Stories, Excerpts, Backroads
The roar can be deafening, misty and slippery. To find yourself in such a place is luck. When unfortunate things happen its bad luck. We take credit for the good things, giving ourselves credit, we say, manifesting our destiny. It is luck one way or the other.
That doesn’t mean you don’t put on good shoes when you tackle the canyon or climb the rocks. It ain’t all up to destiny. You have to give yourself the best chance and except whatever is coming.
Darker mornings. Cooler and it feels good. Been rearranging the wood pile to make sure last years wood gets burned first.
Good to get out mid week and walk up the mountains.
There is still a lot of tourists doing dumb things. Lisa and I ran into a bunch today. They can’t help it. They have been told they can’t do the things they have been doing for years due to Covid, and the recent forest fires.
It is a free for all now. Just look at the news.
Tourists, especially from Alberta, have taken a stand and, damned and determined, hell or high-water, regardless of right or wrong are going to do as they damn well please. They have been held back long enough. Unfortunately, they exercise it on vacation.
I mention Alberta, but it’s the same everywhere in cities. Too many people too close to each other with the only thing in common is buying shit.
If you live here you see it. Even the part time workers can’t wait to get away come September.
It’s a different world. One where you can’t believe the news, reliable sources have become sketchy pushing an agenda.
Everyone has bought in, taking from what they want to believe. Forgetting there is only one truth and importance, helping.
After an evening nap Willow and I headed for the bush. We got out walked here and there, getting our bearings. It’s been awhile since we have been out at night looking skyward.
We were lucky to see several Perseid Meteors. Lucky as well to get a few pics.
It was clear and the moon, waning into a thin crescent, stayed down until mid morning.
We saw deer, an owl, porcupine and rabbits. Luckily Willow didn’t see the porcupines.
I can’t see in the dark like I used to. If I was younger I’d give tonight another go. I don’t think last night was the peak.
We were out of the mountains and at work on time at 5:30 am. Willow slept in the truck.
A very fine night.
I’ve made a terrible mistake. In the spring when the grasshoppers were eating the garden I started planting things that they didn’t seem interested in. They ate every carrot so I didn’t replant them figuring it was pointless. The grasshoppers left the small zucchini plants alone. So I planted more of them. Now I am overrun with yellow, green and patty pan zucchinis.
It has become impossible to manage. I can’t give them away. A small one today is a wooper tomorrow. I’ve made a terrible mistake!
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The skies cleared last night. It’s the first time in weeks the mountains have made an appearance. It lifted everyones mood.
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It is busy at the resort. Everyone is frazzled. Moral is good. It is an amazing bunch of workers. Most are young adults from throughout the country. They are expected to work hard and without exception they all put in a full shift.
I have worked in places, including the government, that that wasn’t the case, and the people there were getting paid twice what these kids make.
***
A coworker showed me a photo they took of four woodpeckers in the same tree. Two woodpeckers in the same tree means a cold winter.
Wasps, this year, have been building nests under ground, that means a cold winter.
My good friend Scotty from the Secwe̓pemc First Nation used to say, it will be a cold winter because the white man has a big woodpile. Damn, we used to laugh.
Shit! My woodpile is over flowing.
It could be a cold winter.
Scotty, if you are listening, kick me in the nuts and take the duck!
Lisa and I headed out early to avoid the ruck. The town put on Valley Appreciation Day. It used to be called Visitor Appreciation Day. Before that it was called Alberta Appreciation Days. Alberta tourists/2nd home owners, making up the majority of visitors to the Columbia Valley. Regardless of the name it is a good day to get the fuck out of the valley bottom.
We took to the mountains in search of huckleberries. We had success. The huckleberries were out and small. We stumbled onto a few good patches to fill our buckets.
Willow rustled rodents. Her tongue swollen and panting. She is a good dog. Lisa says I have to mind her better as she is getting old. I don’t have the heart to shut down her fun even if it’s for her own good.
Lisa kept picking after I reached my limit. We creeped down the mountain in the afternoon, knowing town would be clear, cautious never the less.
A very fine day.
Up early. Tough week. I let my temper get the better of me a couple times. Luckily I am only caustic with my tongue, not like before.
It would be easy to say they got what they deserved. Tourists, rich, entitled, put in their place. But it makes me sad. So it can’t be good. I used to love putting a bully in his place. Punching up has hurt my family immeasurably. I am a fool not to go along. Look how good the people who punch down do.
The garden is up. Plenty of smoke on the horizon and on the water, early morning. The spuds could be ready, who knows for sure, the grasshoppers have eaten the blossoms.
The garden is doing it’s best after being ravaged by grasshoppers. The grasshoppers are still around in abundance but not eating as much as when they were small. When we have vegetables from the garden for dinner I remark my thankfulness that the grasshoppers were kind enough to leave it for us. They were ravenous bastards.
No carrots this year. Almost everything had to be replanted. Strangely they didn’t like peas, which are about 6 feet tall and covered in pods. The tomatoes, they mostly left alone. Same as the zucchini. Everything else was at their mercy.
The cannabis is coming and I’m about to trick it into thinking it’s dying so it will flower. The grasshoppers ate it as well, but it fought back on its own. The grasshoppers who indulged were last seen, wearing dark glasses, listening to jazz, riding vans, driven by a ladybug, down to SF, Haight Ashbury, to find themselves. I’m happy I could, at least, convert a few. The stoned grasshoppers remaining are degenerates, happy to listen to Led Zeppelin overflowing from the gardeners earbuds. They are hard to motivate, but great to have a conversation with once you get them going, unfortunately they still like to snack.
We will miss the carrots. I planted zucchini in many of spots in the garden that the grasshoppers destroyed. We are going to have ‘chini coming out our ears. I won’t be able to give them away. My friends will see me coming and scatter.
Lisa and I were up early and heading for the bush to miss the tourists and second home owners, who are out in force.
Once we made the corner after the first bridge on the Kootenay we were free and never saw a soul, except the most important, a black bear, a murder of crows circling something dead, plenty of deer, bucks in velvet, a shiny muskrat and birds singing songs, so beautiful, that I will never understand no matter how hard I try.
We picked up a load of wood. Tomorrow I will split it. It is birch so the sooner the better. It will keep us warm. Summer is when you should think of winter.
Picked a litter of lettuce in the garden. The grasshoppers have wings but aren’t eating like they were when they were small. As far as I can tell they don’t like peas or tomatoes. Everything else has taken a shit kicking.
We sure have a good country. I may bitch at the folks running it. The country and citizens are so strong even the politicians haven’t been able to screw it up. 🙂 Aboriginal people are seeing a future where injustices are acknowledged. There is no making things right. There is no returning justice. MY small spot on this land belonged to someone who didn’t agree to sell it to me.
Our future is dependant on immigration, that’s a good thing. The ideas and hard work coming from abroad will make us strong.
Whenever I meet someone wanting to make Canada their home I think of my Grandfather coming from England in 1912 looking for a better life.
I live in this time in history when immigrants made my life easy in my youth and will help me in my old age. How lucky is that?
Most of the creeks are still high. I followed a spring, out of nowhere, a hundred yards through a grove of birch, then disappeared underground to cripes knows where.
The country is alive and beautiful. I can’t contribute like I used to. I don’t expect much. That’s how it is when you are happy.
Somehow we have to grab rocks, but instead of throwing them, we have to lie down on them and feel the warmth.
Came through a good bit of rain. It was welcome. In the mountains it was snow.
We planned a trip into the high country last Wednesday, but postponed it to this coming Wednesday. The youngsters from work were disappointed. I didn’t welcome trudging through a foot of wet snow on the mountain side. The truth is I’d end up sliding on my ass coming down trying to dig my heels in yelling whoa!! It can be fun, but I’m too damn old for such hijinks. I didn’t want to lose face so told them the scenery would be better when it cleared.
The doe deer are busy with their fawns. A few days ago I freed a fawn that got caught in fencing. Today Jack shooed one from the pool court back to its mother. It was held up under patio furniture and was starting to gather quite a crowd of guests. Jack said he had done it plenty with lambs back in England. He is a good man that Jack.
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Some warm weather is expected. The recent rain has done its best to cool the bush. That’s more than we can ask.
Lisa and I were out looking for orchids a few days ago. Over the years we have found places where these wild flowers grow. It is always special when we find new spots with flowers.
The season is short for most orchids making when to look as important as where.
This is an excerpt from Orchids of British Columbia by AF Szczawinski published in 1959:
“The orchid family is unusual among the higher plants for a good many reasons, such as extreme variation, highly specialized flowers, and a great range of habitat. It is interesting that the number of seeds produced in a single capsule is, in many cases phenomenal. A count made at the Greenwich Observatory, England, showed that a capsule contained 3,770,000 microscopic seeds.”
“Unless the conditions of temperature, moisture, soil and shelter are ideal, failure for the seedlings is certain. There is only one chance in thousands that such conditions will occur. If only a small percentage of the seeds from each plant could grow to maturity, orchids would be as common as grass.”
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We have been overrun by grasshoppers. The garden has taken a beating. They seem to go after the youngest plants first effectively killing them. There are other plants they don’t seem to be bothered with such as peas.
The grasshoppers are small and growing. I could use a herd of turkeys to take care of these buggers. Perhaps I should figure out a way to trap them and deep fry them, smother them with seasoning and sell them at the farmers market. Dirty Bob’s Spicy Grasshopper Crunch. It could be a hit.
Palliser Pass 