Stories, Excerpts, Backroads
A few cold nights coming on. I am building a rink for Cooper and Scarlett.
I have never built a backyard rink. No need because we live so close to the lake.
However, kids are not allowed to wander like they used to, plus it might be nice to watch the kids skate while I get supper ready.
The problem is the land isn’t level. There is going to be 10″ of ice on one side and an inch on the other.
Copper and Scarlett have a lot of energy. This will do them well.
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.
The best war is antiwar any day of the week.
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.
The backside of Swansea was wet this morning with snow falling at higher elevations.
It was a good weekend with our kids. Maddy, Hunter and Bree came in from Calgary. With Kelsie, Tom, Cooper and Scarlett, now living here, it made for a lively house. Hunter and Maddy even argued about which beds they were to sleep in.
Thanksgiving has always meant a lot to Lisa and I. Now even more so. It is a wonderful time of year and with the garden coming in there is always plenty to go around.
When I was younger we would hunt and fish on this weekend. My Dad and brother Ron would fish below Wilder’s Old Camp. They were good fishermen while I seemed to always be untangling some birds nest.
It has been a difficult time this past week, but with everyone around it has made it better.
We are having a turkey at Tom and Kelsie’s tonight. Our contribution will be a bottle of Chardonnay from Sonoma. . . and the carrots, potatoes, beets and turnip, but I don’t think Lisa and I can solely claim those as a donation, because Cooper and Scarlett helped me dig them.
Lisa and I decided to have coffee on the backside of Swansea. It was up an old steep road we haven’t travelled in some time. Before long we were on our perch, Willow chasing her nose, the clouds lifting and descending, depending on the direction.
Fall is here, colours are deep from the rain. We walked the ridge. Without rain we could have seen Baldy Mountain.
The mushrooms have popped up and gone inky. Solomons Seal has turned rouge in the cooling air.
Both Lisa and I commented that it is such a relief the fall season is upon us. We are both looking forward to the slowness and quiet that accompanies winter.
A few more photos of the garden taken about an hour and a half after the hail storm. Fortunately, it sounds like the hail storm cut a narrow path through the valley. Communities to the south and north of Invermere were not hit as hard.
Talked to a few gardeners and it sounds like everybody pretty much is in the same boat with smashed plants. I was lucky because I don’t spend much money on plants nor rely on it for a living and sell produce like some.
Plenty of videos on Facebook of a river running down main street. My neighbours experienced some flooding. Our basement started to flood due to the outside stairwell filling with hail, fortunately I saw it early and was able to shovel out the stairwell before it melted.
I won’t replant anything, I’m interested to see what will make a recovery and what won’t. There will also be plants that may live but be too far behind to produce, I suspect the tomatoes will be in this category.
This is definitely an unusual event for this area. We do regularly get hail, but not that big and the storms don’t usually last that long. Luckily the damage seems minimal, although heartbreaking for people who love their gardens, and not wide spread. What can you do?
There is two gay guys at work. They don’t trust me, because I’m an old motherfucker. I try to strike up conversation, but they won’t have it. I want to ask them if they like the mountains and rivers. I’m one of the ones they have had to watch out for.
They have plenty of tattoos, I wonder how they will weather, or if they’ve thought about it.
They obviously like the sun, awesome haircuts, I’ve never seen such tanned heads.
They are young and I’m up there. I’ve got nothing to teach. The rivers and bush is long gone and I’m too old for learning.
A good hail storm rolled through on the heals of the 40° temperatures we have been having. It flattened the garden with marble sized stones. Cutting every broad leaf to shreds. It lasted about thirty minutes, flooding basements and parking lots.
Hopefully the moisture neutralized the lightening. You never know, moisture, hail and rain cuts a thin swath, while heat can be everywhere. This is jest not a livelihood. The tune would change then.
It’s up to the garden to grow back on it’s own. Hail storms spread nitrogen they say, so this is their start. Everything wants to live. The beans better straighten themselves out and grow some leaves. The zucchini with pellet holes have to regroup, toss a canopy up and salvage what’s left. As for the carrots, onions, turnips, beets and spuds, they’ll be ready for stew come fall, hell or high water.
It’s disappointing to see the work smashed. It’s also wonderful to see it grow back.
Nothing is more resilient than a plant with two more months of sunshine left.
My nephew Christian warned me. He parked his truck, stepped out, slipped and slid under his parked truck. He was wearing poor shoes at the time, dress shoes. He said it happened fast. He spent some time pretending to tread water, looking for gripage to pull himself from under the vehicle.
This morning a truck pulling a trailer full of snowmobiles was in my gravel parking spot at work. I parked on the pavement. Shut off the vehicle. Took three steps, in good boots. Three confident, nobodies getting in my way steps, since it was the start of the day after all, light just breaking, when I hit on some smooth clear ice over the dark pavement, common, with above freezing temperatures during the day and below freezing at night
It was arse over tit. My shoulder hit first then my hip. A fresh Timmie’s coffee went sailing (this is the true tragedy of this story, if it was a beer I’m sure I wouldn’t have spilled a drop). I felt pretty good considering. Once inside the managers asked why I had snow on my toque. I said, because I didn’t have my skates on.
No harm done. Christian was right, it happens fast.
Pretty good days. The lake has frozen hard and clear. Without snow it is a skater’s dream. We headed out after work on Friday, tossing the puck around, stopping once and awhile to admire the fine day. We stayed until the stars started to appear.
This morning low cloud blanketed the valley. It always seems cold to me when this happens. This evening Willow and I headed for the mountains with hopes to push through the clouds into the stars.
We followed the creek we are used to. It took less climbing than I initially figured before the stars appeared in the treetops. The sky was warm, twisting in my mind, while long lost spirits flowed through me stealing my breath.
Sometimes that’s all it takes.
Palliser Pass 