Dragonflier 2008

Wingless,
a lone blue feather
tethered to the snow
aches to fly …
off into the yonder
& away.

BEGINNING: It’s late october. Thought i’d get an early start on my quasi-annual missive this year … see if i can get it together for the holidays … but i poked my head out the door, just to sniff the dampish air & was lured up moon hill to see what i could see. It’s been drizzling for hours: more on than off & this welcome rain so refreshed our parched yard that even the subdued palette of late autumn looks inviting. So i waited for a lull in the rain & zig-zagged up through the moist-maze of colourful. Slip-sliding over slick mats of fallen leaves. Drinking in the thick wet air. And up on top, i turned a slow deliberate circle to try & memorize this naked landscape as it undulates away.
Soon the world will be plush with snow, but at the moment it’s very lean & muscular. Bony too, with verdant tufts of soft moss tucked discreetly into all the moist folds. i was up pretty high & from there, everything slopes away. To the south & west, rosy granite cascades into bowls of black onyx where one lone duck bobbed in & out of the tawny reeds. Now & then a rogue raindrop dimpled in, rippled & winked back up. i just stood still, watching water merge with water in arcs to infinity ‘til a beaver paddled into my reverie. Doozer’s too i guess ‘cause he let out a deep chesty howl & the duck quacked off with spectacular fanfare. The dog bowled past me, careened down the hill & plunged in. Nonplussed, the beaver slapped his tail once & disappeared. i laughed & laughed & turned east, leaving Dooze to swim bewildered circles in silence. i peered through a tangle of tree tops into the mawsy distance, then finally north, where the tilt down is more gradual than grandiose. A couple nights ago, a blast of arctic air finally stripped the trees, so now all but the reliable evergreens, a few hearty beeches, the tenacious oaks & a couple brazen sumacs have dropped their leaves. What remains is the bold architecture of bare trees striping off over the horizon. But just then the downpour resumed in earnest & i beat a hasty retreat, waving vaguely at the neighbours’ as i slid down the hill for home.
So i’ve toweled off the dog, abandoned my soggy moccasins by the door & i’m back to the business at hand. Last time i wrote was deep winter & apart from the hockey forays, we were more or less hunkered down. George puttered away at wood-working & finished up the exquisite corner cupboard & a built-in storage bench in the dining room. i added into the photo albums, piddled away at the ever diminishing piles of boxes, then plotted garden futures & travel plans.

HOCKEY DOODLE DANDY: The Wolfe Island Tournament was a rollicking success for the ragtag band of Gas Station Islanders who braved the 401 & the whimsy of the mighty St. Lawrence to play. Dyl & Geo went early, tuckered themselves silly on the rink, jammed out with various & sundry hockey players / musicians on the General Wolfe Inn’s stage, caught the last icy ferry out & arrived home very late. George sat on the bed & relived highlights for me in snapshot memories & for him, watching tall gangly Domenic tangle with the diminutive yet determined Sarah Harmer in the corner for the puck, totally framed the spirit of the day. The only glitch for Geo was Dom’s Habs red hockey socks! Noonish the next day, Dom & a half dozen intrepid Islanders arrived

for a game of shinny, spaghetti, meatballs & a mound of spinach salad. i was prepping in the kitchen & totally missed the moment when everyone simultaneously threw themselves face down to marvel at the iridescent bubbles of frozen light trapped in the ice … & the slow motion fish rippling by. But when Don Kerr was suddenly possessed of the urge to take a flying leap into a snowbank, Dyl snapped a mid-flight pic & man, Don really caught some air. That & a wide inscrutable grin!

A couple weeks later, at the beginning of march, Geo & his good buddy Al were wrangling over a puck in the corner when Geo’s knee buckled in a most unorthodox way & they had to carry a busted up # 11 off the ice. Over the next couple of months George managed to hobble back into motion, but with a torn ‘ACL’ & ‘MCL‘ it did put the kaibosh on his hockey season. Tournie time was comin’ up so he perversely went out to most of the games & hooted himself hoarse from the sidelines. For the Exclaim Cup on Easter weekend, he pulled on his jersey, joined his Islanders on the bench & patted backs as they whirled on & off the ice. They almost made hockey history & by all accounts, the guys were on fire, playing to within one goal of the championship. And the mandatory team ‘rink rock’ gig was such a hit that they were asked to reprise it the next day.

,

They invented a reggae “O Canada” & Grandpa Gee carted wee Dex & his new pink shaker egg onstage for his musical debut. And every night, Geo joined up with the Exclaim revelers at Lee’s Palace to carry the music, beer & all that tomfoolery on. So, busted knee & all, George still managed to get his yah-yah’s out!

YOU ARE VERY STAR: (being a Rheostatic primer) Our very first Rheos’ experience came out of a Campbell’s Christmas packet … not sure what year but it’s gotta’ be at least mid-‘80’s. It piqued our musical interest: quirky, deep, wonky, fun … & they were ridin’ the crest of a wave surging out of the Canadian ‘indie’ scene. Up ‘til that point, most of our musical outings were family friendly: Mariposa, Home County, Carlysle, WOMAD, et al, but the kids were getting old enough to hold down the fort, our vehicle seemed somewhat reliable & somehow there was mad-money floating around … so we dove right back in.
Now about that time, our friend Lynn worked for a local weekly paper & she asked George to write a music column like the ones he added on to these newsy letters every year. That was the real genesis of Noisy Boy & as he made industry connections, alternate writing opportunities presented themselves which gave him the real obligation to attend a lot more gigs. So we began seeing the Rheos’ playing around … & many, many times since: surely more than any other band & occasionally more than once in a week during the marathon ‘Green Sprouts Music’ weeks. They’d take over a bar & pack the fans in with a new show every night. You could always count on meetin’ up with friends at the shows & you met folks who would eventually become friends. It was a real community & the gigs were quite like family reunions. The Rheos’ truly reached out & touched their fans: connecting all the dots to make a beautiful pure circle of audience & art. And in those perfect round moments, every single one of us became very very star.
Dyl’s been on-stage with the Rheos’ as have quite a few of our musical friends. Matter of fact, during one ‘Sprouts’ week, Noisyboy (a.k.a. Geo) e-mailed Dave Bidini the names of one of his railway buddies’ kids: each excellent musicians in their own right & fine prospects as guest players. Well Dave made that happen & we watched it happen for lots of others over the years.
And when George wanted to present Dave’s book ‘On A Cold Road’ to the Intergalactics, he arranged for a half dozen signed copies to be delivered to his hotel room. Dave was very accommodating & they squeezed it in between train trips. Then over coffee they swapped stories & got to know each other from a different direction. And the book club got to scrape away the frost on the window of the van & get a peek into one of very many marathon gigs on the cold Canadian road.
Then a local high school invited the Rheos’ for “music in the schools” & we hung with them between rehearsals & gigs: driving in the Rheomobile to the ‘pita pit’ for lunch, then dining at an ignominious greasy spoon that Dave insisted on for supper. Said he liked the name: Cosy Grill. Back at the school, Martin & i got to be smokin’ buddies under the “NO SMOKING IN THE PARKING LOT” sign. Shockin’ i know … but those clandestine meetings led to some humorous kibbitzing, weird random musings, a couple deep twisty thoughts & an absurd Arlo Guthriesque ditty inspired by the possibility of being arrested for that criminal act. It was goofy fun & while Martin & i were out morphing into felons, Geo, Danny Mayer & Pete Snell joined up with Rheos’ on the ice to take on the student hockey challenge. All in all, a whopping good time!
But separately from the music, George got to know Dave, Tim Vesley & Don Kerr through hockey & i came to know them ‘cause well, i’m his puck bunny. Noisyboy had wrangled his way onto the Montreal ‘Stompies’ line-up to play a couple early Exclaim Cups & with the demise of that team, Dyl finagled Geo onto the Gas Station Islanders, & the rest, as they say, is history!

BEE SKY OPUS IN MAGENTA: Those Rheostatics are every single one a unique talent & after more than a quarter century being intimately wrapped up in each other’s creativity, the collective agreed time had come to disassemble the beast. Send it in for re-grooving. So at the end of march month, we toured into the big smoke for the final hurrah at Massey Hall. The night before, the Rheos’ hosted a warm-up to farewell at the Horseshoe: a loose, sloppy wet kiss for their fans … like a boozy breakup with a long time lover … pumped full of happy / sad, clutch & grab & a distinct reluctance to part! But by the next evening the band & the fans were fully committed: sharing deep soulful moments & long passionate kisses. It was a love-in. It was amazing. It was emotional. The inter-band banter made us laugh. They even jibed Morningstar to Islander about the imminent Exclaim Cup & George got a shout out about his status on the “injury” list.
So there were thrills, moments of virtuosity & moments of sheer musical elegance. But for the most part, the Rheos’ offered up earnest renditions of a fair few fan faves & such was the sense of reverential respect that you could have heard a pin drop in that lovely old hall. It kinda’ put me in mind of the Band’s ‘Last Waltz’ … & it was a very fitting finale for our era of Rheostatic love.

NEXT DAY: We toured Emily Carr at the A.G.O. A rare treat really: i’ve felt a kinship with that feisty woman who went to bush & painted, ever since i “met” her in a grade eight art class. Her mojo just pulled me into a world that keeps on calling me back. And on the train ride home, i pulled out my notebook & let that mystery unravel …

NAMASTE EMILY: and thank-you. i met your Big Raven again today. Oh, he’s fine: maybe a little disoriented this far east, but roosting to good advantage in a rigged up room at the A.G.O. Tucked in, around a corner & perched way up in a wavering treetop. i didn’t actually see the nest, but i’ll bet it’s a sturdy thing. Woven higgeldy piggeldy through, with twigs & bark & redwood threads. Lined with flotsam & bits of rope, scavenged out of some tide pool winking up the coast. Either way, you’ve got to crane way up to spy it & when i finally did, the pilfered twinkle & glint is what i saw. Practically blinded me! It’s well known Raven’s got a weakness for any shiny trinket so i guessed it must be salvage causing all that dazzle floating in my squinty eyes & finally convinced me his nest was clinging up on the leeside of those vaulting angled peaks. The ones Lawren Harris inspired you to. Awesome! Aloof yet so totally compelling. An enigma really: they just exude an inherent stoic quiescence that is somehow both rooted & reaching. And amazingly still. An oriental koan wrapped in ice & blue hued snow. i felt the riffles of frigid air shivering down off those slopes & it was such a surprise. i would have thought that at this low altitude those glaciers would already be rivering away.
So yeah, Raven’s there: all ebony & indigo & punked up ruff … with those shifty sun flecked eyes. Sitting there on watch. And i’m sure he isn’t lonely: plunked down, downtown Toronto like that. Presiding over all that brick & mortar & sooty glass … with an endless stream of humans scrolling by. Heck, he hauled a whole forest of lodgepoles, totems & tilting trees along. Rivers too: roiling through turbulent ferny understoreys & seething in seclusion. Likely teeming with salmon, just aching toward the sea: though all i made out were the shifty vague shapes of spectral fins. That & a flickered fishtail. Really it was the silvered slivers of spray, raising rainbows up into that flat museum light that finally gave them away.
But the serene beauty you daubed into those verdant mossy glens, fully completely wowed me. Those places where the water is momentarily becalmed & it just sits there breathing. Patiently threading air to air: alternating pearly beads of moonbeam with jeweled shards of sunlight. Building an agile ephemera that eventually evaporates even the last vestiges of winter, leaving a ripe steamy waft of composting fecundity behind.
i do have to say, it was kinda’ weird to smell things like that in a gallery. Oh don’t get me wrong: those sudden whiffs of freshening cedar that zephyered in were absolutely intoxicating. And that sweet vernal promise from those alpine blooms … but oh my gawd, that bear! i guess it wouldn’t have been very west coast without one … but she was pretty rank. And grizzly still, from her long winter nap, though i guess lucky for the art crowd, also still somewhat skittish around strangers. So she stayed at bay: back-scratching up & down in the shadows. Just pausing every now & then to sniff up into the unfamiliar ether & harumphh.
Emily, it was a neat trick to paint Raven’s breath with all that … & you got the sounds just right too. Matter of fact, sometimes it was downright noisy: water falling, wind quaking, mountains moving, trees dancing & all those creatures rustling in the underbrush! But it was in the deepest quiet that i heard the loudest sound: the slow lazy drone of bumbling bees & a high pitched mosquito whine twined around my own wild beating heart & somehow harmonized into a loud primal OM. So eventually, i took that forest mantra & answered Raven’s call.
Anyhow, looks like he’s settled in for the duration, though i had to wonder what he eats. Didn’t see any rodents or actual fish, though they’ve gotta’ be there … spawning dubious futures behind the scenes somewhere. No carcasses either, with those festering tender bits … though it’s a pretty sure bet that even the hint of rotting flesh is sanitized on the spot. No … i’m guessing Big Raven subsists on the spontaneous tears of folks like me. Wandering into the familiar spell of his gaze & compelled to turn, see an old friend. Wondering aloud why it took so very long to get there.
It’s weird: Big Raven really startled me. And when his insistent squawking & frenetic flapping finally registered in my thickened brain, i stumbled back, right over my own shadow. Tears spilled into a puddle of shame & stunned surprise around my clumsy feet. i bowed deeply then & proffered up my penance: “ ……. & it’s been too long Raven. i have missed you.” He cocked his head & studied me, then he went to ground. And with one quick flick of his long forked tongue, he absolved my salty confusion. Raven bowed back then & believe it or not Emily, i swear that tricky bird sorta’ smiled. So again, from my heart place, i thank you. And namaste.

JUST LISTEN: It didn’t take long to parse the meaning out of my emotional reunion. Raven is inextricably bound into the long memory of men in a profound & often complex way. He’s definitely deep into mine. It’s impossible to remain ambivalent once you’ve met him face to face. He likes to turn things inside out & upside down, to see what makes them tick & that sort of wily mischief really makes you think. Some say he stole salmon from the beaver, others that he stole the sun … there’s lots of stories … but his real strength is his ability to navigate into the ‘mystery’. So when Big Raven landed smack dab on my reality tape, i knew i’d better pay attention. i guess i’ve been so caught up in the whirlwind of everyday that i’d become seriously derelict in duty to my own spiritual needs. i figure that’s precisely why he got up in my face & stayed there. And no matter that i made such a spectacle of myself there in the A.G.O. ‘cause while i was visiting Raven i figured it out. Everything i needed was right there. Just waiting to get out.

HEY, THERE’S THE DOOR: In the seventies, i’d studied the mahareshi’s ‘transcendental meditation’ & discovered that by simply sitting & pushing away busy thoughts you opened yourself to a beautiful lightness of being. That might sound odd & really, mere words can’t do justice to the sense of it, but it was a revelation. New doors of perception opened to me & i know it grew me as a human being. Over the years my practice became a source of abiding joy & as i better learned to BE in the moment, it became a way to maintain in the calm eye of the whirlwind that was life at the farm. We kept up a hectic pace there & thinking back, i’m truly in awe at the kind of energy we had. All that went out the window (what window? you might say!) in 1986 when we moved to this fort in the forest & buckets of rain became my meditation.

SO BE HERE NOW: My friend Pat Cockburn’s been sitting for several years & she’d arranged for her teacher to come from Toronto to give an introductory talk. Maybe get a group sitting together here. And just sitting there listening to Nanates rekindled a tiny flame in me in that place where joy resides. i felt so humble & filled with gratitude. It was the perfect gift.
Now, it’s been almost a year since i went to hear that talk, but i guess i wasn’t truly ready yet. At first i really struggled, then that Raven came along, tucked me under his obsidian wing & just held me still, ‘til i was quiet. And absolutely ready to listen.

AND JUST GO SIT: Sitting is very serious practice. Pat shared the zen “way” to meditate, which is different in approach but reaches for the exact same place. And i do so love the vibe: sitting with like-minded friends in a room ripened for the experience with gongs & clackers & incense & bowing. But since i have to uproot the chauffeur to go anywhere, i mostly just sit … very very still. Like a lotus. In my own private temple made of air.

THEN SPRING INTO ACTION: Things finally began to unfurl toward the end of april. Suddenly, dandelions shot through with sun were dancin’ dainty blue squills across the yard. Headstrong tulips shot unruly stems up through the sodden mulch to splay vivacious petals skyward. Alders popped a nascent shade of lime. Violets burst purple. Forsythia replied in gold & jonquils unfolded sweet scented origami cups above a veritable sea of hyacinths, fairly bursting with pastel beads of dew. Oh yeah … spring is such an easy beauty.
But ‘til then it’d been too cool & wet to work the soil, let alone plant, so that our brand new ‘Mantis’ tiller arrived just as the warmth began to waffle in. Never thought the day would come, but ever since the sciatica laid George flat just before Skye’s wedding, i’ve worried about him. i hoped the ‘Mantis’ would dig his potato patch without that sort of consequence ever again, so right away we churned up my little garden plot to try it out. It’s a marvellous wee thing & remarkably easy to handle. Heck, i wrangled it, unlike that behemoth Raymond lent us that first year at the farm. i’m sure he meant it as a kindness, but the thing really tried to kill us & we’ve hand dug all our gardens ever since. Now we merely have to ‘Mantis’ in with that amazing little tiller.
So after a slow soggy start, spring finally sprung with an unusual exuberance & we had to rush to catch up to the calendar. Geo dug in spuds & i carved rows in the soil to dibble in seeds: carrots, peas, salad greens … both of us somewhat tortured by the fact that we were about to abandon the project & abscond to the coast. But we felt obliged. Afterall: it’s a ritual of spring.

IT’S MAYDAY, IT’S DEXTERDAY: So glad you joined our planet day! Strung up reams of streamers & a whack of balloons to celebrate Dexter Blue’s first birthday at dragonfly. Great aunt Lori came from Owen Sound with Moira (on the cusp of merry olde england & beyond) to join the usual local suspects for barbeque, a couple birthday cakes & a rousing game of croquet. We had a wonderful afternoon … all except Skye, who hung up the last of the banners & promptly took sick. She stuck it out, groaning on the couch, but even without mom, wee Dex didn’t miss a beat. He’s definitely a case for that old adage, “the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree” & he’s a gregarious mixer. He ‘beetled’ about: hamming it up for pics with the guests, running comedy gags & interference in the games. Then he sat like a little buddha on Janice’s lap & opened up his presents. But i’d say it was we who got the gift! A child’s guileless grace is so very nourishing & as Dex marvelled over each packet, no matter what they contained, his face read pure delight. Then he flashed us all that big wide grin & soaked us all in JOY!

LET THE BAT BATTLES BEGIN: Luckily George had begun to regain confidence in his mobility ’cause just as the last of the revelers drove off, Skye mentioned a screechy racket emanating from our north porch wall. Geo hauled out the ladder, pried off the board & battens & stood very, very still while at least 50, maybe 75 BATS, flew out, around & away. It was quite the ‘aero-bat-ic’ display (ha-ha), but i wasn’t laughing. Don’t get me wrong: i really admire nature’s ingenuity & i’m fully cognizant that bats have an integral role to play in the chain of life, but i just can’t reconcile rodents flying around the inside of my house. (Probably wouldn’t like monkeys either … or birds: Mandy will vouch that birds are weird too) Outside o.k., & yeah for bats on those hot, buzzy summer nights. They can fly around all over the place & devour as many mosquitoes as they want … but inside, it’s something else. All that grudging admiration dissolves, along with any logic or rationale & i go over the edge in hysterics. Just ask R! For Christmas i bought ‘Stella Luna’ for Dex: the beautifully illustrated story of a lost baby fruit bat … but it’s probably gonna take more than props to rehabilitate my bi-polar opinion or forgive those miscued bats.
Our annual excursion to ‘the rock’ was scheduled for mid-june & once George destroyed the bat-cave there was a great deal of pressure to get our house bat-proofed to prevent a mass re-settlement. To George’s credit, he was very patient with my whims & hung up all manner of bat bafflers: inside & out. He caulked some very tiny holes, closed in the south porch with windows & re-invented most of the board & batten. Nevertheless, i’ve got Cliff’s old fish-net at the door, ready to grab the inevitable wily interlopers.

AH TAIKO: In Japanese ‘taiko’ is a drum. We found little white Taiko, with her tail like a drum, at a yard sale.

A friend, Jill, was using traffic through her mom’s yard to advertise her Lab’s puppies & well, Skye & i just could not resist. Taiko was keen, smart, empathetic, intuitive, & as Jill pointed out, she had lovely eyelashes. She thought Jan & Doug were her fairy dog-parents & bonded with them early on. The two of them taught her to bark at the door: Jan would wag & bark & catch most of the ‘cheerio’ doggie treats Doug chucked at her. It was a hoot & it worked. Geo trained her to fetch his boots out of the pile, gloves out of the basket, her ball from the bucket & out they’d go. She was all-terrain, hauled firewood, delivered live partridge & loved hockey almost as much as George. When we got Doozer, Taiko became his ‘mom’. She shadowed him & diverted him from trouble, mostly the cats: Hobbes & Nigho (whose little pink noses got quite out of joint) & when diversion didn’t work she’d flatten him with her paw & lick him into submission. Taiko was Doozer’s tour guide & our very good friend & it was difficult watching her decline. First she got cataracts & slowly lost her ability to navigate; arthritis left her stiff & slow; then according to the vet, she likely suffered a mild stroke. She lost her verve & her nerve … getting lost in the house, confused in the yard & stuck into corners just barking for help. It was sad but still we struggled with the decision we knew we had to make. And now that she’s gone, we really miss her, though her lovely lively Taiko spirit lives on.

LEFT & LEAVING: Dooze was grieving too, so we delayed our departure to try & heal our broken hearts … but the plans we’d set in motion so many months before were starting to gather momentum & far too soon we had to drive away. Leaving just that one sad doggie tail wagging good-bye.
Against my better judgement, we drove the “Donaldmobile”. Ever the optimist, George figured our little ‘94 Ford Ranger had enough ‘stuff’ & besides, he really wanted to take another deck’s worth of cedar, a chair for Lorraine, more benches for Exploits & an arsenal of fishing rods. i’d already amassed a whack of non-perishable supplies for the island expedition … so after spending a thousand bucks to make it roadworthy, George turned the cab into a living room, we crammed it to the gills & hit the road. Half way through Quebec though, the thermostat started wavering up & down. For a couple kilometers it hovered on the verge of too hot, then the dreaded red light came on. We pulled off & tried to enjoy our smoked salmon lunch while the truck cooled down, then George squeezed the hose, added some antifreeze & we were back in business. i was a little nerve-racked after that & kept vigil on the needle, but by some unlikely miracle it seemed, the thing was o.k.

FORTUNATELY / UNFORTUNATELY: Day two started out with sunshine & a renewed sense of optimism. The rad was all topped up & the needle stayed in the a.o.k. range … but half way across New Brunswick the truck set up a shimmy. “Now what?” A cursory inspection revealed nothing obvious & we bickered about what to do: i voted for an immediate auto club tow / Geo wanted to try for the nearest Canadian Tire, only two highway exits away in Oromocto. And since he was in the driver’s seat, we lurched east along the trans-Canada with the four-ways flashing & the tension mounting. By now the truck was jiggling. We were in a bowl of fluorescent green jello. The truck felt like it was literally rattling apart. Then it was wobbling. i was barely breathing. George was slowing slowing slowing. Than a horrible memory crossed my mind & i shrieked: this happened to Den. His darn wheel spun off & just about killed him! But there, across the overpass, the ubiquitous Canadian Tire sign. We started up the ramp. The truck yawed sideways. George jammed on the brake. There was a clunk. And a scrunch. And a great long screech. George wrastled with the wheel & we finally stopped moving. It was over. And for a long moment it was very very quiet. Then ‘what the hell …’ & we both jumped out just in time to watch our disembodied tire rolling right back down the ramp.
We were o.k. The car following had watched the whole horrible debacle unfold. The teenage kid in the back seat leapt out & snatched the tire before it rolled back down onto the highway to cause further mishap. His mom leapt out & wrapped me in a big maritime hug ‘til i finally stopped trembling. Then i just stayed inside the guardrail, waving traffic around our tilting truck while she drove Geo to get help. The army stopped, highway patrol stopped & everyone slowed down to yell ‘was i o.k.?’ That lady came back with refreshments & in the end, a flatbed loaded the ‘Donaldmobile’ & we climbed up in the cab beside the driver & he hauled it away. We got a new tire, a rim & a brakedrum … just no guarantees. So we crossed our fingers, counted our blessings & forged ahead to the 1:00 a.m. ferry.

WE MADE IT: Arrived Port Aux Basques in the early wet dawn & headed north to Steady Brook for breakfast with our Exploits partner, Dirk. We’d been hoping to meet up with his new bride Petra but she had to work, so the three of us talked kayaks, paint & decking …Dirk showed off the hand-made greenland style paddles he was crafting, then we hopped back into the beast & aimed at Gambo.
When we finally got there i collapsed in a heap. i’d started the trip on meds, trying to cope with a persistent cold. Add the overheating, the jostling & all that jaw clenching & i guess i was just ‘all beat out’. But the first couple weeks were easy: scenics with Lorraine, catching up with kinfolk, a big black bear, Karen’s chocolate brownies, jam stands, galleries, museum tours then shopping the fishplants for supper. Geo & brother Donimo tested the ‘Donaldmobile’s’ mettle as far down some overgrown logging roads as they could get, in a successful attempt to finally solve the mysterious beginnings of Joe’s Brook.

Trout Fishing Joe’s Brook

Slogging up the creek they saw caribou, partridge & swarms & swarms of nippers, though George was disappointed there wasn’t the ‘eureka’ trout pool he’d been hoping for. But every single evening they scouted more trout & the night they went with Lorna’s brother Frank, George learned to fly-fish with a pro. So he finally got to use the lures Bob Lundy built & caught a record body count. Thanks Bob, they were beautiful: even just floating around there, in Lorna’s kitchen sink.

TAKE ONE: We hired skipper Lloyd one weekend to carry the wood, tools, a brand new barbeque & all our supplies to Exploits. Donimo & Geo were hyped for the adventure with their two newly acquired ‘Seaknife’ kayaks aboard. It’s Lloyd’s son Lindy who builds them. The same Lindy who told George he was going out to paddle with a beluga in 2002: the same beluga i told George we saw in Summerford: the same place George dove right in & joined the ranks of whale riders.

Whales Tale

Anyway, didn’t see any whales that day, but there were still lots of icebergs around, so we gawked & swivelled across Notre Dame Bay. A sleek black harbour seal popped up alongside & bobbed around in the wake … checking us out, while we checked him out … then he disappeared into the deeps. Lloyd told us that was kind of a rarity that time of year. Usually the seals would all be down north by the end of june. It was a good get for me ‘cause apart from aquariums, i’d only ever encountered west coast seals visiting Bob & Vicki on the lights at Race Rocks. Lots though: loitering on opposite rocks in the company of enormous, stinky sealions in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. But here in the east, where so many maritime cultures had grown up & flourished in such perfect symbiosis with this creature, i’d never actually seen one. So it was neat for me to finally have a visual for my archives.
Once we got the shutters off, Geo hammered away for two days ‘til he got the front deck done. Don poked around finding flattish rocks for a step up & i swept, unpacked & larded up the pantry. George got really excited when he unearthed an enormous flagstone in exactly the spot he needed one. A kind of palimpsest: it must’ve languished there for years, just under the gnarly sod that had swallowed up his ancestors’ pathway.

A guy from lower harbour dropped by to yak kayaks & since he was there lifting lobster pots we struck a deal to get a dozen or so a couple weeks hence. Monalyn & her lovely daughter Manon motored over from Jeffries Cove & got the grand tour. With her grandparents & her mom (George’s aunt Una), Monalyn & brother Ivan spent every summer of their youth in that house. It’s the place their joy grew. Una loved it too & between her & uncle Perce, kept it percolating along for the rest of us. But since it was aunt Una who’d pasted up the layer upon layer of wallpaper that we were busy ripping down, it was somewhat of a relief to hear her say she loved the renovations … & the naked wood plank walls. Monalyn figures to fix up her cabin across the way & get back to spending summers in Exploits again. Yeah for that & cousins unite! It’s a Manuel resettlement: hey it’s practically a movement!
So when the chores were finally done, the brothers paddled out to sea. They aimed at a berg across the run, a few kilometers off,

but just as they got out the mouth of Upper Harbour, a massive three spired specimen loomed into view.

Must have sailed in on the overnight tides & was just kinda’ lurking there around the point of Grebe Head. So the men veered left & got much closer than they should.
It’s easy to see why they would. Icebergs are enigmatic giants. From a distance they just seem so silent & aloof: sailing through latitudes without heed to lines on a map or shipping lanes … detouring for nothing & crushing everything in their wake. But once you enter the effervescent air that hovers around a berg, you begin to fathom the nuance.
Icebergs are ceaselessly noisy: dithering with seabirds & thuggish bands of gulls … always crackling & popping, with ear splitting thwacks! Fracturing again & again into purpley dark shadows & indigo clefts. But in the full force of sunlight, that ice shatters into prisms … refracting the eons of colourful picked up during their long haul south. Sometimes you can even hear water dripping as accumulated rainbows just rivulet around in the glaze of periodic sunshine. But up close of course, icebergs are polar cold. And steamy with a hoary mist that freezes when you breathe. So when you get in that close, just sitting in that frizzled air, all you can think of is: awesome. Needless to say, men will be boys & those two were gone for hours.

TAKE TWO: Next weekend we hooked up with our other house-partner, cousin Kathy, her sis Kathleen & hubby Richie & headed out again. Left from Little Burnt Bay, like we used to do before we discovered Lloyd & Lindy round the bay. And once upon a time, i almost had the chain of islands memorized, but this time i hardly even saw them. It was alternately teeming & blowing & the swell on the sea threw whitecaps over the bow every now & again. i was petrified & though i tried to put on a brave face, i really didn’t fool anyone. i was pretty well green! Luckily between Garry’s garage & both the K’s uncle Cliff, we’d scrambled together enough wet weather gear to keep us dry … & of course with skipper Richie at the helm, his state of the art G.P.S. & two excellent first mates, we made it. Though i’m also sure that being in uncle Herbert’s boat & aunt Lily’s floater coats helped a little bit too!

And once i’d scrambled up the hill to the house & kissed the sodden ground, it turned out to be a wonderful mawsy weekend: lobster, spirits, a tasty feed of sea trout … & we more or less lolled around, puzzled plumbing futures & a jigsaw, drowsed by the woodstove, walked in the rain & Richie found way more rocks for the walkway. The spired berg was still there, having sailed back & forth across the harbour mouth all week ‘til it finally grounded in on Broadcove.

So there was million year old ice in our drinks & an otherwordly soundtrack as house sized chunks cleaved off that iceberg & just skipped away. But the weather threatened to worsen … though i can’t say it’d ever gotten that much better … so we packed up early & headed out for another soggy ride up the bay.

TAKE THREE: Middle of the week, Lori arrived from Ontario. Next day, Spoons & fam flew in & once again, we set our sights on Exploits. Well, in reality it drizzled the whole way & the shroud of fog was so thick that we couldn’t see a bloomin’ thing …

but it was a good dose of maritime ambience & wouldn’t ya’ know, rounding Grebe Head into Exploits, the sun scraped a hole in the sky & dazzled right through.
It was an auspicious beginning. We were eight bodies so there were episodes of chaos, ad hoc meals on the deck & a pile of surf socks at the door. Right off the bat, Nate (read five year old dervish) & grandpa Gee (read fifty-six year old dervish)
caused a ruckus … & i’ve heard a couple of versions, but the facts remain: grandpa had an elastic, grandson was the target & in the ensuing excitement, Nate missed the edge of the deck & fell backwards, at least eight feet, off the end of the deck. Luckily he missed the jaggedy rocks & the rusty bedstead … & landed on the upturned kayak instead, bounced once & landed smack dab in the stinging nettles. And man o man he was wailing! It was pretty scary: i’d turned at the exact right (or maybe wrong) moment to watch the whole thing in hideous slow motion. Matter of fact, summer before i’d predicted as much, though George had shushed me with the well known fact that there’d always been some kind of high decking at the back & we’d never heard of anyone going over … yet! Besides, there wasn’t lumber enough to install proper rails. So of course, thinkin’ bout it later, i felt maybe somehow i’d jinxed it. But Mandy finally got Nate calmed down, gave him a good once-over & apart from the startle, a wee bump & a few good scrapes, the worst of his agony seemed to be the direct result of nettles. But ouch! A good long romp in the ocean pretty well took care of that & the drama kind of got forgotten … except once in a while when Nate felt compelled to tell everyone just how it happened that his very own grandpa Gee tried to kill him. That’s gonna’ be some legacy eh? Anyhoo, apart from a couple other minor traumas, mostly our adventures were good ones. Having rented a double kayak there were harbour tours for everyone, including Lorraine who got a bit miffed that George was trying to gondolier & insisted on a paddle of her own.

The kids scrambled over the craggy hills like goats, collecting ‘osie eggs’ & pockets full of rocks. They picked periwinkles & peeled ‘em to use ‘em for bait: then reeled in connor after connor off the dock & one spiny sculpin whose name might’ve been Sam.

Celebrated Mandy & Spoons’ anniversary with a cage full of lobster we kept stashed under the wharf … & thanks to Mandy & her crew of expert mussel pickers, we ate at least a bucket every day. We marvelled over the breakwater, picked berries for pancakes, excavated mountains of beach glass & every vase in the house brimmed with wildflower bouquets. Entertained a boatload of Lillies & anyone else who veered in off the path. And one night, gabbing ‘round the lanterns, an apparition of Neptune himself appeared out of the inky darkness & totally startled us with a rata-tat-tat on the kitchen door. Dirk had paddled the ten or so kilometers out of Cottlesville: leaving into a calm golden sunset & arriving two hours later in the drizzly mist. He was soggy head to toe, with bits of kelp & gravelly sand stuck here & there … & in all his paddling gear he looked very much ‘king of the sea’.

When he peeled it all off, the sweat that sloshed out of his dry suit boots likely would’ve filled a bucket, though he didn’t seem all that much worse for wear after such an energetic journey. We poured scotch all round & gabbed on past midnight. Next day dawned pissy again but Lori, Geo & Dirk paddled out around to Gull Island Cove to spy on more icebergs & on the way in, Dirk gave the novices a rescue lesson so they could save themselves in that icy cold sea.
It was easier to leave this time: maybe because we’d gone in & out so much; or it could’ve been the festive handover of the key when Kathy & her gang arrived for lunch with skipper Lloyd. Or that there wasn’t the physical reality of shuttering up the house … but i think really, it was having all those ‘greats’ & ‘grands’ onboard. They’re our tangible link to the future & an affirmation of our past. And these days it seems like we’re always in the act of coming back.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC? The ride in was a quintessential tourist event. White & opalescent ice-castles dotted every horizon & there were bergie bits galore. And the capelin were coming in, so there were whales everywhere. We saw them spouting & breaching off in the distance & that was quite a thrill … but nearing the final run into Cottlesville, Lloyd shouted, “more whales or home?” … & we took one last spin around the bay. i leaned over & whispered to Sienna “wouldn’t it be cool if one came up right beside the boat?” … & what do ya’ know, in the twinkling of an eye, a glistening black humpback surfaced: fin then fluke & gone.

Exactly right beside the boat! Then, when the gasps & oohs & ahhs were done, Sienna leaned back over to me & whispered, “grandma, that was kinda’ magic!” And really … it kinda’ was!

FURTHER: Back on dry land, between laundry & showers & a seafood fiesta, we relieved Don of all that trout, made some hasty farewells & the mainlanders drove south for three nights at a Super-8 in St. John’s. We had adjacent rooms & on the same floor as the pool with a gigantic waterslide. It was the perfect foil for tired kids & between dips we toured the Fluvarium, the Marine Labs out on the shore, then Signal Hill & a browse downtown. By some serendipity, Dave Bidini was on the Rock for a family wedding & that Sunday was his day in the city to play a few tunes & give a reading from his new book ‘Around the World in 57 & a 1/2 Gigs’. We rounded up an audience of Manuel cousins; Lori, Geo & i took a cab; & we all joined up at the Ship Inn, a somewhat storied old pub, for Dave’s eclectic dabble. Middle of that night, Lori flew away; three days later the kids flew away; then Geo & i spent a quiet afternoon with uncle Dave & aunt Gertie & landed in on Kathleen for a fabulous dinner & our very last sleep on the Rock.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN: Sailed early from Argentia into a swollen gray day & arrived late in North Sydney under a perfect full moon. We took a room overlooking the harbour & hit the road bright & early next morning. It was blossoming into a fine hot day, in fact the radio d.j. warned of record high temperatures, so we contemplated detours & places we could be … but suddenly we were both aching for home & we just pushed on: past the turn-off to Trisha’s in Cheticamp; past the beautiful sandy beach we’d discovered a couple trips ago; & across the Canso Causeway. Time to empty & fill the usual things & check those lug nuts for the umpteenth time. They’d become something of an obsession since the debacle in Oromocto, so we pulled off into a maze of confusion in the Timmy’s / Petro-Can parking lot. Vehicles parked willy-nilly & everywhere & even more vehicles moving every which way & all at once. So we had to kinda’ inch in. But, a few feet into the game & in the usual horrifyingly slow motion, a big blue van backed right up & smacked into us. Oh George laid on the horn but since we had nowhere to go, we just had to sit there & watch it happen. i said i guessed we should’ve gone to the beach. HaHaHa! But the poor woman in the driver’s seat was truly contrite & apart from our shock & total disbelief, the truck only had a minor dent. A dimple really, compared to the demolition job done by the tire. On the other hand, she’d popped the fender on her brand new van & we actually felt kinda’ bad for her. So there was really nothing else to do but carry on.

THE DAMAGE DONE: We had to laugh (or else we’d cry) & we made a great effort to keep each other jollied up … but we were beginning to feel exactly like the truck looked: kinda’ banged around. And pulling away we wondered aloud just how many indignities the ‘Donaldmobile’ could suffer & keep on truckin’. And wouldn’t ya’ know, it wasn’t too long before we found out! Drove out along the seashore north of Antigonish for lunch & were barely back on the highway when we noticed the thermostat ranging up & down again. Geo was convinced that, just like last time, the thing would self-correct … i on the other hand was not. We drove in a snit, my eyes glued to the darn needle as it wowed around, George keenly aware that things (me or the rad) might blow at any time. Got about half way across Nova Scotia to a section of toll road & the guy in the booth leaned out & yelled: “you’re boiling over” … & yes, you’d think that would be that … but oh no … not yet! We sat there, in the blazing sun, heat streaming off the engine, while some guy advised us to drive with the heat on & it might be o.k. Hah! It wasn’t o.k. A few kilometers with that heater blasting full bore & all that sun beating in & we were beginning to stew in our own juices. And i guess it finally managed to evaporate George’s cock-eyed optimism ‘cause he took the next ramp off to look for a garage. But before we got anywhere at all, the needle red lined again & we yawed off onto the shoulder of some secondary road & actually called the auto club. We waited & waited: sharing the last warm drops of water, then digging out the frozen trout to cool our blistering brains. Neither of us had anything left to say other than the intermittent glare, so i paced up & down in the shade & Geo kept his head down, buried in the map. Not sure what was so compelling with the map but musing over that, it suddenly dawned on George that in his fried up frenzy he’d given dispatch the wrong location. We’d have to re-order the tow. So we spent a couple more hours literally letting off steam ‘til the flatbed truck finally loomed into view … & without further ado, the ‘Donaldmobile’ got hoisted up & hauled away. Again.
We were very lucky the mechanic said, that despite our best efforts, it looked like we hadn’t fried the engine. But it was closing time so we’d have to wait. We were sticky & stunned & stranded: looking pretty pathetic in that parking lot on our coolers of frozen fish. We were so addled by the day that we couldn’t quite figure what we should do. But like the mechanic said, we were lucky: the shop manager took pity on us, drove us to a hotel & we cooled our jets in the pool. We traded fortunately / unfortunately ad infinitum & by the end of the evening we were pretty well punch drunk: sitting on the edge of the bed, just more or less howling Monty Python: “Always look on the bright side of life … eeou, eeou, eeou, eeou …. “ at the very top of our lungs!

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME: It’s kind of an understatement to say it was good to be home, though things weren’t quite all that rosy here either. During our six week sojourn the dog had fallen into a funk, a groundhog had devoured the garden & those cute little chipmunks had munched clean through the bushel of apples we’d left growing on the trees. That & still with the bats. But like they say, “what doesn’t kill you makes you strong” & since we’d actually survived that series of unfortunate events, we had to sit & riff on our pile of happy memories & marvel at the minor miracle that we were still on speaking terms. George finally conceded that optimism alone can’t always carry the day … & he also allowed that he had no expectations i’d get back in the truck any time soon.
BUT: While we were away, Skye & Dyl & Dex had moved down the highway to Dundas for Dylan’s new position at the Dundas Valley Montessori school. We’d promised to deliver furniture & the burgeoning stash of boxes they could now accommodate in their spacious new digs, so a couple days home, George loaded the truck & delivered. Back at dragonfly he crafted worktable parts for Dyl & when he was loading the truck again, i realized if i was ever going to see Dex & his parents again, i’d better get back on the horse & i jumped on board!

INTO THE VALLEY: Our two families have long roots in Dundas. As a kid i had two aunts, uncles & a whack of Given cousins there & when it wasn’t the destination, it was at least a stop for tea. And in 1970 George’s dad transferred from Niagara Falls to Hamilton with the C.N. Police. They lived up the hill in Grandvista Gardens & Dennis & i used to drive up almost every weekend. We hung out on the fringes of Geo’s new circle of friends, dug into the happening local music scene, drank Mr. Wilson’s excellent wine & explored a whole new wedge of the escarpment. It was good times in Dundas & the place fairly percolated with a raw cosmic energy. Maybe it just pooled there but it seemed to nurture creativity & a whole lot of fun. Spring of ‘72, George & Joanna Diemert ventured deep into Raven’s forest on the west most coast of Vancouver Island to visit the towns worth of pals who’d migrated en masse from Dundas to Zeballos. When Geo returned for work, his family was packing up for their move to Windsor & Den was enrolled in accounting at Mohawk College while also working for an uncle in Mississauga, so together, the three of us rented half a victorian duplex at 52 Victoria Street. That’s where we lived when Spooner was born & that’s where, first day home from St. Joe’s, i laid him naked on the spring green lawn to introduce him to mother earth. Unfortunately, the neighbour lady thought maybe i was makin’ a sacrifice or something, but in any event, she freaked & came storming over to offer a spiel of maternal advice. Luckily he survived & who knows, maybe that’s why he has such an affinity for the great natural world! Anyhow, i sought refuge back in Dundas after a close encounter with suburbia in Mississauga & took an apartment at 99 York Road. George & i joined forces there & one fateful day in 1975, Geo got assigned to the midnight yard at the Ford plant & i guess he figured that’d cramp his style. i remember the moment quite clearly: Linda, Jimmy, Spooner & me were packing a picnic lunch for a day at Wally Tucker’s when Geo came in from work & said: “I’m movin’ to Belleville … who’s in?”
That seems like an eternity ago, but the place remains as familiar as the back of my hand. We still have plenty of friends & acquaintances there; & aunt Elda still lives up the hill; Paul Campbell who moved from Scotland to Hamilton as a wee lad (& eventually started Campbell’s Coffeehouse) has ended up on Hatt Street in Dundas, so Kirsten, Moira & Drew will end up there too; & Dyl grew up in ‘the Hammer’. His parents still live there & other family too, so in reality, he’s just kinda’ putting out shoots in the very same place that he first grew roots. Oddly enough, some of you might’ve been there before: at 33 Park Street to visit Mike Lloyd. A very long time ago.

The new place is great: top two floors of a very old house that they’ve spiffed right up in their inimitable style. With a grand verandah & a garden shed out back which they’ve transformed into a lovely spot to sit. Dex can run around & chuck walnuts, Skye is planning a garden around them & Dylan can just walk down the street to work. Dyl’s joined a hockey team & already finessed a d.j. gig every Tuesday night (7:30 – 8:30) on 93.3 Big Fish Radio coming out of McMaster University. Skye bops around like she’s always lived there & as of january, she’s working as an administrator at Dyl’s school. i think the biggest bonus is the proximity of extended family … ‘cause families just support each other in ways that can’t be measured out. So in the end it’s all good: we get our own condensed, special intense & the Blueboy reaps the many benefits of being surrounded by all that unconditional love. And that makes this grandma very very happy.

THE ANNUAL FALL TOUR: Drove back into the valley mid-september: ate Skye’s scrumptious birthday dinner, left Dyl to figure out the parameters of the new job, grabbed up Skye & Dex & headed north to Owen Sound. Kirsten was on a brief sabbatical from her jet-set job across the pond in London, so we spent a couple days lolling in Lorio’s lovely back garden, catching up with the gals.

i got another birthday dinner then we boarded the Cheechemon & sailed north again. It was still somewhat early for the full fall spectacular, though the colours awed us nonetheless. We drove through some wonky wind & sideways rain, but traveling with a toddler we stopped often, passed one night at the Sault & got to Red Rock four days after we left.
George & i were in a kind of parent-grandparent glory with our kids & their kids all under one roof.

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And it did my heart good to see how wonderfully kind & patient Sienna & Nate were with wee Dex. He had a blast rummaging through their lives, but they took it all in stride, saved him from the dangers & showed him a very good time. Nate asked auntie Skye to go to school & read to his class & if Dexter could go too & be the ‘show & tell’. We passed a delightful afternoon at McGamon’s Farm north of Thunder Bay & i think we did it all: the rodeo train, two mazes, duck races, a horse drawn wagon ride … a pumpkin slingshot, a pumpkin catapult & pumpkins, pumpkins everywhere. The kids just zoomed from activity to activity & we tuckered ourselves out following them around. Dex was fascinated by the petting zoo & when the older kids lined up to catch a pony ride, he turned around & retraced his steps all the way back … absolutely oblivious, ‘til he reached the barn door. And maybe he heard Dex coming, but for whatever reason, at that exact moment the donkey started to bray: hee-haw, hee-haw & hee-haw again. Dex just froze … & freaked & finally spun around. Good thing grandma was trailing right behind & i took his little hand & we went inside to hee-haw hee-haw back again. But most days we just hung out around the Red Rockettes schedule & lucky me, i got my third birthday dinner that week. Then too soon time to go & we headed off, back into the group of seven painting we’d popped out of.

GROK: The north shore of Superior is a dipsy doodle of coves & jutlands & on these treks we always make time to explore a few. On the way out we’d stopped but the sleety wind was beating sideways & we barely made it out of the car. This time, we pulled off in full beauty sunshine into Catharine Cove. Dex thought this was just marvellous & he charged off down the long arch of white sand, little arms & legs pumping … wrestling with the wind. Then he turned & faced the roaring surf & charged that too. Three steps in, he wavered & wobbled around in the cold surge of sand & whitecapped waves. His mouth formed a perfect O but before he uttered a sound, Skye swooped him up & they plunged up & down together. Dex just laughed & laughed & we laughed too. After lunch we dithered up the shore in the other direction. Eons of water washing over the jumble of boulders on the point, belied the primal forces that brought them there, but you only had to look down to divine clues from the geologic time line under your feet. Dex took great delight in the sopping moss that squeegeed water out when you pressed your fingers in … then splashing feet & fists into the tiny pools of dark water caught in the cleaving of rocks. It was a voyage of discovery & he was digging it! On the slow meander back he followed a bead chain of spruce cones at the edge of the forest: collecting fistfuls & driftwood & pebble treasures too. We watched him make a careful inspection of an old weathered stump, then he wrapped his little arms around it with a great big hug. And just as we were making motions to leave, Dexter spun a slow wonky orbit & flung himself down. He swooped a tiny perfect angel in the sand & went perfectly still. And he lay like that for a very long time. Grinning like the cheshire cat & just grokking the beach.

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It was a joyful afternoon & evoked a string of beachy memories. Some events just touch you in such a way that they become iconic & for me, this one is filed that way. In the folder labelled ‘mermaid dreams’. Full of the cacophony of wind & waves & populated by me & all those cousins at Berford or Wasaga or Sauble; then there’s Spoons, just three, in his bare scutty, trailing seabirds up either coast; & our spry, beautiful Skye spinning cartwheels up a sun drenched beach. Now i’ve got those grandkids filed too … under the sub-title wild abandon. And feeling absolutely free.

COUNT ‘YER BLESSINGS: After all our gallivants, it felt good to finally be home. George’s knee was so much improved that by the time he got his M.R.I. & subsequent consult, the surgeon told him he was as good to go as he’d ever get. He’d already tested it with hockey & discovered new limitations on a two day hike in Frontenac Park with buddy Al, but this was the word he was waiting for. His knee’s got a squishy new sound, which amuses the kids but gives me the ‘willies’ … & he’s not able to fully extend, but that hasn’t stopped him yet. Spoons & the fam made the trek ‘home’ for thanksgiving, not so much to see us, but to visit the Haynes’ after a whole year away … though somehow, happily, we got wedged in anyway. Since Geo was laid up all spring & in no shape to saw or haul firewood, we’d purchased a humongous pile of logs & Spooner gave a day to help with that. And because Kolja was around, visiting Lena & Bob, we plotted a surprise & he appeared for breakfast one morning, bearing a giant fruit salad. Later, on a stroll to the pond, the kids discovered grandpa Gee’s derelict trailer is a really fun teeter- totter, then up the hill, the men happened upon R practicing for the impending axe throwing competition at Montebello & i think they all had a go at that.

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Then everyone was gone: Kol off to site more windmills; the Rockettes off to scope out Dundas & home. And things at dragonfly went really really quiet.

CARPE DIEM: It was easy to fall into the regular rhythm of yard work & hockey & let the calendar fill up with diversions at will. It’s been almost a year since George took retirement & he celebrates that fact every darn day. He’s found a good groove: lovin’ that he never HAS to miss hockey; & can just go off to work the sugarbush with Steve Bittle; or camp with Al & the Friends of Frontenac Park, picking up litter; or dipsy doodle the day away paddling Melon Lake with the wife & some friends; & drop what he’s doing when Wags says “it’s a good day to sail”, even if you both end up flailing in the water; or spontaneously hop on the train & catch Blurtonia at the Horseshoe … he even squeezed in a double-barrelled weekend with the Intergalactic ‘camping life’ on one end & a hockey game in T.O. on the other. The calendar is always full & what he lacks in vigour, he certainly makes up for with goofy enthusiasm. Add to that his cheerful optimism & you’ve pretty well got a juggernaut. i’m just glad he doesn’t expect me to keep up to him, though he doesn’t seem to mind if i try. And i’m just so happy for his retirement, ‘cause after all those years of working, it must be nice to finally not.
The only thing Geo really misses is the camaraderie: imagine riding in that “room of thunder” with just one other soul for eight to ten hours, grabbing a nap & doing it again. They got to talk & you know how George loves that! But he doesn’t miss the burden of responsibility. Listening in on the guys talk shop always put me in mind of Peter Sellers in Dr. Strangelove … because hurtling down the track with the thrust of a zillion ton cargo of dangerous goods propelling them forward was literally like riding a bomb. It takes skill & finesse & experience to tame that kind of power & even the slightest miscue could become catastrophic. The guys have to be on the ball & they have to trust each other. George lost a few good friends to the job & had a couple close calls himself. And when people or cars played chicken with his train & lost, he had to somehow absorb that trauma & keep on going. But you can’t go on in the same way after you’ve comforted a perfect stranger while they die in your arms. You’ll carry that person with you forever, but it’s such an odd, unsettling intimacy that really has no parameters you can fit it to. i know George was scarred by these things … & i’m relieved he’s far away from all that. He is too. He actually gets to sleep in the same bed night after night … & all night. No more calls at 3:00 a.m. & no more calls whenever. It’s so nice to wake up beside him. Really, the glitches have been mine … so used to silent solitude … but we’re finding new ways to be together & once in a blue moon, Geo even builds lunch. So we just kinda’ follow our bliss & try to wring every possible joy out of this crazy quilt of life.
And that’s what George talked about in his retirement speech at the railroad ‘do’ in November.

My Former Life

It was good to finally meet the “crew” … & just a little weird. Having 35 years worth of backstory on someone, then finally coming face to face, was a tad unsettling; but a couple gin & tonics later, we were acting like old friends. Sometimes George goes to ‘coffee klatch’ with his fellow retirees & still with the ‘Rubber Booters’ hockey in Belleville: so he sees his buds. And he’s started back carving spoons & puttering away at the art with the aim of maybe getting enough stock together for a craft show. For Christmas i got a medicine cabinet to match the vanity he’s promising: a rather lovely thing, with a big mirror & made of juniper purchased at the farm. Though i have to say, that after living 22 years without, it was something of a shock to actually peer into that looking glass & see a grey haired lady lookin’ back!

OOPS! i missed my deadline. It’s mid-january already & even olde christmas is past. And when i should’ve been stuffing greetings into envelopes, i kinda’ got busy. It was this same sort of busyness back in the ‘70’s that initiated these Christmas missives in the first place … so you’d think i’d be more diligent, but as you can see, i’m not. i guess it’s that bliss thing. There were a couple great parties & dinners with friends. And with the crowd around here that usually means too much good food, carousing & drinking, darts & / or dancing, quite often singing, a couple rowdy board games & sometimes a craft. There were gifts to wrap, packets to mail & gifts to unwrap. We endured a week in the deep freeze, got buried in white stuff, then a thorough january thaw! Luckily R bought a snowblower just in the nick of time or we would’ve been snowed in: & shortly after slushed in. The Rockettes clomped off into the Nipigon woods, built a bonfire, chopped down a tree, then stayed in Red Rock for Christmas. Skye, Dyl & Dex spent theirs in Owen Sound with Lori, Kirsten (get that girl a jet-pack!) & Lorraine who’d flown back to visit Ontario after a year & a half away. They took a lovely horse drawn sleigh ride to see the lights in Owen Sound & on boxing day, Skye piled grandma & the fam into her little Golf. And because the starter had failed, the whole neighbourhood showed up to push start them for a drive without stopping, straight here. We were definitely ready ‘cause Christmas suddenly turns magic with a kid in the house & we crammed a lot in during the day they were here. But they had to rush off to the traditional Hudecki skating party in T.O., then the next day, in Hamilton, Dyl & brother Jackson were playing a gig to release their Cowlick e.p. We had a nice quiet week with Lorraine & a dinner out at Steve Terry’s with his baygirl, Marge from Bonnavista. Then George & his mom got on the train & toured down to the old neighbourhood in Windsor. Lorraine lived there as long as George worked on the railroad … & that’s practically a lifetime … so it was wonderful for her to see the old gang.

Next night they descended on aunt Marion’s in London where they spent a couple days catching up with Collins’: swapping stories, drinking tea & browsing old photos. Then Lori & George drove their mom to Pearson & she flew away home.
Things have been pretty low key since then, though a couple days ago, the inimitable R hosted yet another dinner party, serving up an authentic Japanese feast & lots of sake. After darts & dessert, ‘Scattergories’ made us laugh so hard, we cried.

AND NOW: There’s an opalescent disc sitting in a treetop outside my window facing east. Everything out there is twinkling. Last night i watched a dark shape move across the yard in that eerie spectral light … though before i got a good bead on it, the shape shifted into shadow & was gone. Maybe it was a wolf. i heard one later: baying at the moon. A wild plaintive sound, whirling up into a starless night.
George is in Peterborough playing the last game of a four day hockey tour. Last night in Toronto, his line with Dom & Dyl took all three stars, & it’ll be hard to top that. But he’ll be home soon for a long hot soak in the tub & i’m sure i’ll get the play-by-play. You could likely get it too in your computer. George is all over that these days. Our email is: terrappin@sympatico.ca // or go to facebook // or his weblogs, chock full of pictures & random musings. While he was away, i stowed the last of the angels & Christmas bangles & now i’m done with this too.
It’s a tome i know, but i had to bring it full circle. Now i just hope that you’ll respond in kind. This letter writing thing is somehow cathartic & i’ve discovered thoughts in here i didn’t know i had. So thank-you for indulging me. Be well & let’s make every moment count.
namaste

mary

***CHATTERBOX***
NEWSFLASH: When we moved Spooner up to school at the Lakehead in1993 we had no idea he’d be north for so long. Well the boy just called & the Red Rockettes are moving to Sault Ste. Marie. That’s a whole day travel closer & almost three degrees of latitude souther … though from watching the weather, i see it gets a lot more snow. He’s been hired as a class four ‘provincial forest evaluations & standards forester’ for the Ministry of Natural Resources. Which i think means most of the time he’ll be mulling over policy behind a desk. So he’ll miss those treks through the Armstrong forest reserve which has been under his purview almost ten years at Domtar … but time off will get more regular, the kids will discover fabulous new opportunities, Mandy gets to redecorate & we get to go for a weekend. So congratulations Spoons: i really can’t think of a better steward for our forests than you.

PSST: caught a couple rarified birds at dragonfly this year: Don Rysdale on the way home from a fishing weekend with a bud at a nearby lodge; & Ron & Sherri Jowitt touring Ron’s new hip just as he was gettin’ ready to throw down his cane. Now they’re trying to figure just where to land once the teaching gig in Georgia ends this june // the Davies in Southampton did a beautiful job renovating their charming “heritage” house & now they want to sell, move to Midland & be that much closer to cottage life at Snake Lake. The place had just been “staged” – to make it very spare & neat as a pin when we dropped in, so Linda showed us where they hide their real life for real estate purposes & Hugh told Lori about the tombstones & bones he found buried in his rubbly back yard. Now that’s gonna’ be a deal maker! // & if Hugh had asked, Geo was ready to join he & Weeds to chop firewood at the lake // Burvill’s have reinvented: J.J.’s a long haul trucker, Bronwen’s building mustard & they’re hardly ever home // now that her flock of kids have flown the nest, Diane Toulmin downsized & took a sabbatical to write // my friend Susie Hicks told me John & Carol Smith moved back to the Alberta outback from Gananoque // & when Susie was in Niagara Falls to bury her dear old dad, Jan decided to boost her morale with a “girl’s night out” when i arrived in town for our annual may 24th family reunion. Doug was camping, so it was three dear old friends … & somewhat ironically, also three of Geo’s once & future girlfriends … & two of Jan’s girls, Amanda & Sarah. We feasted & drank & goofed around a lot & had a total hoot. But he must’ve bribed the bouncer & maybe thrown the dog a bone, ‘cause somehow George crashed right on in! // Marcus is roaming the far east, adventuring with his old pal David: touring Tokyo; a 500 year old zen garden in Kyoto; a border hassle in Hanoi (details are movie script material); & a two day boat excursion to Halong Bay. Last we heard he was getting on an overnight train to Sapa to visit the Hamong hill tribes & three days later, a short flight to Luang Prabang, the ancient capitol of Laos. Can’t wait to hear the fascinating details.

OUT OF THE BLUE: Lorraine, now in her 85th year, got a call from her school teacher in Exploits. Gertrude Williams (nee Badstone), now in her 92nd year must be getting the report cards ready. i think Lorraine gets ‘A+’ // early 70’s Francis Lemieux traced my feet & Philip Watson crafted me a pair of custom sandals. i wore ‘em constantly ‘til birkenstocks came into my life on the Vinyard in ‘89: Skye thought they looked ‘vintage’ & she’s worn them ever since. i told Skye they were made in Dundas so she googled Philip & emailed a note: he’s still doing ‘footwork’ so she thanked him very much for the miles those shoes have gone! // think way back to parties at the farm – now think ‘life’ of said parties & Stewie Babcock & that little dog Chantel pops to mind. By chance, Geo met his accomplice, Roger Bideau, who’s about to retire from his railroad career. He reports Stewie (minus Janice & Chantel) is back in the ‘Hammer’ too … so, let’s get this party started!

I.B.C: the book club, now in it’s 21st year, is finally back on track … albeit a meandering one. After we did “the Wrong Boy” last February, we expanded our membership a wee bit & reconvened at ochlomed in April. Having new faces at the table with fresh perspectives was a good thing: fitting said faces around a table is sometimes quite another. It’s just lucky that we love each other! Read Sue Monk Kidd’s “the Secret Life of Bees”: insightful, bitter/sweet, exquisitely well written & lots of curious facts about bees. Next meeting to discuss our ageing brains got hijacked by a Beatles tribute & the men’s camping life. Ironically, no one remembered to re-convene. So, i gifted the ‘galactics’ Louise Erdrich’s ‘Four Souls’ for X-mas with an invite to skate, warm up with a bowl of soup, then a round table before dessert. George is hoping for a hockey team. i’m just hoping for a quorum.
-in ‘94 Geo tried to put Paul Quarrington’s ‘King Leary’ on the list but it was out of print, so we did ‘Whale Music’ instead. Now that Dave Bidini’s going to champion it for C.B.C.’s Canada Reads, the publishers are reprinting & George is gonna’ try again.

ANCARO IMPARO: whales & some fish rest by putting half a brain to sleep at a time.

KINSHIP: Great uncle Frank Given wished aloud that he’d like to visit his kin all at once & daughter Ann arranged to make it so. i was excited to see all those cousins i’d had so much fun with as a kid in Wiarton. And auntie Bev & uncle Jack: who so reminds me of my dad. And even smilin’ Jack showed up: the one cousin who almost never does // Stayed at Lorio’s & Andrew was there on break from moving giant rocks around Whistler & come east to mom’s & the clan of Campbell’s in Owen Sound. Excellent timing. Geo tuned Drew’s guitar to G, they traded tunes & who knew, the kid can really sing!

Hitched a ride cross country with us to see his dad (before Paul moved to Dundas), then he bought a car & drove back west to Spoons’ & home to dust off his snowboard & start groomin’ those ski runs for the ‘glitterati’ // i’m still waitin’ for Moira’s postcard from her Christmas tour in Wales // & from Don & Lorna’s Crystal, teaching english in the Gaspe // did get a couple newsy letters from Australia: feisty Mary Rowell’s filling all the walls with her painting & hubby Vic’s turning exotic fruitwood bowls on his brand new lathe … & Suz wrote with all her family news & details from her six week sojourn in Vancouver with her old pal Mal. They visited her dad & little bro Robert & Mal got a glimpse of what’s bred in the Crowe bones ‘cause at the age of 92, uncle Carson’s feisty as ever & sharp as a tack // when Robert & Bob tour east in spring i’ll see the pics & i hope Rob will bake some bread // Sienna invited eight little friends to her 8th birthday party to sing “High School Musical” karaoke & eat pizza: didn’t invite the bird that flew down the old chimney to terrorize the girls & when a zillion styrofoam beads exploded in the hands of a guest, Mandy had to vacuum the kids as they left. A memorable party indeed! // Bless their little hearts, Cathy, Anne & Jim formed a cousin committee to help auntie Lola relocate from Kiwanis Court to Cavendish Manor // it’s in her old neighbourhood, matter of fact, just doors away from her (& Grandma Hunter & all the DeForge’s) former home on Dunn Street … & i went to kindergarten & grade three there, back when it used to be Fallsview School. Too bad they built Fallsview Casino right in front of it & had to change the name! // And believe it or not, the ever perennial kid, Richard, finally hit the BIG 60! i doubt that’ll slow him down!

WELCOME EARTHLINGS: happy to announce: Rowan Scott Palmateer-Laidlaw, to Lisa & Andrew – who may have finally met his match // Eva Cecilia Parish, to Melanie [Hodgins] & Shaun & i just bet grandma Celia’s smiling down on all that joy // Ava Grace Kashmira Lowe joined Rachel, Adam, big sis Holly & doting in all her glory GRANDMA MARION // Clare Elizabeth Jayne Sears to Jeanelle, Keith & big brother Ben, adding into the Woolfrey clan // Ava to Emily & Kevin Falls making cousin Gary Lundrigun a grandpa & auntie Fran GREAT! // Isabella Christie to Camille [Coles] & Howard. Wondering if the grands Karen & Dan will haul a tiny little sidecar on their motorcycle tours
A while ago i heard the intrepid Wavy Gravy give this advice to parents : “… be ever mindful to raise ‘yer kids with timing, balance, compassion & most importantly, a sense of humour!” It’s good advice indeed.

CLAP ‘YER HANDS & SAY YEAH: Yahoo Dyl, having toiled every Saturday through the ‘06 / ‘07 school year to complete that Montessori teacher training & spent many late nights completing assignments. That, & becoming a first time ‘dad’ which made all the other nights late too. So, in spite of being sleep deprived … he really really did it! His two families are bursting with pride & Dexter Blue finally figured out how to sleep right through the night. A HEARTY ROUND OF APPLAUSE!
-& ENCORE Dyl who’s busy flying back & forth to Halifax producing a band who so loved Dyl’s ‘Junior Blue’ they requested his expertise to usher their new ‘Caledonia’ c.d. to fruition
-& KUDOS to Trish Trepannier just now easing out of her high stress government job into a well deserved semi-retirement; time to embrace that secret biker chick life.
-a great speckled bird let it drop that Matt Rust & Dorothy Scrutton actually finally tied that knot out in Nelson B.C. Now that’s a storied romance! WOW! Congratulations newlyweds!
-Gerry Ouderkirk has parlayed his many sea-faring adventures into books before, so no real surprise then that he’s just launched “The Ships of Kingston”, a book he co-authored with Skip Gilliam. And to support the Owen Sound Rail & Marine Museum, they used info from his data-base & lots of his pics to produce a d.v.d. Now he’s working on another marine history book & a book of fiction. And when he’s not busy buccaneering or adventuring, Gerry’s a captain on the Toronto Island ferry. Stand up & say YEAH!
-Clear Skye Organizing Solutions will come clean out ‘yer junk drawer, closet, file cabinet, tool shed or any other muddled space you’re in, once Skye finds the time to launch her web-based business. She’s got quite the knack when it comes to putting things in order … & i’ll vouch for that! YOU GO GIRL!

LOCAL COLOUR: R combined his drafting skills & timberframe experience to create the wildly successful ‘Arman’s Design’ to craft sturdy, unique houses & stay busy all the time. Weekends at home he’s puttering the addition to completion & since Deb switched schools to shorten her commute, she can hardly wait ‘til the hot-tub gazebo comes around // meantime they’ll excursion with McConnell’s down to Florida to reprise march break ‘07: eat well, drink well, play shuffleboard, fish marlin & catch some ‘Bluejays’ winter baseball // wonder if Janice will carry her fab new “Beatles” purse south? // Pete Snell joined mom & sis to tour the homeland & on his return from England, joined a theater troupe in Picton to play Percy in Timothy Findlay’s ‘Elizabeth Rex’. The crowd of Tweedles who watched thought Tif would likely approve // the Stoco Fen farm is a going concern: five beautiful Morgans, a yard of wilding cats, a pair of breeding poodles, a lonely llama & one homing goat. To make room for ‘Cruiser’ (Lynn’s all black Christmas Morgan) Billy & Lynn downsized & sold their herd of goats to a neighbour … but Pinto broke free & made her way home. So i guess she gets to stay! // And when Billy was growing up his parents lived in a house/variety store in the Toronto Beaches. As a teen he turned the basement into a coffeehouse/hangout & his adventures percolated out of there. So this past spring, Billy finessed a successful ‘Grotto’ reunion & the core group came together, broke into the derelict house & ruminated on their youthful shenanigans // Then in September, Billy went ‘On the Road’ to a party honouring Jack Kerouac’s wild & wooly writings. Then he sat in a circle of hep cats & read a couple chapters in the days long reading of that most famous tome.

THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT: Matt Snell finally graduated McGill & reluctantly donned the gown & mortar to make Peter & Carol beam with pride … i saw the pics & Matt ended up beamin’ too. He’s still working on a novel & with or without the Horror Choir is polishing up a c.d.; but now that both he & Rebecca have gigs teaching english as a second language, rumour is, if they play their cards right, they just might end up at summer camp in the very far east // Jake just turned 21 which by itself is hard to believe & as Alphabot plays gigs at all the hip haunts in T.O.; Christmas time he took the show on the road & landed at the Bohemian Penguin in Belleville. i’ll keep you posted on the world tour // beginning under nuanced tutelage, now operating under her own dynamic will, ms. Emily is a delightful enigma: elegant beauty one day, concert pianist the next, goofy teenager, gregarious worker bee at the Food Co., a sometimes roustabout, pondering med. school & full tilt at ochlo-ball, fuller tilt at fastball but uber tilt in rugby … ‘yup: an all round kinda’ gal // Ace’s still got his Halifax groove on, having switched from theater work to a call centre so he can actually enjoy the bar scene. And with a few days off at new year’s he flew home, battled a snowstorm, solved a mystery & showed up at his parents door for a surprise three hour tour // Erika Bailey-Brown did a practice teaching stint at Parkside in Dundas & now she’s in the Bancroft hinterlands doing the real thing // Bryan loves the new A.T.V. at the Bach-Vallieres so much he’s thinking up jobs to do & George is thinking ‘bout how to adopt him.

STAND UP & DANCE: Rheos get the five stars in 2007, but you probably already guessed that.
-Caught a virtuoso harp performance by Carlos del Junco & his amazingly versatile band. Blew the Belleville Club crowd right away!
-On the verge of veering off to the rock & kind of on a moments notice, we buffed up our dancin’ shoes for North X Northeast in T.O. The lease was up on our convenient crash-pad so we felt duly obliged to seize the moment & dance. First night, Lee’s Palace for the ‘alt-twang fest’: O Suzanna, Kathleen Edwards, Jason Rutledge, Jim Bryson, Luke Doucet, Ron Sexsmith, Colin Linden, Bruce Cockburn, Blue Rodeo & a who’s who of musical friends. It was a marathon & when we finally hit the hay at 5:15 a.m. we’d only snagged a quick forty winks when Skye plunked her wide eyed Blueboy on our bed & went right back to sleep. Next night, an intimate set by the enchanting Lily Frost, accompanied by her favourite side-kick Jose Contreras, at the Cameron House. Hiked up the street for down & dirty at the Bovine Sex Club with a raunchy little ‘thang Prya Thomas, then wandered home from Queen to Bloor via Spadina … poking our noses into any venue we came across ‘til we finally stumbled up Skye’s steps to bed. Third night back to the Cameron for the weirdly talented Ford Pier then we snatched a cab home to let Skye & Dyl have a turn. i hung with the sleeping Blueboy & Geo took off again into the night. It was totally exhausting, oddly exhilarating & we really, really did, stand up & dance!
-Mid-august we caught the Wolfe Island ferry for a day of music in the sun: Nich Worby; Young Rival; the remains of Brian Borcherdt (& the talented Julie Fader); Spiral Beach (energetic & somewhat reminiscent of our beloved ‘talking heads’); Basia Bulat, Born Ruffians (new to me & really ‘groovy’); Weeping Tile (crawled out of the time machine with Luther Wright, Cam’s tasty drumming & that delightful Sarah Harmer. Band rocked out in absolutely top form); the rhythmically crazed Apostle of Hustle; & manic jams from Brian’s Holy F!%k (Brian & Graham bend over their eccentric array of musical tools … snag a groove … diddle it, rant & rave … then smash it into smithereens … or maybe, just let it all f a l l a p a r t … a kind of mad scientist thing). But much to my chagrin, Geo figured we should beat the crowd & catch the second last ferry, so we mostly missed Wolf Parade. Good day though in good company: Karen & Dan doffed their leathers, stashed their bikes & joined up to boogie & periodically Jake & pal Lane visited ‘the oldies’ on the lawn. We rode the ferry home together: through a moonless night in a shower of shooting stars!
-Met Ev & Rob Diemert & a coterie of Hudeckis in the charming old church that’s the Dundas Valley Montessori School for a benefit concert: Dyl worked techno-magic on a wild video / light show, Skye worked the bar, clients donated a finger food buffet & lots of musical treats: Stan Roger’s daughter Beth Gould, who sings like a lark, Dylan & owner Tony Evans (together & alone)

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& the soothing Skydiggers’ harmonium. That the illustrious Daniel Lanois was the surprise opening act was just a bonus!

-my birthday gift was tickets for the Weakerthans at the Elixir in Kingston. Pub was jammed with Queen’s students but we wrangled our way right up front, grooved through Jen Grant’s quirky tunes then, o happy me day … i really dug those Weakerthans
-& sometimes Geo trains it to T.O. for a quickie fix, but those are his stories, not mine.

ON THE TURNTABLE NOW: Attack in Black, Luke Doucet, Patrick Watson, Mavis Staples, the Books, Fortet, Two Minute Miracles, Radiohead, Joel Plaskett, the Derek Trucks Band, Califone, Robert Plante with Alison Kraus …

~ by gwcollins on February 8, 2008.