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Walking Distance

Sip. After about 65 years of taking pictures I can assure you that it is not about equipment. It is about developing an eye for the simple beauty all around us and understanding the basic science of light. For the last few years I’ve insisted on using a mobile phone to capture images to prove that. Frankly, phones are now much more than cameras used to be but the process is still the same. AI will never exceed human creativity.

Yesterday I was in a recycled furniture shop. Laughing and joking with a group at the till I made a silly mistake and then mentioned a T-shirt for sale that said “ I had potential.” The cashier brusquely replied that I didn’t need a sign for her to see that. Gotta love a girl with a sense of humour!

One more from the notice board. Thar be a push-pin pirate!

Somehow, for me, June has meandered through my existence and we are well into July. I am looking out my office window at the harbour. There is a brassy light as the sun ladders through an overcast sky. The Westerly wind is rising and stirring the water with catspaws. Soon there may be whitecaps in the bay.The temperature is pleasantly moderate. It’s time to get the girls and go see what’s up in the woods before some citiot sets fire to them. Another beautiful day in a wonderful place to live. Oh Canada! Later I’m back sitting again at my desk staring balefully out at the world. This sitting is getting to be a bad habit, one that urgently needs breaking.

An artechoke morning. What an amazing plant! This photo is about life-size.

I try to avoid political comment but I feel the need to say this. I think our current prime minister is doing well. He waded into the Trump swamp, has a mess left behind by dear Justin and is trying to secure his own political future with every step dogged by Mr. Polynever yipping like a jealous puppy. Here’s my thought. Mr Carney has vowed to do something positive about affordable housing in Canada. He has annouced plans to manufacture affordable homes which can be delivered to the jobsite.

I was flummoxed to hear him announce yet more plans to spend $100,000,000 to refurbish 24 Sussex Drive. Apparently no PM has lived there since Stephan Harper’s day. (He must have had some wild parties! The joint is trashed) I’m wondering why pre-manufactured housing won’t work there. A nice double-wide trailer should do the trick and make a noteable political statement. If it’s good enough for the likes of we, then why not he? Just sayin’. Lead by example.The balance of that hundred mil. could build several more shacks for the people. Oh, leave the old stone doorway standing as a monument to an era long gone.

I say old chap, where has the ocean gone?

This baby bunny won a stare-down contest with my dogs. It is about six inches long.

And verily the fir sprang forth from the cedar.

This is the bottom of Haslam Creek. In a few months salmon will spawn in its rushing waters. It is hard to grasp but it IS normal.

So we have teetered over the fulcrum of mid-July and this blog is still sitting on the back of the stove. There is wildfire smoke in there air but not much else is going on in our sleepy little town. I have decided that Ladysmith is indeed the finest community on Vancouver Island. We have small town politics while we continue to sell ever more building permits and then worry about our water supplies. Ever bathed in beer? The City Of Ladysmith just doesn’t have a ring to it. We’re still a town, We like it like that. It is why we moved here. Allegedly voted to have the nicest mainstreet in Canada. Uhuh!

Some days it may best to stay home and smell the flowers.

Today I went to the local harware store. There were some ladies selling donuts for a local baseball charity. A rather rubenesque soul tried flogging me a box. I said, “No thanks, I’m allergic. They make me swell up!” Her response was, “That happens to some people.” So of course I had to reply, “I can see that.” I know why I don’t have many friends. You’ve got to have a sense of humour if you want to hang with me. There is no-one so poor as a person without a sense of humour.

The shameless bather. In the dryness of summer a tiny puddle can mean life itself. The snail is about 3/4.”

A workshop shot. I’m refurbishing an 80 year-old Aldis lamp (Navy signal lamp) for a neighbour. These allowed ships to communicate using Morse Code. No radio signals could be intercepted.

As Vancouver Island closes its pulp & paper mills, toilet paper farming has taken on a new urgency.

Oh Canada! What a wonderful place we live. The mountains of the mainland loom over the mayhem of Vancouver. I’m happy to be an islander. I love that wee wooden boat.

It has occured to me that, with broader thinking, most places are within “walking distance.”

Five Hundred

As I sat down to begin writing this I was flashed an e-ad for a T-shirt with the caption, “I had Potential.” End of blog, what else is there to say?

In the end we tried a few. They’re tasty enough but a lot of work. I’m an artichoke virgin no more.

I started this wee blogging endeavour with the notion of providing yet another travel bog, a way of showing photos and perspectives that engaged folks and offered ideas a little out of the box. To do that you have to travel. There has been precious little of that although not all journies are measured in miles. Of course I’ve been providing myself yet another creative outlet with this blog. Along the way my readership has developed a following of folks who tell me they look forward to what I offer. Their interest in turn gives me reason to keep looking for good photos and perhaps a reason to live beyond my own selfish parameters. I have made some wonderful friends, upset a few others and documented both the interesting and the mundane. The world is not a better place for anything I’ve done, but damnit, at least I’ve done something!

Remember Melanie and “I’ve got a brand new roller skate….” This is a new variation of the geezer’s electric scooter. You can even get a heater and A/C!

And so this is blog number five-hundred. It is no great personal achievement but I wonder if there will be a thousand some day. This continuing effort has given me clarity and purpose. I thank all my readers for their support and input.

There’s a four-letter word I have come to hate. FIFA. I am not a sports person in any way although I do not begrudge anyone else their passions. If soccer is your religion, bow down and remain devout. But World Cup my ass! We’re forced to endure the endless drivel about the seven World Cup Games to be played in Vancouver. Look! The whole world is not gaga about kicking a ball about. In fact there will be less intererst after all this manic irresponsibility has been forced on us. If the fuss was about all the World Cup games I could be more tolerant. But seven, a mere seven games! The media’s focus is almost exclusively on this. (Gaza, Iran, the Ukraine are all in the “Oh yeah” file but Trump’s name still makes it into every newscast.) Multiple billions have been spent to turn the city of Vancouver upside down, roust the homeless, disrupt weeks of commerce for many small buinesses, brigades of extra police have been brought in. The price of everything for both locals and visitors has been jacked outrageously. This mayhem provides no lasting benefit other than the hope of having some temporary global attention. Soccer is a noble ancient sport but we have other desperate issues needing the focus our wealth and passion.

Captain Peck. He’s got an eye on you. A stinkeye!

A prettier bird in flight but they have a very ugly stink eye. If you see Turkey Vultures circling overhead… worry.

Chemainus Beach, Low tide, Father’s Day, Summer Solstice.

Well it is coming on to mid-June. There are no clouds in the sky this morning, water use restrictions have been advanced, river levels are desperately low and we all live in terror of wildfires. I’ve spent my five-hundredth blog growling at a football corporation and the dogs need a walk before it it gets too warm. Onwards and sideways. 501 or bust! Today is now already summer solstice and so I had best get this posted. The weather is perfect, no conflagrations in the forest although I’m sure some idiot is working on it and life goes on. Let’s get a piece.

A view from the deck of the Rampart Scottish Pub in Maple Bay. Thanks to a tip from a friend we found it after 39 years of going by. Everything there was grand.

More Swallow Tails. Note the pollen on its wing.

“It is generally inadvisable to eject directly over the area you just bombed.”

US Air Force Manual

An Absense Of Sirens

Magic. At a last moment we decided to take our trailer to the woods for a few days. What magic led me and my lense to be at exactly this moment in exactly this place. This beauty had flown thousands of miles to be precisely here for me. WOW!

Tuesday, May 5^th. Another brilliant sunrise in a cloudless Raincoast sky. There is not even one shower forecast ahead but maybe we’ll have one of those rainy summers. There are folks actually whining about the heat already. They’re probably the same ones who go south for a little of this same weather in winter. And, it’s not hot; temperatures are only in the mid-thirties! We do have forest fires already.

Fly me to the sun. A highway in the sky at sunrise.

In the pink. The glories of spring, which include sinus tortures, are a surreal affirmation of life.

At the head of our driveway, where it conjoin’s the neighbour’s, sits a large, ugly cast concrete planter guarding the straggling hedge between the properties. I hate it but it belongs to the reclusive lonley soul next door and I want to respect her. Although not only an eyesore, it is a hazard to navigation and lurks ready to savage any vehicle which gets too near. It has severely gnawed my front bumper.

Yesterday as we were heading out my wife Jill said, “You’re getting awfully close to the urn.” I replied, “Yeah well, we both are!” And so, with laughter, we launched ourselves back out onto the road of life. As another dawn spreads I realize how true it is. Tick Tock.

Tuesday, May19th. There’s half the month gone by. Tinkering this, tinkering that, times flies whether you’re having fun or not. Spring so far has been cool and clear and very dry. There have been a few days of summer-like warmth but nothing to match the “Hot” predictions of the weather girl in the tight dress. We finally broke out the old travel trailer just to change our perspective, and partly due to the outrageous price of fuel, decided to travel briefly to a place less than an hour from home. What a dream to find an overlooked location right under our noses that meets most of our expectations. Just Google up “Nanaimo Lakes Camping” if you’re interested. No explosions, just simple in the trees escape. And best of all, few people. Enough said, the photos can do the rest.

With over a century of logging these lakes still offer a recreational beauty for folks. Second-growth timber is now being harvested. Despite one’s environmental persuasions the logger’s skill and tenacity have to be admired. Without their efforts there would be no access for the public.

Nanaimo River, between First and Second lakes. This river is so clean that it hosts freshwater clams, trout, crayfish and other marine delights.

Roughing it. There was a time when if it rained a tarp and an overturned canoe provided my comfort. How the mighty are fallen!

No bugs. A breeze from the lake kept them away.

The way it could be; everywhere. This is how underbrush should be cleared in the proximity of people. With a huge surplus of homeless folks needing a meaningful purpose in life and a dignified way of earning themselves a living, an affordable solution to a few social and environmental issues is obvious. We have an endless supply of second-growth timber to be thinned and fire-suppressed. It is not an ultimate answer but we have to start thinking of possibilities instead of excuses.

Spring once more. At a higher elevation the season lags and trilliums still add their final glory in the woods.

Strange. I have never seen these fungi before and am eager to learn more about them.

There is a campfire ban in effect with which I heartily agree. “Cityots” the campground caretaker said. I concure. Most folks have no bush sense at all and on an afternoon like this, where the wind screams across the lake and into the trees, there’d soon be a nasty situation with an explosive inferno racing up the mountain. I’m content to let the wind whistle clean and free through the swaying timber. I’ve heard the now-too-rare chatter of a red squirrel, the cries of loons and geese, the sonorous duet of two barred owls. There has not been one siren. Funny what you can get used to!

For PEGGY. This image appeared outside my window just as I sat down to post this blog. Peggy left this world a few days ago at the age of 97. I never knew her as well as I’d have liked. She was the mom of a man who has been a friend of mine for over 44 years. I can honestly say that she never had a quarrel with anyone and raised some mighty fine kids. She was cherished by all who knew her. Fair winds dear soul.

Does the Monarch Butterfly know its own beauty?

“Laughter is the sound of freedom.” Jimmy Carr

Clever People

From where I view the world. In the murky dawn I can hear sea lions. Later a little sunlight appears.

There are nearly one and a half billion Chinese. This is a nation of folks who can eat soup with chop sticks; an art I am yet to master. I mention this only as admiration for ancient skills beyond my understanding. They also understand patience and long, hard work. Some of the world’s largest earth-filled dam’s are in China. They are mostly built by hand, one hatfull of soil at a time. It is a nation of formidable determination. We could learn things.

A courier delivered a heavy box today. My wife had ordered an open wardrobe for our guest suite. Yep, it was made in China. My job was to assemble it. Me, the jaded old mechanical guy. The first trick was opening the box which was emblazoned with a warning “DO NOT USE SHARP KNIFE TO OPEN.” Uhuh! Of course one has to use a knife and with that accomplished there was the ubiquitous explosion of white styrofoam insulation; statically charged snow stuck to everything. “Well golly” I muttered as I surveyed a cleverly-packed heap of bits and pieces. There must be a university degree available for packing boxes. You’ll never get the contents back in again. Bags of screws all counted out to the exact amount required, marked tubes of various lengths were all to be assembled into a single fuctional contraption. Frankly the heap of bits looked a bit like a home-built airplane kit; yes a real airplane. Serious business. Where to start? The manual, including a tool kit, was in the bottom of the package, of course.

Contraption complete. I used my own tools.

More instructions. First I need new glasses.

It won’t fly. But everything eventually fit together perfectly and it is solid as a rock. The only tools I needed were two proper screwdrivers. All I had to do was look carefully at the drawings in the manual. I recall that the worst diy assemble-at-home furniture I’ve faced was neither from Asia or Scandinavia but from Quebec. I can read French and the instructions still made no sense. Pictures are good.

When I think of Canada’s new agreement to buy Chinese Electric Cars I wonder if the low price means they have to be assembled by the buyer! Clever people those folks!

Anenome fading. Perhaps the most beautiful time.

It is Monday morning, Friday the 13^th has passed, Saint Patrick’s day is now in the rearview mirror. It is cold, damp, grey. The week ahead is forecast to be a continuous rain storm. Flood warnings are posted. The wind at times is filled with a mix of wet snow flakes and cherry blossoms but by week’s end the biblical deluge has not arrived here. Friends describe their vacations in Mexico. Good for you! The news from around the planet is filled with doom and gloom, suffering and hopelessness. Clearly, there is an invasive species that is out of control. We know who we are.

Down in my workshop I’m building a doghouse. Springtime. Uhuh!

Walk quickly, you don’t need any hairy sticks.

Happy people produce. Bored people consume.”
― Stephen Richards

The Sea Duck

Some folks call them sea ducks. I know them as mergansers. They are furtive and elusive. The brief and distant glimpses they allow provides a mystery to the jaunty figures they cut. They have a Woody Woodpecker haircut, the females have a russet colour to their crested heads, the males are black and oftern mistaken for loons. When they see you they will paddle away vigourously or dive instantly or explode into startling rapid flight.

Ring-Beaked Common Merganser. It’s the shiny things that get us all.

The dogs and I were sitting at our favourite spot in the local salmon hatchery soaking up a few minutes of delightful mid-winter sun when I noticed a clump of feathers hauled out on a nearby log. I was glimpsing this apparition through a thatch of tree limbs and assumed it was a gull which is seldom a shy bird.

Another fish-eater. Blue Herons are one of my favourite birds. They can be found just about anywhere around the world.

To my surprise it was a female common merganser. It had a metal ring jammed over its upper beak right to the base. It was clearly unable to eat. It was not doing well, otherwise it would not be sitting there alone and allowing me, and the dogs, to approach within thirty feet. This beauty needed help. I feared she would starve unless the ring could be removed.

I went to the folks at the hatchery, but clearly I was not going to spark enough interest to attempt a rescue. Their little boat was away for repairs and I understand that mergansers eat the tiny salmon hatchlings. At home I began to telephone all the people advertising themselves as animal/ bird rescue organizations. I did hear a creative collection of excuses. Reluctantly I phoned the BC Conservation folks. (Usually when a conservation officer becomes involved, something gets shot) Admittedly they were the only ones to respond at all.

That call-back came hours later from someone with a very broad Cantonese accent. At first I thought he was another telemarketer. I was hanging up when I heard him say “Common Merganser” albeit with his twisted pronounciation. Eventually I grasped that he saying he was in Vancouver and so could render no assistance. I thanked him for the call and then hung up in frustration. I’d done my best. I could not do anything effective on my own. If I tried, chances were there would be some self-appointed gatekeeper calling someone like ICE to take me down for harrassing wildlife. God knows that is the world we live in now.

Abeautiful basket filled with spring nettle tips. They became soup. Yum!

Next morning I was back at the hatchery and could see no mergansers, anywhere. That was good I reasoned. The bird had been caught and helped… or it had been able to fly away with its flock. In any case, it was well enough to fly and I had done my best.

Another sign of spring. It is not my idea of going to sea but at least they’re out there!

First flowers from the garden this spring.

Ok, I know this isn’t a very interesting story to most people. But of bemusement to me is that I was once a farm boy with a single-shot .22 rifle who typically killed everything he could see. I remember once killing a tiny song bird. For no reason. All that was left was its pea-sized heart still beating on top of the fencepost where the little singing bird had sat moments earlier. At the time I though it was funny. I have graduated to possessing a nagging sense of disgust and self-contempt for being such a horrible little brute.

A notion of progress. The toilet goes here. IP

I evolved to become a seasoned great white hunter and killed an awful lot of beautiful wild creatures big and small. They did all become food but eventually I could not justify hunting any more. I realized my slaughter was as much about testorone as anything to do with being a provider. I didn’t want to feel that I was one of those bastards. Now I’m another kind of nasty human… an urbanite! An overweight one who aches to be back in the woods and out on the ocean, far away from the sight, sound and smells of people living in grossly unnatural congestion. Then we become unnatural beings and chose for leadership those other unnatural beings who prove too unfit for any sort of progressive human endeavour.

If that makes me a bird hugger … so be it!

“ So much of language is unspoken. So much is comprised of looks and gestures and sounds that are not words. People are ignorant of the vast complexity of their own communication.”

…Enzo the dog, ‘The Art Of Racing In The Rain’ Garth Stein

Ho Hum Morning

Mid-February; already. It has been dull and rainy with frosty nights. Another normal winter. There is the occasional burst of birdsong and green buds are swelling but I also know that we can yet receive several feet of snow overnight. Remember the Australian love call “Brace yourself Sheila!” Be ready for anything.

I will not add my uninformed opinions to the gross cacophany of inuendos, half-truths, and outright lies in the air. What do you believe anymore? I am not prepared to engage myself in a fist fight over material gleaned from our media sources. The most recent horror is a school shooting in a northern BC community. Television News trips over itself with conflicting facts and some politicians are trying to make mileage for themselves out of this deep tragedy. What a weary and sadly repetitive gearbox of human folly.

Be braced for all the juicy news rhetoric and mindless speculations. School safety, mental health, gun licensing, gender designations will be within the weary mantras that will be spun every way except sensible. Within two days the story is no longer headline news and the dark gears of human tendencies grind on. Try to imagine the dread and reluctance every parent must endure, in every Canadian community, as their children go off to school.

Reminds me of someone I used to know. An interesting example of winter fungus.

Frosty bathing at low tide. Feb. 8th Brrrrrr!

Look up! you never know what might fall on you.

You’ve got to sing like you’re all alone.

Last night I sat and watched the Television News cover the vigil in Tumbler Ridge for the victims of this week’s mass shooting. The Prime Minister and prominent politicians were there, both federal and provincial political leaders offered sincere words of condolence. Some were even visibly in tears. I was too.

Guess who’s coming to dinner…even with two ratter dogs in the house.

What occured to me is that around the world there are many communities who endure such horrors on an almost daily basis. They do not even have the opportunity to stand together in the open to mourn their losses and their shared misery. The horror of their existence is so common it is not even newsworthy. This singular event in Canada has drawn the entire country closer together. In our troubled times with the notion of a country divided and the bullying from south of our border, I hope we are better able to stand firm in the face of it all. The most wonderful thing about our country is freedom. You are free to leave. No-one forces anyone to stay. If you cannot find the good in being Canadian, if you do not want to be part of the family; please go. We’ll be better off without you.

Zoom! RCMP Pilatus PC12 on short final to land in Nanaimo.

I sit with a mug of hot coffee and look out over the bay at sunrise. Fog is dissipating and drifting south. There is a background of grey and brass cloud split with a dagger of blue open atmosphere. Boats go about their commerce in the harbour. Now some fog moves northward. Camilia buds on the tree in my front yard swell and take colour. Birds twitter at the feeders outside the front window. It could be worse; so much worse. Be content. Breathe.

Life is often a lonely old path. Keep walking toward the light.

“We’re too poor to buy cheap boots.”… Janusz Konkol, Haber Yachts

Don’t Look Back

As I prepared to post my previous blog about Christmas I watched a documentary about the death of Rob Reiner and his wife only a week before. How such a splendid journalistic effort was put together in seven days is amazing. It hit me quite hard. I knew little about the man and his various triumphs in the film industry. I still don’t. He was an outstanding character who directed some very moving work and who also was driven to make a difference in the world around him. He was a huge positive influence on those who knew him. The world is a better place because of the influence of “Meathead.” I know he was a good guy, Mr. T-Rump had nasty things to say about Reiner’s passing.

It has been a dark year with many sad events, some of which are still unfolding. That a man who worked so hard to do good, both artistically and socially, is stabbed to death by his own son is inconceivable. This happens while the politicians and influencers sit about picking steak from between their own gold teeth. Nothing changes. In my previous blog I could not bring myself to make mention of such darkness while also trying to dredge up a bit of joy for the festive season.

Life goes on. All the heinous and dark news never causes time out for reflection. The world has known some very dreadful times and I fear there are worse ahead. I am sitting at my desk on the morning of the last day of the year an hour or two before daylight. That will depend on how thick the fog is out there. I have no witticisms, no high moralizing, no sage advise. Today is the only one you have. It is made up of a whole bunch of moments and each of those is the only space in time when you can make decisions and actions no matter how many tik-toks you may think you have in your basket. You will never find a rewind button. DO IT NOW, whatever it is. There are people who talk about it and those who do something. Make a choice. Take it from an old man.

Stand the test of time like a polished stone.

Oh! Happy New Year. May you have someone to love, good things to do and something to look forward to.

“A gentleman is someone who uses a butter knife even when he is alone.”

– Howard O’Hagan… Tay John

One Tiny Light

Winter Solstice. Some rare minutes of sun cast long shadows. These wild elk are an eternal attraction for passing motorists.

It is one thirty in the morning, a few days before Christmas. I face my reflection in the window. It floats on the crushing blackness over the bay. From where I sit at my desk I can see no lights out there, except one. There is a single boat in the anchorage across the bay. It is displaying the required anchoring light which appears to be a genuine oil lamp. It flickers just enough to reveal its authenticity. The tiny thin gold ribbon of its gentle light on the still waters reaches across to my side of the bay.

A very cool change. This is where I bring the dogs on aa hot summer day. Winter rains and wind make a huge difference.

Dark days make mobile phone photos very difficult. This one pushed the limit. Hard to believe this baby eagle was just an egg a few months ago.

I am always anxious when these characters look down on my wee doggies.

For a closer look come back at low tide.

Recently, most nights and days have been raging gales with pummelling rain, torn limbs and general mayhem from wind damage. Fortunately on our hillside we have known no flooding. If I bend my head a bit I can see further down the shoreline where waterfront homes blaze with festive lighting, even now in the wee hours. In the other direction there is the harsh glare of work lights from the log sorting grounds. I focus back on the the little flickering light and realize how that speaks to me of Christmas so much more than all the crass glitz and din of this massive commercial season. I refuse to get caught up in that.

Surf’s up. Cox Bay, Tofino, full gale on a high spring tide.

People go out there for fun with a surf board.

I’ve already deleted one blog. It dripped of loss and jaded views. This is not a time to look for negativity and regret. There is already far too much of that. I ache for friends passed on and a daughter who is no more. This season can bring such loneliness. Being naturally bent toward depression it is far too easy for me to swerve into a spiralling tunnel. I have to look for all the wonderful things we have and don’t see. How blessed we are to live where and how we do. No one is shooting at us, we’re free to leave this country at any time, we have clean air and water. Despite cries of tough times, most of us have a surplus of rich food. Enjoy it.

Snug. Pounding rain outside. Inside the smell of wood smoke, kerosene lanterns, fresh coffee.

Refined to its base elements life is about someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward. That is it. I wish you all plenty of those three things and perhaps the ability to help others find the same.

Happy Christmas.

Christmas: the only time of year you can sit in front of a dead tree eating candy out of socks.
~ Anon

Shouldering Season

Remember Norman Rockwell? You have seen his work. He was a revered and iconic American painter of the last century. He produced a mountain of somewhat kitschy yet warm and fuzzy images of Americana. One of those paintings was called ‘The Stay At Homes.’ A bent and gnarled geriatric sea captain stands above a village and looks out onto a broad bay. His left hand rests on the shoulder of a young boy in a sailor’s costume. Beside the child stands a small spotted dog. Upon the bay there goes a top’sl schooner sailing on a broad reach before a stiff breeze. In the air above, gulls soar as the pair gaze out to sea. There is an air of the sea’s mystery and a sense of wisdom imparted.

I have held that image in my mind since I first saw it. For a long time I was that young sea-lusting lad. Lately I realize I am fast becoming the old salt. It hurts. The aches and pains of an arthritic winter are upon me. Somehow I have to get my carcass south for a while and then there is this wonderful place to come home to. The cost of everything, it seems, is prohibitive and then there is this bloody BC Ferry fare. I guess it is part of the price of island life but it does leave folks with a sense of entrapment. Just to get my truck and trailer over to mainland Canada costs approximately two hundred dollars, one way. Imagine the ticket for a commercial truck load of lettuce! And then there is the fuel and the tax on that. So, as usual, low finances stand in the way. Or, is that just a lame excuse?

Allie is a six year old girl rescued from China. Now she needs a new home, Her eyes melted my heart but I already have two wonderful rescued dogs.

Finally. After decades of looking I get a quick photo of a tree frog. These tiny guys have a booming call but are masters of staying hidden. My dog Libby sniffed this one out where it sat three feet beside the path. It is about two inches long.

There is no point in lamenting things you can’t, or won’t, change. Just let it be and find something good to focus on. It is why I continue to take photos and write blogs. There is beauty in everything, but first you have to want to find it. By focusing on those tiny joys all around us life remains bearable, sometimes even worthwhile. That quest is life inspiring. Sadly, last night, I was awakened just before 03:00 by the sound of an airplane flying low and slow. It sounded as if full flaps were employed and the engine was labouring. It was a rotten night out with blasts of rain and intermittent fog. As a pilot, I knew something was wrong but then dismissed the noise as some unusual vehicle down on the highway. In the morning I learned the single-engine aircraft I had heard crashed only a minute later. The pilot was dead.

Low and slow is always a recipe for disaster especially in the middle of a nasty night. I will not speculate but can easily imagine the terror and panic as things went wrong. Those would have been long seconds before the merciful oblivion of the crash. I was taught long ago that altitude is money in the bank and airspeed is money in the pocket. Spend your assets wisely. The sense I cannot shake is of being alone in that cockpit that night. Rest in peace mate whomever you were.

Autumn Pond
Salmon lurk beneath, exotic waterfowl stop to rest on their way south.

Flying south over the pond. Actually, it’s landing at Nanaimo Airport.

Today is “Light Up Day” in Ladysmith. After local volunteers have strung up millions of Christmas lights over the pavement and buildings of main street, crowds will gather in the cold rain and “OooAh” as the grand blaze is switched on. Tomorrow is Black Friday as the orgy of Christmas credit spending goes into full launch mode. The general excesses of the season will sustain many retailers for the year ahead. Meanwhile the food banks can’t meet demand.

An old friend reappears. She was once a marina neighbour. ‘Beluga Spray’ is about 44′ by 14′ She’s a beast. I recall that below she was finished in varnished oak and reminded me of a Baptist church. After thirty plus years I hope the dream is still alive. Maybe someday she’ll get a set of spars and sails and truly go to sea.

A dipper bird. This amazing creature can walk underwater along the bottom of rushing stream beds feeding on what they find. Right now there is a feast of salmon eggs. Always moving, they are hard to photograph especially in the dull light of autumn.

Here, old Mr. Bumhug hisself will turn his back on the bizarre and abstract frenetics to warily watch the season .pass from afar. I have repaired the neighbour’s snow blowers and will sit huddled next to my electric fireplace watching the wee birds at their feeder outside my window. Winter approaches. I’m ready. Good cheer, and warm wishes to all.

Two eagles watch my wee dogs pass. They are enjoying a bountiful salmon spawn.

Ready for spring. Artechoke seeds and starter pots in the garden shed.

Now is the season of trying to keep the bird feeders full. The little bandits can empty them quickly.

Those who wish to sing Always find a song. Old Swedish proverb.

November Blahs

Ruffling its neck plummage and clacking its beak with steaming breath, this Raven cut an impressive image. That all began when I pointed my camera at it. “Nevermore.” Sitting on a limb above our path I think the bird was trying to hurry us along.

I went for my annual Covid and flu shots four weeks ago last Tuesday. Within two days I had fallen into the clutches of what seemed to be terminal snyphlis. It may have been a coincidence. “When you’re with your honey and your nose is runny, don’t think it’s funny, ’cause it’s snot.” It has been almost a month. I am now slowly recovering but still feeling like what fell out of a high-flying goose. I spend most of my time in bed decomposing.

Against the wind. Poor Ayre! The leaves blasting past were bigger than her.

Between rain showers, the wind blew away evaporating moisture.

A bleak alley in downtown Duncan. To me it looked like an abandonded movie set.

Anny. A new friend we met on the trail. She is fourteen years old and has just been adopted.

While I was trying sleep last night I had an attack of the farts. It was a weary barrage of short sharp reports. (FLAK Fart Like a King) When I finally drifted into a troubled sleep I dreamed that my body had become covered with open, suppurating lesions that all farted unstoppably. I sounded like a spring pond full of toads. The doctor called it a terminal case of “Deterioritis.” Doesn’t life get better when you can hang a name on something? I survived my dream although there is a bad odour in this room. Ah yes, the writer alone in his garret. There’s a reason!

I call it the Tiger Moth Cafe because of the models. It’s a lovely step back in time, complete with original dirt from the sixties. But, the food is very good, the service is excellent, the servers are friendly, and the vibes are excellent. Downtown Duncan.

On another wall in that cafe this map from 1939 hangs.

Today, deep in the wretched state of this damnable flu, my cell phone pinged with a text message. “Are you in the store today?” Clearly a wrong number but I sardonically replied, “Yes, but we’re out of edible panties.” I sniggered at my cryptic wit and drifted back into my snotty coma. A while later came a response. “Is this Dr. Mary?” “No.” Now I’m looking for Dr. Mary’s porn shop. Yep, that’s me, a right old bull in a sex shop. Then another text came. “Do I have a wrong number?” I didn’t reply.

Dawn Patrol. Over the crow hole a Remembrance Day flypast at 10:55 am. The lead aircraft is a Yak 3, Russian designed, Chinese built. It has an amazing thunderous sound. The other two are homebuilts.

Lunch time by the front window. Little birds need love too.

Rain- wet mushrooms. Or is it a cluster of umbrellas at a bus stop?

Still the calls are coming from people who promise to be my literary saviour. It’s an atmospheric river of false hope. Yeah right! I wonder at this avalanche of scammers all singing a similar song. How did they appear all at once? It must be a new idea they picked up at a scammers convention.

And so I stumble on into mid-November. On the first day of the month I stared through my reflection on the window into a jet black sunrise at 07:30. There are swirls of fog but nothing else. We turned back the time that night, the dark season is upon us. I’m still staring out.

So what the hell am I writing about? Everyone knows what time it is, everyone has their own box of tick-tocks slowly emptying itself. The sound of that gets louder and louder. I’m fighting the old man blues, desperate to do something meaningful. I can’t seem to get beyond repairing the neighbour’s snow blowers. One friend is in Mexico on his motorcycle and sending me videos of it all. My little antique Honda Trail bike is still in the workshop waiting for parts. There is a whole damned black winter ahead.

It was full moon last week. Folks still seem edgy. The evening is bracketed by the usual November gales. I turned in to the local grocery store just after darkness fell. Two young boys careening through the parking lot on a grocery cart barely missed the front of my truck. If I had not braked it could have been a sad story. They were having a grand old time. Two people were standing nearby. I asked politely if the two kids were theirs. Mentioning that they were very hard to see I suggested many drivers would not have seen the two. The response was angry and aggressive. Who am I to care about anyone’s child? “Just stay calm and carry on and… mind yer bizniz!” When I told my wife this little story she had her own from the same parking lot. She pointed out to a man in his car that he had one headlight burned out. He flew into a rage and began to curse her. Say wot? November grinds on.

Monday morning practice. The boat is worth about $250 k, the volunteers are free. They perform an invaluable service.

An old marina neighbour from thirty years ago. The wheelhouse and the junk have been added since. ‘Beluga Spray’ is a beast. 44 feet long, 14 foot beam. She’s huge! The interior is finished in varnished oak, like a Baptist church. Sadly she still has no mast or sprit. Hopefully there is still a dream of voyaging ahead.

Smokey Cove, across the bay. A little autumn cleanup.

I recently heard a lyric from a cowboy song that says “I’m not anti-social, I just don’t like people.” Uhuh! It is now past already Remembrance Day. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. With all the suffering of innocent people at the hands of military actions there’s not much point in remembering anything if nobody is prepared to learn a damned thing. Eleventh hour, eleventh day, eleventh month, think of Gaza, Ukraine, Somalia, Sudan to name a few.

Yeah, remember!

“Often people are the least lovable when they need love the most.” anon