Mom always said, never get on a train that isn’t moving.
Dropped off at the good neighbours to make sure he was still hanging on.
Ray tripped and fell, spent hours beside the toilet before pulling himself to his bed where he couldn’t get up. The cleaning lady noticed his curtains weren’t open in the morning and checked and found him there. They stuck him in the hospital where he adjusted.
If you live to be 103 you probably have to make some adjustments along the way.
The other good neighbour is still harbouring weed plants with buds the size of Christmas ornaments. We talked about how we are sleeping, our children not trusting the government, their reluctance of the vax, the news, bringing guns to a protest and the west coast sinking, also the usual things, if we have enough firewood, the lack of snow, finally a skim of ice on the big lake and a bunch of other stuff that only made us laugh.
I hold out hope for him. He is charming. I told him he should open a bed and breakfast. It would be authentic. He could give a lesson on how to stew tomatoes. I could put up a sign, GARDEN TOURS, being right across the street. Spin off business.
By the time they get sick of our antics and decide to warehouse our sorry souls I hope old Ray’s still in there to teach us how to adjust.
A fine day and quick update. Some running around in the morning for supplies and the post office and dump. Willow and I headed for the creek. She let me have it when I was able to find a dry route across the creek. It was a fallen log, slipperier then greased cat shit. She would have been fine but for the shear bank on the other side. I didn’t go out of her sight. She walked the bank while I cut a few boughs of cedar. She returned to normal when I returned over the bridge.
Later I stuck a piece of wire through the meat of my hand between my thumb and index finger. It was clean through and made me laugh when I pulled it out, not that I’m tough, just that it looked funny. It bled a bit so I stuck a tight glove on to act as a compression bandage, it did the trick.
I did this while trying to bend a piece of wire into a hook to hang an elk skull I found on the same wrong side of the creek I mentioned earlier. Willow looked at me, hand bleeding, as if to say, I told you not to cross that iffy log.
Split some wood, tried to carve a heart out of a piece of driftwood we gathered in the fall, but shit the wood was hard. I thought it was cedar, but it must have been fir. To make matters worse it was a root.
I ended up making a monster out of the root. It was a giant snake with front legs. It balances perfectly on the table. I painted it’s forked tongue red. Thats the way it is, you start off carving hearts and end up seeing a creature you never knew existed. Copper and Scarlett are going to love it more than a smooth wooden heart anyway.
About 3:45 the sun went down in a tight flash leaving the ridge lit for a couple of precious minutes.
Lisa is making me supper for my birthday, the kids and our parents are invited. I’m pretty lucky. I can’t wait to see what everyone thinks of the snake head dinosaur. . . not me the carving.
Supper is just about ready and the guests are due to arrive.
Busy for any long weekend. The tourists and second home owners from Alberta are out in force.
I set out early this morning to get a few pictures of the valley. It’s rainy and the colours are saturated.
My trip on the highway was eventful with Albertan after Albertan passing me on slick roads, regardless of me traveling 5 over the speed limit, trying to get home, no doubt, before the weather grew worse.
Plenty sirens of emergency vehicles heading into the pass. I learned later multiple accidents had closed the highway.
The highway turned my mood and I thought about all the places the tourists refuse to look either from being blind, or not wanting to acknowledge what is part of the natural local, like staff houses in the worst parts of town, or the end of grey streets overlooking dark second homes on the east side.
Invermere has become gentrified, right down to $4 cups of coffee, art galleries selling shit wallhangings, a moose made from rusty car parts and the District brass trying extra hard to provide tourists more places to take Instagram photos, completley forgetting about the small town that attracted tourists in the first place, caring little for the people who work and live in the town.
It is sad really how short sighted our District Council and the business folk and realtors are.
Perhaps not so short sighted if your only goal is to line your pockets with money. Unfortunately these are the folks that make policy. In their eyes the bigger the line up through Sinclair Canyon the better. Tourists smashing into each other is music to their ears.
Spent the day working at the resort. With it being an extended long weekend the valley is busy with tourists.
I can remember when Remembrance Day was not a statutory holiday. Some of the veterans would march in the parade and then go back to work. Fitting for that generation.
My Father and Grandfather would march on this day. I never saw it having come along later. By then my father had quit marching, although he still went to the Remembrance Day Service. My brother, sisters and I stood through many with him.
Did my Father quit marching because his Father couldn’t and then passed away? Was it his way of keeping his Father happy. They both were committed to service. They both experienced pain, physical and mental. None of it was talked about.
It’s a complicated world, if this day reminds us of anything, it should be that war is wrong. Not that it will stop us from getting into it. We have been on the winning side, and lately, on the losing side. Our fight for freedom, against domination and genicide in WWII was successful. Our fight for control over the Middle East was not.
My Father is gone now going on twenty years, I feel closer to him than ever as I reach the age that I really got to know him. We do things for people, because it means more to them than not doing it will to us.
Last year I didn’t renew my Legion membership after 30 years a member. It was through the encouragement of my Father that I joined. I shovelled sidewalks at the Branch and organized games for the members. I drank on Fridays and won my share of meat draws.
At that time the Legion was full of Veterans and it was good to talk to them. I learned plenty.
A picture of my Grandfather Dapper, a founding member of Branch #71 still hangs on the way to the pissers.
But somewhere for me it changed. The old guard died off, replaced by members with racist beliefs, and folks in it for themselves, siphoning funds for their own benefit.
It just didn’t seem something to continue worth supporting or being a member of.
Maybe it’s the same reason my Father quit marching and started singing Pete Seeger songs in the car.
It’s dark by five. It’s slow as a motherfucker. Except for the sirens that are out clearing the roads. If they have the beacon light on its just snow.
Plenty of both coming our way. People like me worry about the woodpile and meat in the freezer. I’m not a modern man following the higher-ups flying private jets into Glasgow, talking about reducing carbon, for all I know the carbon they want to reduce could be me. That 1%, who our own Prime Minister is a member of, has to be watched, not for some conspiracy or evil doings they could be conjuring, but for how clueless they are.
Businesspeople, tourists (including politicians and environmentalists, the rich kind as if there were any others) or the new Santa Claus delivering Amazon packages!
It’s tough to believe in anything I hear during lunch or on the phone. Venus appeared on the ridge tonight after a few days of cloud. A waxing crescent moon to the left and above. I had to think about it, but they were right on time and in position.
People say times are going to get tough. No more fuel. I’m going to miss my old Ford, that gas guzzling pig. I’ll narrow my circle. I’ll miss the ridges. I’ll pull the siding from the side of my house, burning it at a pace that matches my march into old age.
Had the privilege to go hiking with Ashley from Manitoba and Kevin and Ashley from Scotland. They let me take them into the backcountry for a hike. Hiking is just about done for the season with snow coming on, but it’s the only day we could all get off from the resort.
It was -14°c in the shade when we started out. Kevin and Ashley from Scotland said that is a cold day back home. Ashley from Manitoba, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye.
We had about a foot of snow to start that stuck festively to the boughs of the trees. We climbed quickly on a broken trail, catching a glimpse of a moose where the path opened into a meadow. Unlucky for us it didn’t stick around.
The rise kept us warm. We marvelled at the rock cliffs catching the sun and cheered each other on to reach the warmth. Finally after a bit of a slog we reached the edge of the timber. The sun didn’t disappoint.
We stopped for a few pictures and admired the view and discussed our plans to go to a small lake in a basin to the west, or head up higher. The lake seemed out of the question. Breaking trail in the snow while losing elevation seemed counterintuitive. On the other hand, the ridge, with the wind hardening or blowing the snow off the rocks, seemed not so bad, although steep.
Heading to the ridge.
We slogged for awhile in the deep snow until we were finally out of the trees and walking became much easier. I encouraged my young companions to lead the way as I knew I was holding them up.
Assiniboine from the ridge.
We rustled a flock of Snow Buntings, not yet entirely white. They flew overhead giving us a thrill with their small chirps. Ashley said, she thought at first they were falling leaves but realized there was no trees.
A quick snack and some photos up top and we were on our way back down. If it were me alone I would have backtracked on the same way we came. But they are young, and apt to take the road less travelled, so why go back over familiar territory.
Kevin looking for photo opportunities.
Instead we dropped off the ridge into a steep draw directly above where we parked the truck. It was knee deep snow on the shady side that would have been better tackled with skis. We hopped, skipped, slid and waded our way back to the truck, boots full of snow, happy for the sunny day.
Hurt my back this morning lacing up my boots. The good thing about getting old is you never have to say, ‘I’m out of shape,’ instead you just say, ‘I’m old.’
In the mountains the sun goes down and comes up a thousand times depending on where you are standing.
Willow and I headed behind Swansea to walk it off. We pushed to the upper reaches and stopped before the ridge. Willow was happy. The snow was fine on her feet. It was about -10°c and didn’t ball up. The sun felt good when we broke into it. The waning moon held steady in the blue sky.
Willow in her natural habitat, loving life.
This will be one of the last trips into the high country. Snow will start flying in earnest. The cold will take hold. Sure there are snowmobiles and ATV’s that can deliver me to where I want to go, but I’ve never liked the smell of gasoline and exhaust. . . nor do I like the noise, plus they all break down. I know that’s part of the fun if you like that, but it’s not for me. Willow concurs. When I can’t get there under my own power I’ll narrow my circle.
Waning crescent.
November can be the shits, low cloud, snow, wet and freezing temps. It’s the month the weather can’t make up it’s mind to shit or get off the pot. However, without fail, by the end of the month the lakes are frozen and the mountains are filled with snow.
Next years garlic.
Down in the valley bottom I finally got the garlic in. It’s late so I planted it a little deeper to keep it away from the cold. Not sure if this is a sound strategy. We will see come spring. The one thing I know about gardening; regardless of neglect life seems to flourish.
It was just about snow. Another 1000 meters. Maybe less. Several V’s of geese heading south. If we were smart enough we would look at them, marvel at the way they change positions, helping along. Knowing it takes them all to get where they are going.
***
Dug the last three turnips. Swede Turnips my Dad called them. Good in stew or mulligans with a wild chicken or deer meat. A good neighbour walked by and I gave one to him. He carried it back and forth from the mail. I told him he could leave it and pick it up on the way back. I guess he didn’t want to take the chance I may change my mind. It was a seven pound turnip after all and not to be taken lightly.
***
Always wondered about the creek. While it’s muddy and I can’t see the bottom is when it’s flowing fast. Once it clears I promise myself I’ll figure it out. Before long it’s muddy again, and I don’t seem any better off. Damn that goddamn creek.
***
As I get older fear seems to take a back seat, figuring it out. It is a ragged ride in an engine driven sled, over hill and dale, over bumps and shitty road, all this while sipping something cool, watching the sky, trying to figure it all out, knowing all the time you never will.
***
If I had to make it big. I’d have to turn my heart black. That’s not to say everyone on top has dark hearts. We all start somewhere. I’m trying hard to leave my mark upstream. It’s that damn current after all.
***
My boots are wet, I’d better get used to it, before they freeze solid.
My brother Ron was laid to rest today. He passed away a couple weeks ago. It has thankfully been busy to keep my mind occupied. My bones have hurt, head, joints, I haven’t been able to think proper. Last night I wrote his eulogy. Not really a eulogy but a few stories. It wasn’t hard to come up with stories as we shared plenty of times together. My Sister Wynanne spoke wonderfully and said so much, things I wanted to say. Our Sister Deb with Kurt sang a beautiful rendition of Go Rest High On The Mountain.
Ron was eight years older than me and kept me from plenty. Times were not easy when we grew up. The truth is they were harder for him than I. Plenty was expected from him. That goes with the territory when your father gives you his name.
We fit in some good times and I learned a lot from Ron. I was always welcome to go through his records and magazines. They were a treasure trove of information for the young me. I swear I learned to read reading Penthouse Forum.
When I was sixteen he took me down to Montana where we went from one down and out bar to another. We were always one step away from getting into fights. It was probably the size of his arms, the jagged scar across his chin and his gregarious nature that kept us out of them.
One of those nights, at a topless bar, we stayed until closing. We found ourselves on the street at 3am with nowhere to go. Another patron with the same problem as us started in on me verbally. Of course he was older and bigger. Ron thought it was funny. The guy said he’d just been released from prison and I didn’t doubt it. I figured I’d get in the first shot and I’d make it a good one. While the guy blabbed on trying to rile me, I reached into my pocket and arranged the coins into my closed fist into a column. The guy didn’t see me but Ron did. Ron stepped in and put the run on the guy without lifting a finger. The guy was never a threat, I just didn’t see it. Ron said he wasn’t worried about me, he just didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in jail. He also said, if you are smart you don’t have to fight. That advice probably came at the right time in my life.
When you are born in 1956 you could go on to be a modern man or you could live a life similar to your Father and Grandfather. Men who’s only way was to push feelings down. I think Ron did this and like his father and grandfather it caught up with him. Some people inherit feelings. I believe Ron inherited his Grandfather and Father’s horror of war and their mental anguish.
About ten years ago Ron with the help of his wife Leslie, who has always been by his side, quit drinking. I never asked, but I suspect he had to lay some of those inherited demons to rest. His Grandfather and Father would have been proud.
When Ron was diagnosed with cancer he faced it with determination, grace and never felt sorry for himself. He always said, he should have been dead long ago from liver or lung cancer, the rare form of blood cancer he caught seemed like a joke to him.
The past two weeks since Ron has passed many people have expressed their condolences to me. Some have said how unfair his death has been, because he was able to put away the alcohol, perhaps a longer life should have been promised. I don’t think Ron felt his cancer was unfair. I don’t think he thought fairness had anything to do with it. He told me, it is hard to feel sorry for yourself when he saw people much younger, in the clinics and hospitals, facing their own battles with cancer.
I’ve spent a lifetime learning from my brother. I’ve followed him around all these years and am going to miss him paving the way.
I don’t see any weakness when I look at birds. They drop seeds for others and stash them for later. Sometimes the woodpeckers and starlings show up, sure there can be a ruckus. It’s just seeds however, at this time of year. They will fight to death in spring over nests housing young ones, but not over seeds in fall.
Been listening and reading a lot of stuff, done by smart people, that is supposed to explain things, why we have ended up the way we are. I’m not sure if I understand it or buy into it. I’ve always had fear about people with all the answers. I’ve even listened to folks with supposedly the same problems as me, and I can’t relate. I just find it dull. Don’t get me wrong I’m dull too.
I found my grandparents graves today. I looked all over. I remember when they were laid to rest. I thought it was more in the middle of the Cemetery. Goes to show memory can play some tricks, then again it was the early 70’s and from what I was told I was distraught. This is the first time I’ve looked since.
Those birds though on a brilliant day, without sentimentality, testing the trellis branches, not a worry of winter, knowing cold is on the way, they’ve got it figured out.
Palliser Pass 