Early October
Category: Kootenay Gothic
Bradshaw Shank Redemption
The good neighbour and I were given a few plants this year. I’d requested them and thanks to a couple sisters three plants were given to me in early spring. Much earlier than I usually start plants. I passed on two to my neighbour as he is much better with young plants than me. The last one I was able to keep alive until it was ready to be transplanted outdoors in May.
They were seeds from Aaron Bradshaw’s plants that he gave his sister, Linda the year before.
Linda started them on her windowsill. Aaron had left the parent plants for his sister when he died of cancer.
The plants were young at the time he passed, but grew in his sister’s backyard. It’s possible Aaron used cannabis for pain or comfort during his battle with his sickness. More than likely, it was something everyone here grows up with and knows helps with many everyday events, happy, sad, life affirming or life threatening.
Aaron was a year or two older than me. We ran into each other plenty. His father and my Grandfather were good friends. The first time I met him, I remember clearly, we were both just tots. My father took me to visit his father. Aaron was running around their house wild. Of course he was showing off for me and probably wanted me to play. But his speed intimidated me and I stuck by my father’s leg.
After that, even later, he knew he had my number, I knew it too. Growing up in this area you had to be tough. Aaron always knew I looked at him meekly. Once, long ago, he stopped me on my bike and asked me to borrow it. This is how a bike was stolen in those days. It happened a lot to me before I hit ten. He said, he just had to do something then he would give it right back.
I gave my bike to Aaron, figuring where he might dump it twisted and broken. Instead he brought it back just like he said he would.
Later in years, when ever we ran into each other, usually in the bar, we would talk, share some stories, about fishing and hunting. We always mentioned his Father and my Grandfather’s friendship. Like there was a bond. And there was a bond. We both grew up in this place. A place that seems to be cruel to some of the people who have been here the longest and love it the most.
Our families have had their share of feeling it.
The plant in my garden put out some big early buds that have been enjoyed by many. I am unsure what strain it is, but it’s a deep powerful one.
My good neighbour’s plants turned out to be a male and female. After I told him about Aaron and the origin of the plants. He decided to breed the two plants and we now have seeds for many years to come.
The good neighbour calls the strain Bradshaw Shank Redemption. I think Aaron would have got a helluva kick out of that.
anger or instinct
The dog before Willow was named Slinky, she was brave like Willow, but also a physically perfect specimen of her breed.
She would dig for hours for gophers and mice. Once I saw her leap into the air and catch a bird taking off out of the long grass. She didn’t like the cold and wouldn’t swim. She often looked at me like I was crazy, as if to say, isn’t there an easier way.
In the bush she was always on guard, refusing to sleep as long as we were in the open.
When the girls were young they would light a fire in the yard and have friends over. This was the same time my good neighbour Larry had a constant stream of couch surfers at his place, most harmless enough. Lost souls he was lending a hand at the expense of his wife and children who had moved out.
Every now and again Larry got a real winner. Roy was one of those. He came off like a salesman, he had the bloated look, the laugh when nothing was funny, but no teeth, except one right in the front. Larry told him, try to hang onto it as it could be the anchor for a plate.
Roy even got a job running the local bar, until he was drinking more than they were bringing in.
Roy, once a long time ago, was coming home drunk and ran up on the kids having their fire. Slinky got him before he got there and bit his hand, she was aiming for his nuts, but he wisely got his hand down in time.
Roy’s night was over. The booze and dog bite will take it out of you, especially if you have no teeth to bite back.
The kids got me, I escorted Ray the remaining way to Larry’s. I was concerned he might report being bit by a dog. I told him I was pissed off, because my dog might have caught rabies from him.
Lisa was concerned that Slinky was turning angry, the friendliest dog, could bite someone. Lisa asked me to take her to the vet to see if she was in pain, maybe she had bad teeth. It turned out I had bad teeth, Roy had one bad tooth, but Slinky’s teeth were in perfect condition.
Slinky was doing what just came natural.
In this day and age we have plenty of threats running up on us. Some of them are real, most are not. I’m like an old dog and can’t tell the difference. My hackles are up, my bad teeth are sensitive to hot and cold. It’s a miracle I have any bite at all.
the creek
I’ve heard it
Seen it this way before.
Still disconcerting.
It looks hopeless,
this time with science
on their side.
It was in the sixties. . . or seventies
eighties even
they said it the same
but different.
late august
An unnamed, unclimbed mountain – so happy the gore tex climbing hordes
are off shitting on the well known peaks miles from here.
Saw Winter Maker this morning, a waning sliver came up in dawn, later I faced the rising sun taking the cold from my bones; once again saved without having to confess or spend a minute in church. Sometimes you get lucky.
Soon it will be ice.
There are signs everywhere summer is on it’s way out. We have had frost at this time of year. It’s getting close, the other day was 3°c. The garden is flattening, except for the carrots, smoke and cabbage, who are revelling in the cool of night.
Willow casually smokes a cigar in her own private natural spa.
Was along the creek a range over. Willow swam the blue moving water fetching sticks. She learned quickly to use the current to her advantage. I threw sticks into an eddy, they would go around and around then finally spill out into the froth of the main channel. Willow did the same, fighting to get caught in the eddy, then using her thrusters to speed out of the eddy on just the right orbit, capturing the stick every time! It required perfect mathematical calculations on her part – the speed of the eddy, her weight, the speed of the main current, her mass and it’s effect on water resistance; all of that and the same calculations for the stick, just to be safe! Or. . . she just naturally knew what to do. Both are science, both are nature.
Determination.
The sun went down and turned to twilight, as dramatic as it’s entrance.
Sometimes you really do get lucky.
addiction
It’s time to get serious, I’ve been told and I’ve been told more than once. The rivers sure look promising, same as the muddy water in those gypsum sink holes, I used to dive when I was younger. Every single time I thought I was going to die. Sometimes instead of coming up I’d keep swimming down. I did it because it was hard. Everything trying to pull me up. The air in my lungs, lifting, my eyes open, facing the current. Stinging. Looking for a breath. That’s the way it is on any given day.
mouse
My dog has her tip toe shoes on. She is after a mouse. Walking slowly from edge to edge. While, more than likely the mouse is running scared. The mouse’s best chance is Willow falls asleep.
Surprise, surprise we have more than one mouse.
the turn
Late light.
The garden is looking weary. Plenty of yellow leaves. The vegetables are churning out, knowing fall is upon us. The carrots have the best growing in front of them, same as the cabbage
Old peas.
The nights are longer. It’s already cool in the mornings. Orion is rising when I awake. It clears the mountains before light.
Why the long face?
The peas have to be pulled. The ones I find I give to Willow. She appreciates them more if I open them. But what am I. . . her servant.
The stars and moon tell the story better.
the news
Willow eyeing up the carrots.
Recently, I had a conversation with someone I have a great deal of respect for. She is a business person who is smart and knows how to deal with personnel and clients. There is a lot of juggling that goes on in such situations. She handles it mostly with a smile on her face. Not much rattles her.
I call it ‘high functioning’, being able to deal with more than one thing at a time, sometimes more than ten things at at time. Some people are really good at it, she is one.
The other day her and I and a few others entered into a conversation. We talked about some of the recent events in Canadian news. Everyone in the conversation had an opinion except her. She said, she doesn’t listen, read or watch the news.
Now, back when I was growing up this was a form of ignorance which bothered me. In my uneducated world, newspapers and televised news was how a person educated themselves.
She explained, she didn’t want Trump and everything else in the news filling up her brain while there was more important stuff to think about and accomplish.
***
In the same boat.
My good friend Dave and I talk often. We have always laughed about how many children get rides to school, even when they live within walking distance. He says, it’s because we hear about a kid being snatched in some faraway place on the news and we take notice, it’s real, it’s like it happened under our nose, even though it is the safest time in Canada to be a child. We turn vigilant. It takes up space in our mind. It’s why our children have lost the pleasure of walking to school.
***
If I listened to it all, I’d pack it in. Call it. Say uncle. And sometimes I feel like it.
***
The sky is still blue. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it’s dry. The forest catches on fire and banks get chewed away by runoff.
***
Turning.
The moral of this story, if there is one, let your kids walk to school. Teach them to say, ‘fuck you’, when warranted. They are going to have plenty to be pissed about come future.
Palliser Pass 