As most folks in the valley know, the Birchman has been wandering these woods for ages. He’s the quiet sentinel who startles anyone foolish enough to scar the land. Legend claims he rose from the ashes of a colossal forest fire, and let’s just say—you don’t want to end up on his bad side.
Cooper and The Birchman.
This year, though, a new hero sprouted onto the scene: Kaleman. Kale is a super-green, and Kaleman is—naturally—a super man powered by it, devoted to making sure everyone gets their daily dose of vegetables.
Kaleman.
My granddaughter Scarlett knows these characters well. She also happens to be the unrivaled champion of spotting the biggest, sweetest carrots in the garden.
At some point she decided the Birchman and Kaleman might need backup. And so, Carrot Girl was born. She’s bold, unafraid of a little dirt, and blessed with extraordinary eyesight—useful, since Birchman and Kaleman’s vision seems to fade a little more each day.
Carrot Girl!
Scarlett used an AI program to create the movie poster above, which is rather delightful. After a few experiments and nips and tucks, she looked at it proudly and announced, “Now this is a movie I’d watch!”
Dad and I used to go up Shuswap Creek. The road was always bad. Perfect for the old Scout. The road followed a narrow draw that rose quickly to the foot of Mt. Baldy. The creek was just off the side of the road, 10 or 20 meters below. As a youngster, it seemed like a special place to me. Perhaps so, because large Cedar trees grew beside the creek, these trees seemed rare and majestic to me. Or maybe it was the abundant rabbit and grizzly bear tracks Dad would point out along the way. I remember once, Dad and I were stuck up there while we coaxed life back into the Scout. At the time, it would have bothered me naught if we were ever to return.
By the time I was a teenager the lower bridges had washed out and slides devoured the road. To conquer Baldy meant a sturdy walk through the Cedars. I did it often. I considered planting tracks beside a Grizzly’s an honour.
When I was young I made plans for the city. I wasn’t sure if I would ever come back. It was the middle of winter. Before leaving, I grabbed my skiis, skins, tent, bag and pack. I was determined to have one more look. I skied as high as I could and pitched a saggy tent. The night was long, starry and beautiful at the foot of Baldy.
The next day on the way back out I took a nasty fall and was lucky not to tumble into the creek.
Many years later, long after I was back from the city, I went back to find a couple items I left behind up Shuswap Creek. One was a tent pole. It was easy to find. It was right where I left it. The other item was a knife that fell out of my pack when I took the tumble. It was harder to find. But there it was about ten meters below the spot.
On that trip back into the Shuswap, I noticed a large Cedar that seemed to be growing leaves. On closer inspection, I discovered, it was a dead Cedar and a Birch had grown up through the rotting center.
I went back and told Dad. He was beyond hiking at this time in his life. He wasn’t surprised I found the pole or the knife, but he was interested in the tree. Where exactly was it – before the second bridge?
Later, over crib or coffee, between laughs we would talk about that tree. How phenomenal it was to find.
The knife, the pole, leaving home, youth, old-age – all of it was left behind and unimportant. We talked about the trees, the Grizzly, the drumming chicken, slides and runoff.
Young Cooper who I will not be able to keep up with much longer.
It was good to put the skates on, doubley great to be joined by Cooper and Kelsie even if they didn’t have their skates. Kelsie still thinks it is unsafe. Considering there is still open water not far from shore she is probably right. Still I insist that Lake Windermere has to be skated in November.
Getting in a few strides.
It seems, every year, the skates are further down to lace up and don’t seem to go as fast as the year before, regardless the ice still feels good.
The Columbia River freezing. If it backs up far enough it will take out bridges. It’s good to see a small glacier advancing regardless of season.
It has been so nice for Lisa and I to have a few days to spend with family. We have been fortunate to all be in good health with plenty of food to share. Last year we said we would figure out a way to be together come hell or high-water.
It’s turned chilly at about -25°c. Tomorrow is back to work and it’s supposed to get colder with the windchill. I’ll probably be in a plow cleaning up parking lots, shovelling off walkways and tending to guests minimal problems.
With the Covid Omicron strain running rampant I will be ducking my duties with guests unless it’s urgent. What is urgent – fire and flood, everything else can wait. My job description doesn’t include getting Covid because somebody doesn’t know how their DVD player works.
However, I am a realist, due to how quickly this variant is spreading, I get the feeling we all are going to have trouble staying out of this disease’s path.
Steamboat mountain at the left. Sitting in the middle of the Columbia. Like a big steamboat or where the river boats could be heard signalling to the ragged folks watching them pass?
The sky has been deep blue on occasion, the snow covered mountains incandescent in the sun long after the valley bottom is in shadow.
I woke up early this morning to chase stars. It was overcast. I went outside to make sure, and saw light spikes to the NE. I knew what they were right away. The air had ice crystals and the lighted billboards along the highway were shining straight up.
They looked cool, some of them shined then dimmed. It’s Christmas. I thought it would make a good shot, but it represents everything I hate; light pollution, billboards with faces of realtors, standing sky-high, selling off the valley to the wealthy oil executives to the east. And also the plight of the people on the Shuswap Nation that feel they have no other option but to do business with these arseholes. Not that that is an excuse. I can only try to understand.
The snow beneath our feet.
Once the sky goes down for good after a day of shining strong the landscape turns grey, ground to sky. That’s when our lives become real.
For me, I protect what I love and tell them a bright day is coming again tomorrow.
Palliser Pass 