have a reel. Somehow the contrast between this woman and her dog and trying to imagine the musher and his working dogs was too much and I had to keep apologizing to Joey because I was laughing inappropriately.

After he filled up the jeep we went inside and since there were no other customers I asked him about his time in the Yukon. Now it's important to understand that the gas station in Kitwanga is really the center of the community and Joey is the acting manager. In the past I'm told that the train station was the center of activity. But it was torn down a number of years ago. Then the curling rink was, but it is closed now. Has been for quite awhile. Blew a compressor according to one person. Now the center of things seems to be Dollops Gas Station. It was named Dollops by Eric Doll, the owner – operator, in a fit of wry humor. Eric is in Vancouver getting radiation treatment for prostate cancer and is reported to be doing very well. Meanwhile Joey is the de facto station manager and in addition to the duties of running a small business and being the only employee, he makes the coffee for the twice-daily gathering of local guys and provides some of the best one-liners to go with the coffee.

Joey (Kirsch) is 46, was born on Haida Gwaii (the Queen Charlotte Islands) and "moved a lot." He lived in the Yukon for ten years and has never lived further south than Telkwa. Telkwa is just down the road from Smithers which is only about an hour south-east of Kitwanga. He has now lived 24 years in Kitwanga and worked a variety of jobs. Curiously, his first real job was when he was in the seventh grade - pumping gas at Dollops Gas Station. Two years ago he married Irene, who can be found keeping books at Terry's or working the cash register at the general store or straightening out accounts at Dollops.

Because of his central role in the community, Joey is also a great source of information. Some of it true. O.K., most of it. Joey is the one who recently told me about the cougar and wolf sightings around Kitwanga, and the fact that many of the local folks are concerned for their bite-sized pets.

One of the most important things about Joey is the fact that after some ten years of serious struggles with alcohol – the time in the Yukon was the worst - he quit and has now had 12 years of sobriety. This makes Joey one of those remarkable people that it’s an honor to know.

... Bob
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Room with a View

Our indoor toilet stopped up today, forcing us to trudge down the path that leads to a rustic but still functional outhouse. With only three walls, it allows one to sit and contemplate the view of spruce, hemlock, and birch trees, a carpet of moss when the snow is gone, and blooming wildflowers in the spring. A red squirrel uses the roof rafters as one of its food caches, and a handsome moose antler is an added adornment, along with faded art prints on the inside walls. A bucket of wood ashes and a scoop sit ready to use as a liming agent. The indoor plumbing is usually dependable, for which we are grateful, but on days like this the outhouse becomes a handy backup. And you sure can’t beat the view.

... P. L. Morningstar
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Last Dance

Valentine’s Day may seem like a strange day to write about spawning salmon, but think about it… creating life and dying to ensure that future generations may live, is a love story. Perhaps not “love” in human terms, but it is an awe-inspiring story that needs to be told. Wild salmon are born in a fresh water stream, sometimes far inland along major river systems. They then migrate into the ocean to live in salt water, migrating thousands of miles before returning to their natal stream to spawn. Largely guided by smell, their voyage home is of epic proportions, swimming upstream against strong currents, past riffles and chutes, often in water so shallow their backs are exposed. Their bodies become brightly colored and distorted, and by the time they reach their spawning ground, their bodies are spent. Carcasses line the riverbanks, providing food for scavenging birds and mammals. And a new generation of tiny salmon hatch from the eggs to begin the cycle again.

We were driving across the Kitwanga River on a warm September day when I first witnessed this mystery of nature… and I marveled at a creature with an instinctive urge to return so fierce that nothing would hold it back, but death. I pulled off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pant legs, and waded into a stream filled with thrashing salmon, oblivious to my presence. I later wrote a poem about that experience…

LAST DANCE

Kitwanga River sings
Beneath the wooden bridge
Splits at a gravel bar with willow
And tangle of spring flood logs
Three Ravens stand on a rock
In shallow water
Winged shadow of Eagle
Falls upon the ground
Its high-pitched whistling cry
Screams overhead
Pervasive smell of death
Tumbled on the bank
Carcasses picked clean

Thrashing upstream
Great hulking backs above water
Splash! Splash!
Scales turn white, flesh rots
Spawning salmon return home
River to sea to river

A last dance
Male and female slide together,
Sides touching,
They linger in a quiet eddy
Another male comes, circles
The first darts out, attacks...
Returns to the female
Who expels her red jewels
Among small stones
His milt, a cloud of white, hangs
Suspended above her eggs
Then settles, conjoins
The dance is fulfilled.
Life to death to life

This age-old migration of wild salmon may be nearing an end. “Salmon farming operations have reduced wild salmon populations by up to 70 percent in several areas around the world and are threatening the future of the endangered stocks,” says a new scientific study by two Canadian marine biologists. “Our estimates are that they (the farms) reduced the survival of wild populations by more than half,”

This is not a good way to end a posting on Looking for Hope. But my hope is that with knowledge and awareness, we can yet avert that tragic end. That is my Valentine’s Day wish. Learn more about this issue and make responsible choices when buying fish. See also Save Our Skeena Salmon and Save our Wild Salmon

... P. L. Morningstar
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Government of the People, By the People, for the People

This was a bright morning made all the brighter by an e-mail that arrived from Becky from Washington State. She wrote…

I thought of you this weekend when Washington had their caucuses. I don’t know that what is coming for the US politically will solve all of the problems created by the last 8 years of tyranny but it was so encouraging to me that I went to attend my neighborhood caucus…and almost couldn’t because is was so crowded! There were hundreds of people there. I had to park 6 blocks away and RUN to get in there in time to put my name down. So many people that we were packed in shoulder to shoulder, busting out the doors. And, per my extended family… that is how it was all across this region. My sister was told that the most her caucus had ever had was 19 people and on Saturday they were up over a thousand! In Seattle proper, Shoreline, Arlington, Everett etc etc…the Democratic caucuses were absolutely packed and folks were engrossed in the process of trying to have a say. Very refreshing …it gave me some hope that perhaps George Bush’s form of presidency may have forced the people of our country out of political apathy!

It might be premature optimism but I’m happy to see it regardless and thought you might like hearing of it.

Oh yes, I am delighted. It felt good when I mailed off my absentee ballot last week even though I knew it was only one vote. Becky’s news is even better because it means that there are a lot of other people out there who are as outraged as I am by the direction our country is going, and are responding to the call for responsible citizenship. As President Abraham Lincoln said in his Gettysburg Address, “…that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” Thank you for this good news, Becky.

... P. L. Morningstar
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There and Back Again

Our big trip yesterday to the greater metro area of Terrace didn’t turn out to be as big as we had hoped. It had been a month since we had been to “town;” a semi-isolated month of Arctic outflow temperatures, heavy snow and blizzard conditions. Yu-Ling had an appointment with the Vet for his booster shots, so we planned to drop him off with the Vet first, then visit a bookstore, enjoy a leisurely lunch, browse through the shelves of the Public Library, do some shopping for those “hard to find in the general store” food items. We did make it there and back, but it was a much-abbreviated trip. Checking road conditions at bcdrive.com (thank goodness for our satellite Internet connection) we found that Hwy 16 was described as “low visibility with blowing snow,” and the Environment Canada weather forecast called for possible freezing rain by late afternoon in the Terrace area. Neither the road report nor the weather forecast sounded good. We weighed the pros and cons – should we call and reschedule the appointment, should Bob take Yu-Ling in for his booster shot and leave me at home to keep the cabin warm, or should we just dash in for a quick trip? We opted for the last, putting an overnight bag into the Jeep just in case we had to stay overnight in Terrace.

We left at about noon for the hour and a half drive. We found the highway being plowed and sanded. There were huge mounds of snow piled everywhere in Terrace, at the edges of parking lots, and down the center lane of boulevards. The city was still digging out from under the most recent dump of snow. Priorities ruled our day. Yu-Ling’s booster shot, lunch at the newly renovated (and named) Elephant’s Ear, quick trip down the Save On Foods grocery aisles, and a stop at the library where we left with a bag full of books for winter reading. It is hard to know when we will get back to the library. We stopped at Timmy’s on our way out of town for coffee and two apple fritters to go. Sustenance for the road. We didn’t do too badly – three hours round trip – three hours in town. And as it turns out, the worst driving conditions we incurred were the distance between our cabin and the Backroad. Only our four-wheel drive, snow tires, and Bob’s capable driving got us out. As we were leaving we met our neighbor Ralph on the road just above Woodcock Farm, sitting in his pickup. We stopped, Bob got out of the Jeep, Ralph got out of his pickup, they talked about the weather, and how deep the snow was this year. “The most snow I’ve seen in twenty years,” Ralph says as he offers to bring his tractor with snow plow down in a day or so to clear our driveway.

In many ways, I am glad my day of travel has been in Canada. I once traveled freely throughout the world with nothing more than my pack, a guidebook and a passport. Now travel to and from the United States has become like a visit to an armed fortress. Read Bush Orders Clampdown on Flights to US I wonder when the American public will realize that Homeland Security’s surveillance and travel restrictions is not protecting America’s freedoms, but is in fact becoming a form of oppression. I want to scream when I hear or read comments like, “Whatever it takes to keep us safe.” Imprisoned by illogical fear is more like it. And if the U.S. Senate passes the House bill H.R. 1955: Violent Radicalization and Homegrown Terrorism Prevention Act of 2007, we may not even be free to think controversial thoughts anymore. I have to wonder, how much longer will I be free to go there and back again?
... P. L. Morningstar

Ralph to the rescue (today)

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Timmy's

We have written before about the iconic Canadian coffee shop, Tim Hortons. Timmy’s as it is affectionately called around here, commands 76% of the Canadian market for baked goods (based on the number of customers served) and holds 62% of the Canadian coffee market. It was even asked by the Canadian military to open a franchise at the Canadian Forces operations base in Kandahar, Afghanistan as a moral-booster – a little taste of home for the troops. For many, the day does not begin until they have had their Tim Horton’s coffee, and the line of cars and trucks in the drive-thru lane often circles around the building and extends back out into the street. No one honks, or raises a fist… they just wait their turn.

In Terrace today we learned that not even remodeling can bring Timmy’s “business as usual” to a halt. They just brought in a trailer and parked it in front of their business. At the back of the trailer, the baked goods continue to be baked, a customer counter is in the front, and a drive-thru window at the side. Nothing will stop a Timmy’s customer from getting their coffee and Timbits.

Bob with Timmy's coffee and apple fritters.

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Snowbound

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;

Snowbound: A Winter Idyl by John Greenleaf Whittier

Groundhog Punxsutawney Phil was right - we are still in winter's grip. Yesterday morning we woke to a blizzard. We watched as finely grained snow swept past our windows in horizontal drifts; great clouds of powder snow swirled off the rooftop whenever a strong gust of wind hit, and the temperature stood at minus 0.4 degrees F. The winter storm lasted most of the day… leaving behind almost a foot of new snow on top of what was already on the ground. Fortunately Bob had gone into Kitwanga on Friday to pick up a few supplies, so we are all snuggled in for a snowbound weekend, listening to Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Cafe on CBC Radio One and eating grilled cheese sandwiches.

We first started listening to Stuart McLean when we lived and sailed in the northern waters of British Columbia. Then soon after we moved to Kitwanga, we learned there was going to be a live performance of the Vinyl Café in Terrace. Obviously it is popular with others too because the first performance was quickly sold out, and a second performance scheduled – the one we attended. The Vinyl Café is a lot like The Prairie Home Companion with Garrison Keillor. It has the same folksy quality and humorous monologues. Stuart McLean’s monologues are about a fictional family… Dave and Morley, and their two children Stephanie and Sam. Usually there is one monologue during the one-hour radio show, but with the two-hour live performance, there were three: Morley Runs Over a Racoon, Dave and Morley Have a Baby, and Dave Takes Sam to Coney Island to Ride the Roller Coaster. Stuart McLean is lean, almost gaunt, with a shy, gentle face. When he performs his monologues, his whole body is in motion; he sways - waving his arms, his legs bend like silly putty, and the familiar voice with pauses and inflections that we have grown to love, flows effortlessly as he tells the story. The audience sits completely and thoroughly involved in the telling. We smile. We laugh. We know what’s coming and the anticipation is part of the pleasure. It was an evening well worth the hour and a half return trip back home late at night.

McLean’s charming book, Welcome Home, guided us to the small Canadian communities we visited during our 'Looking for Hope' cross-country trip. Towns such as Maple Creek, Saskatchewan. In my September called “When Past is Present,” I wrote:

“I had been reading about this little town in a book by Stuart McLean called Welcome Home. He wrote it in 1992, so what were the chances that we would find his favorite places still here fifteen years later? Places like Carson Currah’s Bakery? Stuart wrote, If you ever find yourself crossing Saskatchewan on the Trans-Canada Highway, you could do worse than drop down Highway 21 into Maple Creek for a coffee and one of Carson’s cinnamon buns. Well Currah’s Bakery is still here, along with the best cinnamon buns I have ever tasted. We poured our own coffee from the pot and sat down at one of the five tables… ”

It was also in Maple Creek that we were treated to the rare sight of The Empress 2816, a vintage Canadian Pacific steam engine pulling into the train station for a special fund-raising event. (Photo at Where Past is Present)

So what could be nicer than to be snowbound with Stuart McLean telling us a funny story about ice-fishing in Keswich,Ontario.

... P. L. Morningstar
(Photo: Stronach Creek in ice and snow.)

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The Cost of War

The American Friends Service Committee has produced an excellent two minute video on the cost of the War in Iraq and what could be done with those funds. Please take a few moments to watch it:



The AFSC logo carries the subscript "Quaker values in action." How wonderful if more of us could embrace these values.

Bob

The Message of Hope

John Nirenberg’s most recent posting on his website MARCH IN MY NAME discusses Barack Obama’s 2004 Democratic Convention speech “Audacity of Hope,” and his 2008 presidential campaign message of hope:

“Today that message is more powerful than ever because it has been so long since we last heard it. We need to reject the politics of fear, reject the politics of endless war, reject the politics of willful uncalled for domination of people at home and abroad to satisfy the psychological illness that has consumed the Bush/Cheney administration.”

“But the map is not the territory. The message of hope is not hope - until it is activated. A message of hope, therefore, is not enough. We can not simply respond to the message with our applause or even with our votes. To invest our future in a candidate we must demand more than a message, we must demand a commitment to restore the Constitutional checks and balances that have been so badly wounded; we must restore the Constitutional separation of powers that have become so lopsided toward the executive, and most important of all we must not simply respond to hope, we must demand of ourselves that we will do our part to push back the forces of darkness and oppression so hope can survive.”

And this came into my e-mail box today… an appeal from Congressman Robert Wexler (D-Fl) who is calling for Cheney impeachment hearings:

"Our Constitution is under threat and the most basic principle of checks and balances is being undermined. Not since Watergate has a president so openly disregarded the will of Congress. During hearings in the Judiciary Committee yesterday, I told Attorney General Michael Mukasey that I called for impeachment hearings because of the stonewalling and blatant abuses of the Bush Administration. He responded by stating that he will NOT enforce a contempt of Congress citation against Harriet Miers and White House Chief of Staff Josh Bolten for refusing to testify before Congress.

Alberto Gonzales may be long gone, but the Bush Administration continues its executive overreach with the new Attorney General.

We can debate the need for Impeachment hearings. We can argue its effects on the election or our agenda. But one thing is abundantly clear: If Congress' right to require testimony is undermined, then our country's leaders - Democrat, Republican, or Independent - will be immune from accountability.

The power of the subpoena - to call officials before us - is one of the most fundamental safeguards in our system of government. To have it effectively discarded - by virtue of the President instructing Administration officials to ignore a congressional subpoenas and not even appear before Congress - is unprecedented. The idea that the Attorney General would willingly defend this position - despite Congress' constitutional right to call such witnesses, is outrageous.

Impeachment hearings could render this moot: The President, Vice President, and all officials under them would no longer invoke executive privilege. There would be no more smokescreens.

In one week, I will be delivering my letter calling for impeachment hearings to Chairman John Conyers. Already, 16 Members of Congress have joined my call, including 3 Judiciary Committee members. I am hopeful for more in the coming days, but it is important for you to reach out to your representative in Congress to express how you feel. You can view the current list of signers, here."

As John Nirenberg says, “…hope is not hope - until it is activated.” Take action! Contact your representative now. Demand that impeachment proceedings begin – shine the light into the dark recesses of this administration, and give our nation a real reason to hope.
... P. L. Morningstar
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Let There Be Light

Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you. ~Maori Proverb

An age is called "dark," not because the light fails to shine but because people refuse to see it. ~James Michener

The padded cloths came off the windows yesterday, lifting all of our spirits. Yu-Ling now has his windowsill perch to sleep upon and a premier view of everything that passes our cabin. The cabin is no longer a cave in which to wait out the winter, but a cozy nest of warmth and light. The outside temperature is above freezing; melting snow is dripping from the eaves. We have heard that it will be getting colder again in a few days, but for the moment we will enjoy our reprieve from winter’s grip.

As Bob opened the front door yesterday morning, he called to me and said, “Come listen.” We stood on the steps and heard a wolf howl to our right; then an answering call off to our left. Back and forth. Then silence. In the fast-paced world that we live in, a minute or two doesn’t count for much. But when that minute or two holds within it the wild call of wolves, it is worth a lifetime. It is hard to explain to someone who has never heard wolves in the wild. I have mixed emotions, joy that our lives can include something that is becoming increasingly rare, and sadness that we may be the last to hear that call from the wilderness.

Blue sky and sun today as we watched a Fisher (Martes pennanti) with its fox-like face, come out of the woods toward the cabin. It rose up on its hind legs, looked around, and then made its way around the back to zig zag and leap across the snow-covered stream in the direction of the beaver pond. The popularity of its beautiful brown fur almost brought the fisher to extinction in the early 20th century. They and the cougar are primary predators of the porcupine. In our Mammals of British Columbia field guide, the author states, “For the lucky naturalist, meeting a wild Fisher is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The rest of us must content ourselves with the knowledge that this reclusive animal remains a top predator in coniferous wildlands.” We are indeed fortunate… warmer temperatures, sunlight, wolf calls, and a Fisher sighting. Yu-Ling now sits in a pool of sunshine. He looks happy.

If there is one spot of sun spilling onto the floor,

a cat will find it and soak it up. ~Jean Asper McIntosh

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An Unexpected Visitor

Another lifetime...
from the importance of appearance to what really matters

Sometimes we don’t realize how much our attitudes about life change until a comparable event happens such as the incident that took place last week. Even as it occurred, I was thinking, “No one from my past would recognize this woman with a ratty terrycloth bathrobe wrapped around her, standing by the woodstove talking to a neighbor who has just arrived unannounced.” Me, with my morning face unadorned, hair that strayed from an untidy braid, and a messy cabin with padded cloths tacked up at the windows to keep out the cold. This would never have happened in that other lifetime when appearances were all important. I doubt I would even have gone to the door looking like I did on that morning last week. But after the initial Oh My! and “Is it too early?” …the slight embarrassment we all felt disappeared. No need to worry about appearances. Out here it is life at the basic level… food, water, warmth, shelter. Danny, in his torn flannel shirt was here to see how we were doing and if we needed more firewood.

Danny’s mom, who lives in the farmhouse only two kilometers down the road, had read our blog on the Internet about Bob’s getting up every two to three hours during the night to keep the fire going. She used to have a Prairie Maid stove like ours and had some tips that she thought might help (they did). With neighborly concern, Danny was sent down to see us – the sawmill where he usually works wasn’t operating because it was too cold for the machinery. After reassuring him that we were doing fine, Danny settled in to talk about books that he was reading, “Grass Beyond the Mountains” and “Nothing Too Good for a Cowboy” by Richmond P. Hobson, and a TV program he had just watched about building the Golden Gate Bridge. While Bob and Danny talked, I slipped away to make myself more presentable.

Our friend Richard who lives in Kitwanga has no phone but e-mails us often to see how we are doing, or do we need the driveway plowed? When frigid weather is predicted he invites us to stay over with him and his wife. And he always wants to know when Bob is driving in to town. “Let me know when you are coming.” The steep switchbacks on the Backroad can be treacherous at this time of the year. Even with four-wheel drive and snow tires anything can happen between the cabin and Kitwanga. So Richard wants us to e-mail him when Bob gets back to the cabin too. It reminds me of my parents asking me to give them a call when I got safely to my destination; I did the same thing with my own children. But for two well-seasoned adults who have trekked in war-torn Guatemala and lived and sailed for three years on a sailboat in northern waters, it can be a little irritating, as if there is some doubt about our ability to take care of ourselves. Then we stop and realize what a blessing it is to have people who actually care about what happens to us. In this world of anonymity and self-interest, that is a rare commodity, and we are thankful to have found it. Yes, some things are more important that being caught in your ratty old bathrobe.
... P. L. Morningstar
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Pancake Day

Olney, Buckinghamshire, UK, the village of my Cooper ancestors, is famous for its Pancake Race, dating back more than five hundred years, that is held on Shrove Tuesday (today). According to tradition, in 1445 a woman of Olney heard the shriving bell while she was making pancakes and ran to church in her apron, still clutching her frying pan. The course is 415 yards long and is run from the Market Place to the Church at 11.55 a.m. Participants, housewives or young ladies of the town, must have lived in Olney for at least 3 months and be at least 18 years old. Competitors must wear the traditional costume of a housewife, including a skirt, apron and head covering. Each contestant has a frying pan containing a hot, cooking pancake. She must toss it three times during the race. The winner, on crossing the line, gives her pancake a final toss and is then greeted by the verger with the traditional kiss of peace. The race is immediately followed by a Shriving service in the Parish Church. This year’s winner was 42-year old Amanda Brear, who covered the 415-yard course in 1 minute, 9 seconds. I guess it is no surprise that children in England call Shrove Tuesday “Pancake Day.”

Olney is also famous for John Newton, the reformed slave trader who in 1764 accepted the curacy at Olney in Buckinghamshire. When the poet William Cowper moved to the area, the two began a series of weekly prayer meetings, for which their goal was to write a new hymn for each one. These were published as the Olney Hymns, which achieved lasting popularity, particularly Amazing Grace.
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Reasons to Smile

It’s Monday, at least ten degrees warmer than yesterday morning (hurray), the previously undefeated Patriots lost in the Super Bowl, snow is falling, U.N. specialists estimate 60 acres of tropical forest are felled worldwide every minute, and the President just announced his 3.1 TRILLION dollars budget for 2009… lots of guns, bombs, missiles, security contractors, and WMDs, but next to nothing for the poor, elderly, or sick… and cuts or a spending freeze for scientific research, public education, and transportation (roads, bridges, etc.). How do you like those priorities!? So it was with great relief that I opened an e-mail from our friends Lee and Melanie who are spending four months south of the border (the U.S. border) in Mexico. The photos were a delight (I’ll include some of Melanie’s pictures and her captions). And then there was the BBC story about six abandoned kittens that were adopted by a pet rabbit named “Summer.” In serious times like these, it helps to know there are still things out there that can bring a smile and laughter... well maybe not in the case of the frog - snake drama. Thanks Melanie.

I heard what sounded like a shrill bird nearby, I had my camera around my neck and found the source of the cries at eye level, just outside our door. I was surprised, first to see not a bird, but this frog, which I immediately photographed, and then a split second later, was shocked to see the vine snake! (It blended into he plants completely.) It had its jaws around the frog's hind end. Since the frog was still very much alive and vocal, I shook the stem of the plant and the frog fell and hopped quickly away! The snake "reared up" and stared right at me! Oh, he was none too happy! I felt guilty for messing with Mother Nature, but I'd never heard a frog "scream" before! (For scale, the frog was about 4 inches long, the snake 4 feet.)

On a funnier note, this rooster hopped up on the side of a truck-bed rail and began admiring his reflection in the dusty back window, He'd puff out his feathers and strut back and forth, always going back for another look!

Saw this on a Canadian friend's van down here and I want one!
It says it all.

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March In My Name

A letter sent by John Nirenberg to all of his supporters:

I made it to Washington, D.C.!

Thanks for your support. Without your help, I would not have been able to complete the effort. Because of your help, I was able to influence over 75 Representatives, and meet with senior staff of Speaker Pelosi and deliver the signed petitions to her office.

I am grateful you chose to join me in expressing your concerns that our Constitution is in danger and to let Congress know it should act in its defense.

The impeachment movement has made some progress but not enough. We still have a President who completely disregards the Constitution and Congress has still not moved forward with impeachment hearings. But there has been progress.

However, because Speaker Pelosi has taken impeachment off the table, the President sees no reason to temper his behavior. Instead, he has been emboldened to continue his flouting the Constitution. Just this past week the President again issued signing statements contradicting statements he made to Congress in the State of the Union Address and is pushing forward on a treaty with Iraq, bypassing Constitutional channels. I hope you will continue following the efforts of so many other like-minded citizens and urge Pelosi (202) 225-0100 and Chairman Conyers of the Judiciary Committee (202) 225-5126 to fulfill their duty to the citizenry. Tell them again to open immediate hearings into the impeachment of both Bush and Cheney.

The attached picture is a tangible memento of your support of one effort to save the Constitution and as testimony that your stance on impeachment was evident.

Thanks again for your support. I very much appreciated knowing I was Marching In Your Name. I am continuing my blog as a way of showing my concern with this administration’s continuing illegal and unethical behavior. I hope you will visit from time to time to see how things are going. I also hope you will share with me stories about what you are doing to protect the Constitution or raise the consciousness of our neighbors.

Sincerely,
John
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A Memory of Snow

It is snowing again
and every time it does
I am a child once more
watching snowflakes
drift past my window,
listening to the radio
for school closures,
wondering why grownups
always get so serious
when it comes to snow.
Wondering how each snowflake
is different
like the snowflakes
I folded and cut
from white paper at school
and taped to the windows
or hung from the branch
of a Christmas tree.

When I was six
I lived in Boston
on the second floor
of a brownstone
tucked into the tenement district
where women wore babushkas,
rag pickers still called out
for old clothes
and the bell of an ice cream cart
brought children running
on a summer day.
A lamplighter came at dusk
to light the gas street lamps
and my father rode home
from work on a trolley car.
Sometimes I would go
to meet him,
walking hand in hand back home
climbing the stairs to our flat
where I had my very own bedroom
with a window
overlooking the street

It was a winter of firsts for me,
first grade in a city school
first time for snow
higher than my head
and the first time for frost
on my windowpane,
a skim of crackled ice with
beautiful swirls and
bursts of crystalline stars.
“Momma, where did it
come from?” I asked.
“Jack Frost came
in the night and
painted your window,”
she answered with a smile.
It seemed like magic
and I stood for hours
by my window
waiting for Jack Frost
to come again
to paint my window with leaves
and flowers
and stars

I have pictures of myself at six
standing in drifts of snow
wearing my snowsuit
and a big smile
The photo is black and white
but I remember the mittens,
they were red, and attached
by a long strand of yarn
that went up my sleeves
and around my neck
so that I and my mittens
would not part company

Snow is innocent joy
It is lifting
my face to the sky
catching snowflakes
on my tongue
feeling them soft and wet
falling
caressing my cheek
until a snowball flies my way
POW!
splattering cold down my neck
Surprise…
the sound of laughter

It is snowing again
and with it come memories
of a six-year old child… and
the smell of wet woolen mittens
drying on a steam radiator
in a tenement flat
rubber galoshes on the floor
and chunks of melting snow
turning to puddles,
a cup of hot cocoa
with marshmallows
and a bowl of Campbell’s
tomato soup
Umm good!

I put on my jacket
knit cap and gloves
open the door
and rush outside
to catch snowflakes
on my tongue
once more.

... P. L. Morningsar

High Crimes and Misdemeanors

Congresswoman Tammy Baldwin (D-Wisconsin) summarized her reasons for supporting hearings on the impeachable offenses committed by the Bush administration in the January 19th edition of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel:

On Dec. 14, I joined with my colleagues on the House Judiciary Committee, Reps. Robert Wexler (D-Fla.) and Luis Gutierrez (D-Ill.), in urging Chairman Rep. John Conyers (D-Mi