Seeds of Friendship

Today I was in the vegetable garden weeding the row of raspberries. New canes emerged an inch or two up through the soil. This is their second year, so we should get a good crop. These first few days of garden work remind me of last spring when our garden was begun…

Spring 2007

As many times as I have moved during my lifetime, I never really considered a place “Home” until I had dirtied my hands in the soil. Perhaps this need to claim the land comes from some ancestral memory of rugged farmers always looking for better land just beyond the next hill, where they could plow the sod under, and plant the seeds for harvest. When we arrived here in 2006, it was too late to put in a garden… claiming my land had to wait for the next spring. Gardening is more than laying claim though. It is sending out runners, like the wild strawberries that grow in our meadow.

We have no garden tiller, and live far from any rental supply store. The idea of turning over the garden by hand was never a serious option. Just down the road is Woodcock Farm with all the attendant farm equipment. We made arrangements for Danny Stephens to till our garden space for us. Late in May he came with their old Ford tractor and tilled the soil. His wife came along, then Danny’s brother showed up on a motorcycle, and we all stood around talking about what to plant, and the fact that we needed an electric fence around the garden because it wasn’t a matter of “if” the roaming cows from the farm would show up, but a matter of “when.” We were convinced. From that day, Danny has made a point of stopping by to let us know of any important information, like the fact that the road was becoming flooded near Kitwanga and if we needed to get supplies, we had better go in right away. The kind of thing that neighbors do for one another.

Constructing the electric fence led to other community connections. After going into Terrace and finding no store that handled solar-powered electric fence supplies, Bob and I drove to Smithers towing our utility-trailer. At Smither’s Feed Store Bob found everything he needed, plus a clerk who didn’t mind spending a rainy Saturday afternoon advising and helping put together all the necessary fence posts, wire, solar-panel, insulators etc. Then he said, “Hey, since you live in Kitwanga, you must know Verne Bedwell at Fairhaven Farm.” Bob said, “No, I don’t know Verne, but I know Fairhaven Farm. It’s on our backroad.” “You should go talk to him,” the clerk continued, “They had to put up electric fences to keep out grizzlies.” Grizzlies love what the Bedwells grow – carrots! Along with the fence supplies, the Smither’s Feed Store had all sorts of things I needed for the garden and could not find anywhere else, so this is a place we will be going back to many times. Also in Smithers we were introduced to Glacier Nursery, where the owner’s wife and grandson went back and forth in the heavy rain to load two apple trees, and twenty bags of steer manure into our trailer, with smiles and laughter. It is also a place we will go back to.

Bob did go to Fairhaven Farm for advice, and the Bedwell Family stopped by here several days later to take a look at the garden and fence. The next day we were at their farm, watching them plant cabbages. Two days later we helped them to move things to higher ground because of the rampaging Skeena River. These are the seeds of friendship.

In the past, my gardens have featured what are known as Pass-Along plants, those starts that friends and family give to each other. I could always point them out and say, “That is the fuchsia started by my mother; those are Clintena’s anemones, Agnes’s iris.” In my cabin garden I now have tomato plants given to me by Cheryl Glover, and three kinds of cabbage plants from the Bedwells. It is a friendship garden, and because of it, our connection to this community has grown.

... P. L. Morningstar

Drink Your Coffee, Save a Bird

When we are in the states, we enjoy a cup of Starbuck’s coffee. Here in Canada, there is always Tim Horton’s. But at the outset of our cross-country trip looking for hope, we met a man who believes there is more to a cup of coffee than taste. His name is Wes Bergmann and he owns and runs the Blue Moose Coffee House in Hope, B.C. He sells ‘coffee with a conscious.’ On his website he states, We are happy to announce that all our coffee is now Fair Trade - Organic - Shade Grown. Ethical Bean from Vancouver roasts our Coffee. That was our first introduction to Ethical Bean coffee. All of this coincides with watching the return of our migratory birds, and a book I am currently reading called, SILENCE OF THE SONGBIRDS by Bridget Stutchbury. Stutchbury is a leading authority on the science of migratory songbirds, and the news is not good: The bird migration system that is the heart of our northern lands is slowly but steadily eroding. By some estimates, we may have already lost almost half of the songbirds that filled the sky forty years ago. We may have learned the hard way that when birds begin disappearing, we may be next.

The good news is that we can make a difference by simply choosing to buy only shade grown, organic coffee. Granted it is more costly, and with the rising costs of food that is no small matter. When we were at the grocery store on Saturday we spotted the Ethical Bean brand of coffee sitting on the shelf for the first time. Whew – that is expensive (13.99/pound CDN). We talked about it, weighing the pros and cons and then decided to pay more and make up for it by drinking less coffee. We bought one pound of Sumatra medium dark beans, and ground them in the store’s coffee grinder. Now we make one pot of coffee with a French press each morning. It’s hard to feel like we are making any big sacrifice when the coffee tastes so darn good! But it is nice to know that while we enjoy our morning coffee, we are helping to save the rainforest and migratory birds. It’s called “How to have your coffee and songbirds too.”

Shade Grown Coffee (Ethical Bean website)

Coffee is traditionally grown under the shade of a forest canopy. With advances in mass-harvesting technology and a soaring global demand for coffee, many farmers have shifted to open plantations with little or no surrounding vegetation. This 'open-field' concept of farming was introduced to encourage greater crop yields, and was often tied to international aid from countries like the United States. While it maximizes production, with no canopy to protect it, soil erosion quickly becomes a problem. And by destroying the surrounding forest to create plantations, farmers destroy the natural habitats of animals, insects and migratory birds.

The technification of the coffee, as this process is commonly known, also dramatically increases the need for chemical fertilizers to replace the organic material that used to come from the natural shade canopy. Studies have shown that up to 1/2 pound of fertilizer is needed to produce one pound of coffee beans on these farms.

Another excellent website explaining the importance of shade-grown coffee plantations to migratory birds, is the Smithsonian’s Migratory Bird Center.

COMMON BIRDS IN DECLINE

Last year the Audubon Society released a State of the Birds Report. In it they reported, Since 1967 the average population of the common birds in steepest decline has fallen by 68 percent; some individual species nose-dived as much as 80 percent. All 20 birds on the national Common Birds in Decline list lost at least half their populations in just four decades. I went to the Audubon website to look at the list of twenty birds that have declined in number. I found four birds on the list that are common to our area, the boreal forest. They were: Evening grosbeak (above photo) – 78% decline, Boreal chickadee – 73%, Rufous hummingbird – 58%, and the Ruffed grouse – 54%. If you want to see if some of your birds are on the list, go to: State of the Birds Report.

I also went to the Boreal Songbird Initiative website – a suggestion I found on the Audubon site. “Promote conservation of the Canadian boreal forest by supporting the Boreal Songbird Initiative that works to save Canadian boreal habitat for all birds, specifically by fighting inappropriate logging, mining, and drilling and by promoting the designation of protected areas.”

... P. L. Morningstar

Birds of a Feather

Spring would not be spring without bird songs.

… Francis M. Chapman

Snowfall yesterday, sun today. And our bird count has increased. Two pair of Steller’s Jays spent the morning flying from the crab apple to the tangled branches of bare hawthorn trees and back again, their dark crest and iridescent blue feathers bright in the sunlight. They are the provincial bird of British Columbia. And we spotted a Red-breasted Sapsucker after days of hearing it hammering alone in the birch forest. The Sapsucker belongs to the woodpecker family and in the photo you can see the tidy, parallel lines of ‘wells’ it has drilled in the bark of the tree. The wells fill with sap, which attracts insects – so they eat both the sweet sap and the insects. Hummingbirds often associate with Sapsuckers and sip sap at the wells too. But we have not seen the hummers yet. Other birds hopping and singing around the cabin today are: Mountain Chickadee, Varied Thrush, Dark-eyed Junco, and of course the proverbial symbol of spring, Robins. The Dark-eyed Juncos are in competition with two red squirrels over the seed, nuts, and fruit we’ve placed on the stump outside our front door. But sooner or later everybody gets a share. We have yet to name our newest squirrel. Any ideas?

No Name needs a name. Any suggestions?

No Name hears a truck on the road.

... P. L. Morningstar

The Scenic Route

Going to town. I was reminded the other day, that “going to town” for the locals meant going to Terrace or Smithers. I had mistakenly said that Bob had gone into town, referring to Kitwanga. There is only one major road into “Town” – Highway 16 (Yellowhead Highway), which stretches from Prince George in the interior to Prince Rupert on the northern coast. When accidents, washouts, or landslides occur on this road, you are stuck because there are few if any detours available. It takes us about ninety minutes to get from our cabin to Terrace, depending upon road conditions. Not exactly a quick trip to the shopping mall or convenience store, and with fuel prices rising almost daily it is not a trip to be taken lightly. But it has its advantages. One is that there is virtually no traffic… we have gone miles without seeing another vehicle on the road. The other plus factor is the sheer beauty. Highway 16 to Terrace follows the Skeena River through mile high mountains. So we just relax, enjoy the scenery, watch for eagles and hawks in the trees, and bear, moose, or coyote along side the road. This is what all those RV’s from the south come here to see. We see it while going to town.

View of Skeena River and mountains from Highway 16.

View of Skeena River and Seven Sisters Mountain from Cedarvale Backroad.

... P. L. Morningstar

Action, Not Words

Well, Earth Day is over. All the news sources have had their innocuous 'Green' reports like CBC/BC who wanted to know “Who do you think is the greenest person in Vancouver?” The LA Times featured a Travel article, Top 10 responsible travel tips for Earth Day, and there were eco-tips from Macy’s, “Switch from incandescent to compact fluorescent, long lasting, energy saving, one bright idea.” Many op-ed pieces were written, some of which were no more than a rearrangement of words that have already been written before. And I found myself becoming angry when I read a manipulated piece of misinformation called, Junk Science: A New 'Green' Body Count Begins. I was all ready to jump into the middle of things… then I stopped. Isn’t that part of the problem? Too many voices all shouting at the top of their lungs and no one listening? It has become a war of words, and there will be no winners – only consequences. So rather than add my own rant to all the others, I am simply going to give an example of what one individual can do to make a difference. Actions speak louder than words, and are far more constructive.

ACTION, NOT WORDS

At this time last year we received a letter from Bob’s sister Tracy. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and if you want to find an excellent example of earth-friendly advocacy, look no further. I am including her inspiring letter in its entirety.

Dear Bob and Morningstar,

Your Earth Day gift arrived yesterday to our delight! (Note: We had mailed everyone cloth shopping bags.) Thank you for thinking of us on a day that we feel strongly about, too. I had recently made a list of my efforts to help the environment and realized that I don’t usually discuss my efforts with others. Perhaps I should share my concerns and efforts more freely:

Cloth reusable bags: I purchased these bags from our Giant Eagle grocery store several months ago when they were first offered. You are correct about the problem of trying to remember to take them along to the store! I leave them in my car to remind me, and the routine is getting easier to follow. However, I have not witnessed anyone else using them in my trips to the checkout counters. I have asked the clerks, and they assure me that more and more people are using them. I hope so! The Giant Eagle bags are brown and advertise their name. I will use your bags for shopping in other stores!

Last summer we had two new energy-efficient furnaces installed in our home to compliment the new storm windows. We also keep our thermostat set low. It tends to be a little chilly in the house, so we layer our clothing and use a comforter on the bed through the winter months.

We’ve switched to compact fluorescent light bulbs, although I am concerned about the mercury in them.

We recycle glass, plastic and newspapers.

I have stopped purchasing bottled water.

I recently took a composting class offered through the Pennsylvania Resource Council. Part of the class fee included the composter. It will be an experiment this summer that I hope is successful.

We joined a local organic farm co-op with a neighbor and will be receiving fresh, local fruit, vegetables, and herbs from June 1st through the end of November. They are experimenting with a winter vegetable program, too. This coincides with my efforts to buy more local, organic foods in general.

Teresa and I have been carpooling and shopping for each other and one other neighbor to cut down on fuel usage and the number of trips to the stores. I would eventually like to purchase either a hybrid vehicle or a more fuel-efficient one. But for now, I need to make my current vehicle last a while longer.

We have planted many trees, bushes, flowers and vegetable gardens on our property.

Jack, AJ and I have participated for years in the annual Ohio River Sweep each June. We help pick up litter along the Ohio River banks.

We pick up litter along the local roadsides throughout the year. This past Earth Day weekend, as in previous years, I registered with the Great Pennsylvania Cleanup Day program to pick up litter along the road in front of the Giant Eagle and Home Depot shopping area. I spoke with the managers of these two stores about our litter cleanup day and asked them to post a notice to their employees to volunteer with us. (Their stores cause the majority of the litter in the area, either directly or indirectly.) By registering with the state website for the Cleanup Day, it is posted on their website and anyone can join us. However, Jack and I were the only ones to show up for our stretch of the roads! We worked for almost two hours and collected 10 bags of litter.

I have found that once I started to pick up litter, it irritated me more and more to see how much of it could be found in the Pittsburgh area! I am ashamed for our city that has once again been named the #1 Most Livable City in the U.S.! It is also ironic that the Pennsylvania Resources Council located here in Pittsburgh, originated the Litterbug character in 1952! Our city will celebrate its 250th birthday in 2008, and I really think the city officials should take a serious look at the litter problem. How can we expect people to care about the environment, if they don’t even respect their neighborhoods and communities? Our fines are relatively low for littering and rarely enforced. In my travels around the country and abroad, I have not seen much litter, so I know that we can make a change here. I have done a little research on the internet about litter.

PennDOT spends $10.1 million dollars a year cleaning up litter along roadsides! I don’t believe we hear or see the anti-litter campaign on television, billboards, news media or in classrooms as much as we did when I was younger. I have a dream to make a short DVD about litter with ugly photographs of litter juxtaposed with beautiful scenes of nature to be used as an educational tool for discussion, especially in our classrooms. I actually started taking some photos last year, but I just think I’m out of my league for moving forward. However, I do think there is a need and a market, because I haven’t found such a tool in my research. It could be I just haven’t looked in the right places.

Well, enough about litter! We thank you again for thinking of us on Earth Day. Your gift will be used with pleasure and with the knowledge that we are united in an environmental effort. Now I am going to work in my garden on this beautiful, sunny day in Pittsburgh. Have a great day!

Earth Day at the Cabin

Two things happened here on Earth Day. In the morning we spotted a beautiful thick-furred coyote walking down our driveway. He was in no hurry… just out for a leisurely stroll, and maybe a little vole or deer mouse if one happened to be handy. Eventually he turned off the dirt track, crossed under the crab apple tree and slipped into the woods. I always keep my camera and telephoto lens on the table next to the front window for events like this. I’m going to have to do a better job at keeping the windows clean though!

The second happening was not quite as exciting… in fact it was a quiet and peaceful activity called gardening… more specifically, planting Sugar Snap peas (McKenzie Heritage Seeds, Canada). It seemed a good thing to do on Earth Day.

… P. L. Morningstar

Robin Rescue

“I’ve found eleven robins’ nest so far this spring,” Jeremy Bedwell told me when we first met his family, “twelve actually, but ravens found one and already got the babies.” We met the Bedwells, a small farm family who live several kilometers down the road from us, last June. A few days later we were helping the family move things to higher ground as the worst flooding in 35-years swept away their newly planted cabbage and carrot fields. I was touched when Jeremy showed me where he had put a robin’s nest to keep it safe from the rising floodwaters… that even during this moment of crisis, the fate of three baby birds had not been overlooked. Momma Robin was fully aware of the emergency move and continued to fly to the relocated nest with tidbits for her babies. I recently read a reprint of Rachel Carson’s THE SENSE OF WONDER. In the introduction to the book, Linda Lear writes, “She (Carson) hoped her book would inspire adults and children alike to experience the sensory and emotional in nature, and knew that if they did, they would have less appetite for those activities that threatened the living world.” I asked Jeremy to write a story about the robin nest rescue for our monthly newsletter, and to send a photo. He and his 16-year old sister Ayla collaborated on the following:

E-mail from Jeremy
17 June 2007

Hi!

Here is a picture and a poem that describes what took place with the robins. I didn't write it though, I hired my sister, she loves writing. We would love to read the newsletter when it's finished!

Robin Rescue
by Ayla Bedwell

The flood is coming very fast
What we don't move might not last,
Swirling water and tons of debris
Suddenly it occurs to me
The mama robin has built her nest
Of mop strings, twigs and all of the rest.
Up in the carrot digger, what shall we do?
For the carrot digger must move too!
We pick up the nest, babies and all,
Take it to a place where it won't fall.
Mama Robin, with an icy glare
Watches where we place it, away up there.
With a flutter of wings, she is up on the nest
On twigs and babies, and all of the rest.
The babies look more like Mama n' Papa each day
With their little peeps they seem to say,
"Thank you for saving us, now we have a good view,
All of us Robins give our thanks to you!"

(Photo by Jeremy Bedwell)

Planet Earth in our hands (Year of Planet Earth - UNESCO)

The human race needs its planet. We depend upon it completely, because we evolved from it, remain forever part of it, and can exist only by courtesy of the self-sustaining Earth System. The Earth is unique not only in our Solar System but, as far as we know, in the accessible universe. It is not just the only planet we have – it is the only living planet we know, or may ever know. The Earth provides so many riches, about which we have so much more to learn – as new research techniques are brought to bear. The more we learn, the more we understand that we must nurture the Earth as we would our children, for their sake.

HAPPY EARTH DAY!
... P. L. Morningstar

Our Favorite Planet

Tomorrow is Earth Day. The first Earth Day, conceived by Wisconsin Senator Gaylord Nelson, was celebrated on April 22, 1970. He passed away July 2005 at the age of 89, but prior to his death he answered some of the questions he was most often asked about how he conceived of the first Earth Day, why, and what his hopes for the observance had been.

For several years, it had been troubling me that the state of our environment was simply a non-issue in the politics of the country…. At a conference in Seattle in September 1969, I announced that in the spring of 1970 there would be a nationwide grassroots demonstration on behalf of the environment and invited everyone to participate. The wire services carried the story from coast to coast. The response was electric. It took off like gangbusters. Telegrams, letters, and telephone inquiries poured in from all across the country. The American people finally had a forum to express its concern about what was happening to the land, rivers, lakes, and air - and they did so with spectacular exuberance. For the next four months, two members of my Senate staff, Linda Billings and John Heritage, managed Earth Day affairs out of my Senate office.

Five months before Earth Day, on Sunday, November 30, 1969, The New York Times carried a lengthy article by Gladwin Hill reporting on the astonishing proliferation of environmental events:

"Rising concern about the environmental crisis is sweeping the nation's campuses with an intensity that may be on its way to eclipsing student discontent over the war in Vietnam… a national day of observance of environmental problems is being planned for next spring when a nationwide environmental 'teach-in' coordinated from the office of Senator Gaylord Nelson is planned…."

How has our planet fared since the first Earth Day held in 1970? Read OUR FAVORITE PLANET by Nicholas Kristof (New York Times, April 20, 2008).

Some good environmental blogs to bookmark and a special Going Green report:

Dot Earth (New York Times)
Dateline Earth (Seattle P-I)
PDX Green (The Oregonian)
Going Green (The Vancouver Sun Special Report)

... P. L. Morningstar

Listening to Opposing Views

When I spoke of demanding Truth a few days ago, a visitor to the site correctly asked, “Whose truth?” In my own mind, I meant verifiable truth like the overwhelming scientific evidence that climate change is happening and that human activity is responsible, and investigative documentation such as the one by David Barstow in Sunday’s New York Times, Behind TV Analysts, the Pentagon’s Hidden Hand. Belief and truth can be one and the same, or very different. There are people who believe that the world is flat and that the Holocaust did not happen. Does that belief make it true? For me, truth comes with critical thinking as defined in the dictionary: “disciplined intellectual criticism that combines research, knowledge of historical context, and balanced judgment.”

Susan Jacoby discusses this lack of balanced judgment in Talking to Ourselves – Americans are Increasingly Close-Minded and Unwilling to Listen to Opposing Views, (April 20, 2008, Los Angeles Times). “As dumbness has been defined downward in American public life during the last two decades, one of the most important and frequently overlooked culprits is the public’s increasing reluctance to give a fair hearing — or any hearing at all — to opposing points of view… Ironically, the unprecedented array of choices, on hundreds of cable channels and the Web, have contributed to the decline of common knowledge and the denigration of fairness by both the right and the left. No one but a news junkie has the time or the inclination to spend the entire day consulting diverse news sources on the Web, and the temptation to seek out commentary that fits neatly into one’s worldview — whether that means the Huffington Post or the Drudge Report — is hard to resist.”

“It is past time for Americans to stop attributing the polarization of our public life to the media, the demon entity “Washington” or “the elites.” As long as we continue to avoid the hard work of scrutinizing public affairs without the filter of polemical shouting heads, we have no one to blame for the governing class and its policies but ourselves. … I yearn to live in a society that values fair-mindedness. But it will take nothing less than a revolutionary public recommitment to the pursuit of fairness, knowledge and memory to halt, much less reverse, the trend toward an ignorant single-mindedness that threatens the future of democracy itself.”

I realize I am as guilty of seeking out ‘commentary that fits my worldview,’ as anyone else. So starting today I have added Fox News to my daily online reading list, and will look for more sources that represent 'other views.' And I will give you an opportunity to read opposing views on current topics. Today I have chosen the discussions going on about ABC’s handling of the Democratic Debate in Pennsylvania on Thursday night. Here are two diverse viewpoints about the same event.

Playing Gotcha with Obama… Bill O’Reilly, Fox News

An Open Letter to Charlie Gibson and George Stephanapoulos
By Will Bunch, the Philadelphia Daily News

... P. L. Morningstar

Natural Wonders Big and Small

The sun rose at 6:14 this morning and we actually saw it today - well, not at 6:14 – but for the first time since our return to the cabin, I could look out our front window and see Woodcock Mountain in full view. The forecast calls for a few more days of sunshine and we will enjoy every one.

Just before lunch I pulled on some rubber boots and an old hooded jacket, grabbed my cameras and binoculars, and headed out to the beaver pond. There was a thin skim of ice that covered the surface, evidence that even though the sun was shining now, the overnight temperature had been below freezing. I was surprised at how low the water level was… the older, abandoned beaver lodge was even out of the water. What are those beavers up to? Looks like they have diverted the stream to a newer pond below this one. I could see fresh wood chips on the ground and a few recently toppled osier dogwood saplings, so I know the beavers are still around. I sat on a fallen tree for a few moments, and heard the high-pitched twittering of many tiny birds, like rustling leaves in the leafless birch trees, or the tinkle of distant wind chimes. They remained an invisible presence, for I never saw them.

While the mountains are magnificent, rising a mile high against a brilliant blue sky like this morning, there is not much else that grabs your attention at this time of year. Other than early crocus, there is nothing in bloom. The trees have not leafed out yet and the meadow is mostly a dull brown. But when I happened to look down at a fallen tree at the edge of the beaver pond, I saw a beautiful garden of mosses and lichen. In shades of red, gold, green and silver grey, the various mosses blended together; fire moss, curly heron’s bill, and others I could not name, the pyxie cup and horned cladonia lichens intermingled. The mosses were in bloom, their sporophytes waving in the breeze. Here, in this tiny spot were the colors and blooms my winter soul searched for. It is a reminder to myself that sometimes I need to stop, sit quietly and look closer at the ground beneath my feet. Surprises await there.

Nature doth thus kindly heal every wound.

By the mediation of a thousand little mosses and fungi,

the most unsightly objects become radiant of beauty.

Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), Journal, 1845

... P. L. Morningstar

Holding Onto a Memory

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. ....From the television show The Wonder Years

My Grandmother introduced me to quilting. I think she thought it was a way of keeping an inquisitive ten-year old busy. She showed me how to make yo-yos, which were little rosettes made by gathering circles of fabric that were then sewn side by side into rows. The yo-yo quilts (really coverlets) were very popular in the 1930’s and 1940’s when materials were scarce. All you needed was a jelly jar and a pencil to trace circles onto fabric from a scrap basket, and Grandma had a big scrap basket. I spent many a rainy afternoon with her, carefully cutting circles out of printed chicken feed bags, folding over the edges, and sewing an uneven and slightly wobbly running-stitch all the way around. Then I would draw it up; flatten and pull the thread through the center hole and tie it off on the back. I don’t think I ever got my quilt any larger than two-feet square, but with that first yo-yo, my Grandmother had instilled in me a love for stitching, and for fabrics in all their many colors and patterns.

Later I used a treadle sewing machine to sew my own clothes, and shirts and play suits for my two young sons. With the leftover fabric scraps I pieced together simple quilts. I thought of it as a scrapbook… each piece of material held a memory for me. The white satin was from my wedding dress, the teal blue cotton from a maternity smock, the pale yellow seersucker with red rosebuds came from a layette set, and the blue cotton with white polka dots was left over from the Bozo clown suits I made for our family for the Mardi Gras celebration in New Orleans.

My children are grown men now. I don’t know what became of the quilts I pieced together all those years ago; I have sold, given away, and generally unburdened myself of most of the material things I once found indispensable. And in their absence I find that I don’t need the colorful patches of fabric to remind me of weddings, children, and life’s little moments… because my life now is a patchwork quilt of carefully stored memories, all quietly waiting in the scrap bag of my mind. When I write, those bits and pieces find their voice. At first I wrote to be remembered, to tell my story, to leave my sons with some idea of who their mother was. That focus has changed because I can see the world changing in ways that do not bode well for the future; younger generations who are unaware of what they are in danger of losing, and a people disconnected from the natural world.

Now I write as a witness to the changing times. To tell younger generations that there was a time when the worst thing you could do in high school was chew gum, pass notes, or shoot spit wads across the room; and if there was a stranger in the hallway, it drew curious stares not security guards. The logging trucks that rumbled through our small southern Oregon town, taking their load of logs to the sawmill often held only three logs because of their size… sometimes only one. We thought the forests would always be there; the loggers and the sawmill workers would always have jobs.

As children, my sisters and I loved to go to the beach. The family would pile into the old blue Studebaker and drive down the Umpqua Highway from Drain to Reedsport, then to Winchester Bay and the Florence sand dunes. Beach combing along the tide lines was an adventure, daring the ice cold Pacific surf with bare feet while looking for sand dollars, periwinkles, starfish, hermit crabs, mussels, and clams. The Pacific Ocean was full of sea life… although my family ate little of it. My mother still had bad memories of living on the coast during the Great Depression years, when seafood was all they had to eat. But it kept them alive. Now the oceans are dying.

There was a time too when I stood with my hand held over my heart saying the Pledge of Allegiance, and when the stars and stripes passed with a flourish of drums, tears of pride came to my eyes. I was proud to be an American. My country marches to a different drumbeat now, one I no longer recognize. So I write down my memories – they are the legacy I leave for my children and grandchildren. Hold onto them. Know that we are capable of being better people, wanting less and giving more. Any future depends on that.

... P. L. Morningstar

Gray Ghost of the North

(Photo: Nature Canada) Pawprints in the Snow

Yesterday I wrote about signs of spring. Today it is snowing and we were treated to a very special sighting… a Canada lynx, a rarely seen animal that preys almost exclusively on snowshoe hares. Bob quickly dashed off e-mails to friends and family…

"Just a few minutes ago we saw a Canada Lynx. I was having lunch and was looking out the front windows when I saw movement out toward the bench under the Black Hawthorns near the road. At first I thought it was a coyote - but as it moved it was clearly a cat of some sort. I called Mornigstar to the window and we both got out our binoculars. Bobbed tail, black tip - also black tips on the ears - long legs. We had at least five minutes to look as it moved around the bench and went to the edge of the meadow and peered into the east woods. It then backtracked past the bench and headed behind the sheds and disappeared toward the woods on the west side of the meadow. Wonderful experience! It is called the gray ghost of the North."

I went online to Hinterland Who’s Who, a website co-sponsored by the Canadian Wildlife Service and Canadian Wildlife Federation. I discovered how rare it is to see a Lynx in the wild… "Like the cougar and the bobcat, the other two members of the cat family native to Canada, the Canada lynx tends to be secretive and most active at night and, like them, it is rarely seen in the wild. Even for trappers who have spent a lifetime in areas where lynxes are common, encounters with these predators are rare and memorable."

Finding this website was also serendipitous. Clicking on “About Us,” I found this wonderful description for what it means to be Canadian.

What it means to be Canadian has often been demonstrated through people’s attachment to wildlife and wilderness. This is most evident in the iconic role that wildlife plays in Canadian currency, the popularity of wildlife art, and the billions of dollars that are spent annually on wildlife-related activities in Canada.

This connection to wildlife was introduced to many Canadians through the popular Hinterland Who’s Who television announcements, or vignettes. First created in the early 1960s, Hinterland Who’s Who made bold use of a relatively new medium — black and white television — to reach the Canadian general public. The vignettes, produced by the Canadian Wildlife Service, brought native wildlife into living rooms using excellent film footage and simple narration. They became, and remain, an enduring part of Canadian culture... The new Who’s Who (website) will serve to ensure that wildlife remains part of "what it means to be Canadian."

Snowflakes continue to float past the cabin windows.

... P. L. Morningstar

Signs of Spring

After driving through snow flurries on our way back from the States, we wondered what we would find at our cabin. Would the winter snow still cover the meadow? Would the deer mice have taken residency during our absence? Would the cabin feel empty without the presence of our mischievous and companionable cat Yu-Ling? All questions have been answered. The snow is gone, one deer mouse attempted a kitchen raid and did not live to tell the tale, and yes, the cabin is not the same without Yu-Ling’s tiny trill and clown-like antics… hiding his mouse toys in Bob’s boot, or chewing on a cardboard box until it met his specifications. But the daylight hours are lengthening rapidly, the purple crocus bloom, and bright patches of emergent red rhubarb push their heads through the garden soil. The creek - now ice free - is running well, allowing us to power our cabin completely with the bank of batteries (micro-hydro system). No need for the backup generator. But there is one thing I have noticed. Even though this was a mild winter compared to 2006/07, spring is behind by at least three weeks. By this time last year the tree swallows had arrived, and the red alder was full of bright pink catkins. No sign of them yet. And no black bears.

Danny’s old red pickup bumped down our driveway this afternoon. The two black and white farm dogs, Lizzie and Bella trotted along side. The truck pulled a utility trailer full of freshly cut birch. The truck bed was full too. That’s another sign of spring, cutting next winter’s firewood to give it time to dry and season during the warm summer months. Danny (Stephens) stacks the white-barked birch in two rows against the outside wall of the cabin. By fall it will be ready to use in the Pioneer Maid woodstove. The wood comes from some dead standing trees on our property. Danny and his uncle, Ralph Perry, cut and skidded them down from the wooded slope above our cabin. They have been doing this kind of seasonal chore for a lifetime. We are the city yokels, happy to be given a hand.

Danny stacks firewood (Photo by Bob)

... P. L. Morningstar

Grizzly-of-the-Sun

One of the poles at Kispiox for which some information is known is the Grizzly-of-the-Sun pole. It is comprised of two owls, one at the top and one at the bottom. In the middle is the Grizzly-bear with the sun around his neck. There are small human figures which were termed “People-around.” Emily Carr noted in a 1913 lecture on totems: "I saw this same story depicted upon two different poles, each being carried out in entirely different design. One stands in the village of Kispiox and one in Kitwanga, both up Skeena River district."

She then recounted the lengthy and detailed saga of a young Gitxsan noblewoman captured in a raid by Haidas, made a slave wife to a great chief, bearing him three sons-the first two of which the father killed. On the birth of her third son, "she determined that he should not share the fate of his brothers, so, waiting 'til her lord chief slept, she came stealthily and cut his head off - taking the head, she placed it up in her canoe and taking her babe she fled across that rough body of water . . . up the treacherous 'Skeena', back to the home of her father. The Haidas saw her pass, but as the husbands head was visible in the canoe they supposed him to be with her and did not give chase."

We live in an area rich in aboriginal history and culture. In August of last year we had the honor of participating in a pole raising at the Kitselas Village. It was the first pole raising for their village in 140-years. Seeing the joy and pride expressed by young and old alike, filled me with hope that there is a bright future ahead for Canada’s first people. And it is what led to our cross country trip looking for other bright sparks of light in these difficult times.

Faces on Grizzly-of-the-Sun bear paws

'People-around' on Grizzly-of-the-sun pole

... P. L. Morningstar
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Kispiox Village

Kispiox Village is located in an isolated valley at the confluence of the Skeena and Kispiox Rivers. Historically the people of this village chose to remain isolated and called itself Andpayaxw, ‘the hiding place.’ But later, weakened by measles and missionaries, it was renamed the Kispiox, or ‘loud talkers’ by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. According to the agent, the village was "the head-center of disaffection, rejecting telegraphs, reserves, wagon roads, fishing restrictions, and logging." Kispiox is still off-the-beaten-path and has been home to this particular Gitxan tribe for over 3,000 years.

Kispiox is one of three villages in our immediate area that is known for some of the last remaining totem poles that still exist in their native setting. Emily Carr (1871-1945) the eccentric female artist from British Columbia who once described herself as a “little old lady on the edge of nowhere,” is famous for her paintings of these and other poles. Her first exposure to aboriginal poles in Sitka, Alaska in 1907, so moved her that she decided to devote her life to making a visual record of the poles in their village settings before they disappeared, decaying back into the deep coastal rainforests. The artwork above left is one of Emily Carr’s paintings of the totem poles in Kispiox (1912).

Totem was the name mistakenly given to the poles by arriving Europeans, especially missionaries. But the poles have nothing to do with religion. The carvings on the poles represent family and clan crests, and important legends and events that have occurred in the life of a village. Only the tribe storyteller could relate the history of an individual pole. Consequently with the decimation of the aboriginals through smallpox, measles, and flu (perhaps 90% of the population died), many of the storytellers were lost before being able to pass the stories on to the next generation of storytellers.

Poles at Kispiox Village

... P. L. Morningstar

Valid Hope Demands Truth

Given the low number of viewers and lack of comments to my run-up to the fifth anniversary of the Iraq War series, I would have to say this: Those who feel as I do are not interested in reading the painful mirror image of their own thoughts and feelings. And those on the pro-war right are too busy listening and watching their own version of ‘the way things are.’ That leaves the vast middle ground, the majority who don’t want to read more dire predictions, or a litany of what is wrong with America. Frank Rich addresses the nation’s lack of interest in the five year Iraq occupation in his New York Times op-ed piece “The Petraeus-Crocker Show Gets the Hook.”

In many ways, I can understand how they feel. Who can they believe? What can they trust? The foundations of the American way of life are crumbling beneath their feet. Some turn to religion, requiring only blind faith… at least here they can find comfort; secure in a community of like-minded believers. Hope is to be found in “The Lord Jesus Christ who died for our sins.” Hope lays in the afterlife for the chosen few.

Others live for the moment, feeling the tenuousness of our existence on this planet… terrorist attacks, climate change, mall and school mass killings, home invasions, and road rage. Anything can happen, and does. These are good people, caring people. But feeling powerless to change ‘the way it is,’ they cling to what they know, family, work, and a vast variety of distractions. Busy people do not have time to stop, and look, and think about the realities beyond their front door or their workplace… so they keep busy. They don’t realize that the realities that seem so far away will eventually come knocking on their door.

While it may be more comfortable to deny or avoid what is happening, the final payment will come due nonetheless. It is only through seeing truth for what it is, in all of its ugliness and promise that we can bring about positive action and results. To base our hopes on words of deception, misinformation, misconceptions, and uncritical optimism, can only result in a false hope, akin to wishing upon a star or hoping to win a million dollar Lotto. Climate change is already here, there is no victory in a war based on lies, availability of fossil fuel is on the downside and its continued use will only hasten the inevitable. The world needs to be viewed with clarity in order to find real solutions. We must seek and demand truth… refuse to listen to profit making and politically motivated gibberish. Then we can take action, and not just hope for the best. But I will be the first to admit, truth is not easy to find these days.

... P. L. Morningstar
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Kispiox River

Spring ice breakup on the Kispiox River near Hazelton.

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Outlaw Territory

My birthday is in April, and last year for my birthday Morningstar suggested that we celebrate it by going to lunch at our favorite local restaurant on the bank of the Skeena River in Old Hazelton. I enjoy Hazelton. At the turn of the last century it was a remarkable place. The meeting place of two rivers – the Skeena and the Bulkley, and the meeting place of many cultures: First Nations, Chinese, French, English, and American, among others. It was the farthest point that steamboats from the Pacific could navigate east up the Skeena, and the end point for the newly constructed railroad coming west across the continent from the Atlantic. It was the jumping off point for the pack trains heading north to the gold fields of Alaska and the Yukon, and the end of the line for the Western Union Telegraph.

Hazelton was the region’s first in many categories: The first Hudson’s Bay Trading Post, bank (and bank robbery), school, mining office, government agent, newspaper, and hospital (still there). Black Jack MacDonell ran the tavern. He provided liquor and prostitutes, and was known as the “King of Saloon Keepers” from San Francisco to the Yukon. He was also known for saying that he would “fire any honest man (that he) found in his employ.” The law such as it was, was represented by local police, the Mounties, and the Pinkertons.

Much of Old Hazelton has been preserved by benign neglect and many of the original buildings are still standing. It’s a pleasure to walk its streets as we did on my birthday. Two miles out of Hazelton is a small community called – well, “Two Mile.” It’s not so much a community as it is a cluster of houses and one service station. It’s the site of the place where the prostitutes lived who serviced Hazelton during its hey day. The sign for the site reads, “Two Mile – Historically Non-Conforming.”

Near Two Mile is the Kispiox Valley Road. We had never been to the valley and we had often heard how beautiful it was, so after lunch we took a left turn and headed out. Within a few kilometers was a sign that indicated that we were entering “Outlaw Territory.” This area has a long history of being home to people who chose to live outside the law. The most famous was probably Simon Peter Gunanoot. Gunanoot was a handsome, prosperous First Nations rancher and trapper who lived near the Kispiox village. In 1906, he was involved in a tavern fight with two white men who were later found shot to death. Gunanoot was suspected and a posse was sent out to capture him. While the posse stopped to question people in a remote village, their horses “somehow” got loose and the posse had to walk 40 kilometers back to Hazelton. Meanwhile Gunanoot had returned to his ranch, picked up his family and belongings, and disappeared into the wilderness. Despite searches by the British Columbia Provincial Police, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the Pinkerton Agency and numerous bounty hunters, Gunanoot stayed hidden for 13 years. In 1919, he reappeared and surrendered in Hazelton, accompanied by Stewart Henderson, Canada’s leading criminal defense lawyer of that time. He was tried for the murders and found not guilty. After 13 years of running from the law, the jury took only 13 minutes to free him.

... Bob

Map showing the area of northern B.C. that we live in.

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April Snow and Welcome Home

Before we even looked outside this morning, we were taking bets on what we would find. We agreed that it would be cold. I added – half jokingly, “Yes, but it could be cold AND snowing.” Bob opened the door and laughed. “Take a look.” There it was… snow on the ground and light snowflakes drifting through the air. We left Burns Lake and traveled awhile through a winter landscape of April snow. Dropping down into the Bulkley Valley, the snow turned to rain. It was not the prettiest day to return home, but once we got the woodstove going, and the cabin heated, we were ready to let the rainfall come and the wind to blow. And I found a pleasant surprise waiting for me at the post office – a letter from an old friend that I had not heard from for a year. It’s good to be home.

... P. L. Morningstar
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A Northern Spring

The day started out well. We were greeted by sunny skies and invigorating air… that means COLD! We brushed the light layer of snow off the Jeep and headed for the local Tim Horton’s. Bob rolled up the rim and discovered he had won a free cup of coffee. The day is getting better. We continued our drive home on Highway 97, the old Cariboo Road, and then west on Highway 16. We are spending the night in Burns Lake.

Winter has not released its grip on the north. Canada geese walk around on frozen ponds looking a little confused – we could imagine their wondering if they had left the southern climes a little too early. Listening to CBC Radio, we heard Brian the garden expert describe current conditions as “mid-April goofiness – when people experience the desire to put plants in the ground.” I doubt anyone around here is tempted by that desire. They would have to shovel the snow off first. The Cariboo is cattle country, and on southern slopes where snow has melted, herds of cattle graze on the winter brown grass. It is here that we saw the first sign of spring… small calves at their mom’s side or snuggled down into a patch of sunny grass. They were sprinkled across the hillsides like new daisies.

... P. L. Morningstar
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Travels on the Cariboo Road

Right after crossing the border into Canada this morning, we stopped at the Tim Hortons in Abbotsford. It has become our official “Welcome to Canada” since 2006. We enthusiastically rolled up the rims on our coffee cups and read, “Please Play Again.” Oh well. Then we made a right turn up the Fraser River Canyon through Hope, Yale, Boston Bar and beyond. Today we traveled on a paved highway, but once this was the Cariboo Road. Starting in 1858 (this year marks British Columbia’s 150th anniversary) with the discovery of gold in the Fraser River, wave after wave of eager gold miners advanced northward into British Columbia’s interior. This influx presented transportation problems that led to the construction of the Cariboo Road begun in Yale in 1861. Then it was mule trains, freight wagons and stage coaches that rumbled through the Fraser River and Thompson River canyons and passes. Now it is cars, trucks, and the Canadian National Railway. We are spending the night in 100 Mile House. It's name comes from those gold rush days when a stagecoach stop was set up to refresh travelers 100 miles from "Mile 0" at Lillooet, the starting point in the 300-mile trek to the Barkerville gold fields. We just drove a little bit of history.

Canadian National Railroad carrying ship containers along the Thompson River
(photo shot through the windshield)

... P. L. Morningstar
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O Canada!

Tomorrow morning we cross the border to Canada, our adopted home. It will take us three full days of driving (900 miles) to reach our cabin in the Skeena River valley. And as we drive north, the towns get smaller, further apart, and the roads emptier. There will be plenty of coffee and donut stops ahead and it’s in the midst of the Tim Horton’s Roll Up the Rim campaign. Drink your coffee, then roll up the paper rim to see if you won anything! The first time we took part in this Canadian tradition, we won two cups of coffee and figured that was a good omen for our prospective move. There is a slight problem though. It's damn hard to roll up the rim!

... P. L. Morningstar

Feeling Like a Schlump

Sometimes I feel old, and tired… not sure that I want to hang around for what looks to be a very bleak future for the world. Everything has changed since I was a young idealist growing up in a small Oregon logging town in the 1940’s and 50’s. Then I believed that anything was possible, with dedication and hard work. No dream was too big. This was America, the land of opportunity and freedom. And indeed, I have had the freedom to do much with my life. It is only in the past decade that I have begun to look around and see that this is no longer the America I once knew. But I still believed that with others, and through the democratic process, we could become again a society that is just, participatory, sustainable, and peaceful. That belief has been shaken lately, and I like many others have become discouraged and disheartened. I have found it increasingly difficult to write about hope. Today I read a speech that Doris “Granny D” Haddock, 98, (photo above) just gave in Gettysburg. She concluded with this statement:

Let’s not be tired. Let’s not be old. Let’s make a new beginning by getting together with our neighbors more often. How about next week? Let’s plant some more vegetable gardens. Let’s make some furniture or art. Let’s fix up some bicycles. Let’s get the whole neighborhood to go down to visit the local office of our elected people and get them on board or scare the hell out of them.

This is our democracy if we can keep it. This is a grand planet if we can save it. It really is up to us. Each person is the hero of the world, and, in saying that, I do not joke or exaggerate. Every one of you has the power to do this, to start something big … and necessary … and beautiful.

The late Molly Ivins once said, “The problem with Granny D…is that she makes the rest of us look like such schlumps.” Well, I feel like a schlump. Granny D was twenty years older than I am right now when she began a 3,200-mile walk across the country to demonstrate her concern for campaign reform. She walked ten miles each day over fourteen months. As described on her website, “Doris traveled as a pilgrim, walking until given shelter, fasting until given food. With the unflagging generosity of strangers she met along the way, Doris never went without a meal or a bed. She trekked through over 1,000 miles of desert, climbed the Appalachian Range in blizzard conditions and even skied 100 miles after a historic snowfall made roadside walking impossible. When she arrived in Washington D.C., Granny D was met by 2,200 supporters representing a wide variety of reform groups. Several dozen members of Congress walked the final miles with her.” In 2000, Doris was arrested at the Capitol for reading the Declaration of Independence. In 2004, she became the Democratic nominee to the U.S. Senate in New Hampshire four months before election day, and managed to capture 34% of the vote. And she continues her activism to this day.

More than likely, there have been times when Granny D has felt discouraged and disheartened like all of the rest of us. But she has not given up. How can I? I have years to go before I reach Granny D’s age, and there is work to do.

... P. L. Morningstar
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Living With a Sense of Wonder

When I lived on San Juan Island, before our move to northern British Columbia, our home overlooked a small lake. The first signs of spring were the yellow daffodils popping up in the meadow and the red flowering currant in bloom at the far end of the woodland path. The rufous hummingbird advance scouts arrived and the ducks paired off on the lake – the males easy to spot in bright plumage and the dowdy brown females dressed in camouflage to bring no attention to her nests. I loved to wander to the edge of the lake to admire the bright blooms of skunk cabbage that grew there, and to find the first feathery shoots of the prehistoric-age horsetail. My wonderment at the small living things so easily overlooked in our busy world, evolved into a botanical art studio. I preserved individual plant specimens of fern, lichen, horsetail, and tiny mosses by drying them in a flower press, and then mounting them on paper. Matted and framed, their hidden beauty revealed… they are nature’s work of art.

Now I am visiting San Juan Island. It is spring. The ducks are playing on the lake, and the skunk cabbage blooms. A deer strolls by, a young buck, curiously looks at our little trailer, his ears like antennae scanning to hear our voices. I peek under the fir needles to see if the lady slippers (Calypso bulbosa) are up and then realize it is too early. It all looks the same, but it is somehow different. Perhaps I am different. I am conscious of the cars and trucks that zoom past; the busy lives of everyone here, the tourists, shops, restaurants, paved roads and sidewalks. I have grown used to a quiet life and solitude… where nature is primary, not secondary. Now I wonder about different things. Have the black bears come out of hibernation? Is there still snow on the ground? Have the beavers had their young kits? Are the wild violets blooming yet?

… P. L. Morningstar