Writing, Photography and Video Archives

Beer Moths and Behemoths

First the commercial:

Here’s a direct link to my photo portfolio on Fine Arts America.

https://fineartamerica.com/profiles/1-fred-bailey/shop/canvas+prints

There are over 700 hundred of my photo images for sale there. If you don’t want to buy anything, that’s cool but, with all the subjects covered, times the number of different presentations from mugs to shower curtains, there are thousands of gift possibilities. END COMMERCIAL MESSAGE

Grapes among the blackberries. It’s that season.

Also up among the blackberries. How incongruous!

September 3^rd. I’m still digesting the fact of life that we go on without Jimmy Buffet. It is not so much the man, but the idea of him and what he represented that puts us at the end of an era. We need positive people and the joy they spread.This year began with me still missing John Prine. I always will. Since then we have lost Tony Bennett, Sinead O’connor, Robbie Robinson, Gordon Lightfoot and now Jimmy B. I’ve probably forgotten someone.It’s a parade! All things pass, so shall we.

“HI mom, I’m home.” Indigenous people must have used this cave for shelter. Open and drafty, there’s room to build a fire and keep out of a winter rain. It would make for a long night though.

A room with a view…sort of. In fact it is a house=sized boulder sitting on top of others. There are plenty of tiny caves in the surrounding cliffs.

On the cave trail. Through the meadow, over the hill, down into the forest and around the mountain till you come to caves, all over the place. What’s that sound?

If you upset the neighbours they’ll drop things on you.

Cave hike 12 Click here for video Your guess is as good as mine!

Six doors down on our street a pub opened its doors last year. It was an instant success. I’ve never been able to sample their fare, they are too busy to get inside the place. Good for them. Yesterday they chose to host a wedding feast. The band struck up in mid-afternoon and the cacophany continued late into the evening. The streets were clogged with parked vehicles as the din of yodeling, screeching, thumping and twanging wore on. It did not sound very joyful. The dogs in the neighbourhood were as pissed off as their owners. Over the racket, our back alley nemesis could be heard bleating at her dog, “JOEY, ferfucksake shaddup!” Apparently this is how we celebrate marital bliss and hope. Are there any divorce shindigs?

When I was little folks would tie cans to their heavily decorated vehicles and drive around town in a procession while honking their horns. People would rush out to witness the spectacle. What a different world now! While the noisy festival ground on I tried watching a nature prgram about the Hebrides. It was narrated by the honey whisky voice of Ewan McGregor. In one segment he described the nesting of migratory swallows inside a whiskey distillery warehouse. The birds watched as men took annual samples from the barrels. It was explained that these barrels had been stored for ten generations of swallows. I thought the overlooked but obvious pun was hilarious.

The Jimmy Buffet corner of the church. Let there be light, let there be joy at
Saint Margarita’s

Tuesday after the long weekend. The world seems dreamy, languid. I remembered to slow to 30 kmph in the school zones. I didn’t see one child but there had to be a cop in the bushes somewhere. We’ve skidded all the way through summer and now we’re savouring the last sips from the bottom of the bottle. We may have a nice run right to the end of October but we know better than to take anything for granted.

I am certainly not. I am forcing myself to finish out this blog on my tablet. I terrifies me. I sit poking away and suddenly what I wrote skids off somewhere else. I poke away with my banana fingers trying to put things back in order, mystified at what I’ve done wrong. I am a true bog trotter and I have a hell of a time assimilating new technology. Artifical intellilligence perhaps but stupidity will always be real.. I’m not stupid, crazy perhaps, I’m just not prepareded to perform remote virtual brain surgery…through the rectum!

Snot funny! There’s a face in this tree and its nose is running. What a pitch!

One of the things that computers allow me to do is to travel the world without leaving my fat bastard’s chair. Vicarious travel is certainly no substitute for the real thing and I’m eternally eager to explore any road I’ve never been down before. Even if it’s an ugly road, there is something to be gained in the experience. Meanwhile I can simply enjoy meandering along the local back roads in reaql time, there are more than enough for a geezer on a motorcycle. A beer moth. I heard, or misheard that, while a fellow described a large motorbike, a behemouth. I’ll take it. I’m going beer mothing.

“We talk a lot about the five senses: vision, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. I would add one more…imagination.”
― Wes Adamson

Blue Moon

Twelve yachts sail out into a smoky day.

I did not get a photo. I was laughing too hard. He was a brawny four pounder, four inches across at the shoulders, bristle-faced with two gleaming black eyes. Jill and I have each been awake half the night trying remember his name but we can’t. (Recalling our own names can be a challenge.) It was lugubrious and meant something like unconquerable. What was truly amazing about this wee beast was how he peed. He stood up on his front legs, extended his little pinky and squirted away. How he avoided soaking himself is another trick. We both saw it. Is this an evolution of simply cocking a leg? Is it a provocation of his name?

A little research says that it is not that uncommon. It is a little dog’s attempt to “overmark” other dog’s pee mail. No big deal and come to think of it, a huge number of humans do the same same thing, at least figuratively. Everything is a pissing contest for some folks as they try to compensate for a sense of inadequacy. We do tend to wet our own knitting all too often.

Temperatures in Ladysmith lately have risen to the mid-thirties. Funny what happens in August. It IS very, very dry and the usual summer westerly wind is howling. I’m terrified of what can happen if there’s one fool smoking a joint in the bushes. Yes it actually keeps me awake. Our Volunteer Fire Department Emergency call-out siren blows regularly. I’ve helped fight forest fires and there is no romance in any of it. With the present winds any flame will become a monstrous blowtourch that nobody can outrun or control. There is a campfire ban for the whole province, I think no-one should be allowed into the woods, anywhere. I suppose the BC Ferry campgrounds are safe enough, all the trees were cut down long ago.

The smoke thickens. It seems half of the interior in BC is ablaze. The smoke has settled over us here on the coast thickly, one can even taste it. I’ll keep my own opinions to myself and hope desperately that no runaway fires burst out here on Vancouver Island. Further to the south, Mexico has been hit from the Pacific by Hurricane Hilary. There is extreme flooding. My beloved Barb’s Dog Rescue, presently caring for four hundred dogs has had its decrepit electrical system wiped out. They can’t even pump drinking water at present. They’re desperately reaching out for any help folks can offer. It’s a perfect time to win a lottery. One of my joys would be helping certain folks out… and telling others where to go.

Does this remind you of anyone? Amazing grain in a maple log on the river side.

A tree springing up from its nurse stump, unfortunately it is not well-rooted.

Nor this one…you’ve got to be well-rooted.

Sniffing among the fallen. Leaves not making a contribution to the tree, are soon cast off. Yep, another tree metaphor. Nature has no welfare system.

I cannot explain it. I am by nature a creative character; I can make a mess of anything. I do like what I can do with my writing and my cameras but this year I’ve had a hard time forcing myself to make videos. I find that work very challenging and my technical abilities remain primitive. Nevertheless I’ve put this effort together:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uDvfJzhPlCM

I hope you like it and I would love any comments and suggestions. I watch a lot of travel vlogs on YouTube and feel inclined to bend that way. I’ll start with routes and back roads locally. So there, now I’ve posted a commitment and I’d better get out there. Have scooter-cycle, will ride.

MY territory, GO AWAY! This suddenly leapt out at me, after I stood chatting about six feet away. It’s Coast Salish but somehow reminds me of Lahaina. What’s happened to that story?

I should mention that I have not heard a lot of whinging about the heat this summer. That seems most unusual. Perhaps with all the press about our province-wide wild fire devastation we all realize how fragile our existence really is. One flipped cigarette butt and we could face a horrible doom. Life is that close to the edge. The streams are all running dry and we are only mid-way through summer. But then, think of all the other places we could be living. There is nothing we need or want that we cannot take for granted. And so far, we are still free to leave. So far we can still feel safe flying in Canada in our own private jet.

What’s wrong with this picture? Once famous, this ferrocement ketch was designed, built and sailed by John Sampson. He has passed on and this boat is clearly no longer cherished. To leave a mast unproperly stayed is an invitation for serious collateral damage. This old sailor is upset. Her name is ‘StormStrutter’ and was once a beloved home which traveled far and wide for many years.

By the way, it’s a blue moon month (Two full moons in one month) Thursday the 31^st, last day of the month. Be on the highest local peak for the moonrise, just bring your dancing boots and don’t worry about what to wear. Get naked!

The swimming hole.
Every summer needs one.

‘There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.’ George Carlin

Dry Blood

A stunner. I found this in the garden of a Thai restaurant we love.

I’ve mentioned before that the original intent of this blog was to describe my travels; ocean voyages, desert treks, new discoveries and all the amazing people along the way. It just hasn’t worked out due to an incredible inability to raise funds. There was a time when it seemed that money just happened. I don’t know how things have changed other than not being able to work at a regular job but there’s still lots of money around, it just seems to be in soft pink little mitts that have never even had a callus. I can hear a good friend who often rages about all “The non-producers.” He’s right! Working smart? What’s that?

The Morden Mine head rig. The concrete was recently repaired. It will stand as a monument to the greed which developed this area.

Another industry. Don’t throw any rocks! The instinctive engineering skills of wasps and bees is amazing, just don’t get too close. In fact, buzz off!

Buzz on! Load up and then back to the hive. Blackberry blooms will continue for several weeks, and interesting survival strategy.

Carpenter Ants. The sawdust is the giveaway. If you listen carefully, you can hear their tiny power tools.

I’m not complaining (Well just a little) just explaining, and I continue to poke into the mundane and daily humdrums to find things to write about. There are some amazing treasures which we walk right by. Isn’t it funny how memories can be triggered by something totally innocuous? I was sitting at this desk while my wife watched a favourite BBC production. One character’s line was simply “Pass the pepper please.” I’ve always liked peppery food. Suddenly I recalled how as a small boy my parents and other adults at a dinner table would often caution me, “Not too much pepper, it’ll make your blood dry up!” Where the hell did that one come from? I’ve done my research and find no origin of that myth. I clearly remember hearing it often. Surely there must be other food notions that we endured. Do you have any?

I’ve spent years wondering why I never saw Kenny. I thought he must be a little dog. So i finally asked.

The other eating terror I recall was about swimming after eating. My mother believed that if, after eating, a person entered water too soon, they would endure crippling stomach cramps and drown. When my parents moved to town a point of order was to enroll me for swimming lessons at the local pool. I can recall the acrid taste and smell of chlorine, the biting cold of the water, the incessant whistles of those goddamned lifeguards. In a few horrible lessons I was taught all the many ways to drown (although there was no mention about when not to eat.) I held a deep terror of swimming for the next twenty years. That kept me alive by keeping me out of the water although I did become an avid canoeist! Only when taking scuba lessons did I realize how much weight one needed to strap to their body to actually sink. We’re naturally buoyant! If you’re tense, you’ll sink. Just relax. Putting on a good layer of fat helps too!

My little dog Arye is a very intense creature. If there is something she does not like, it is not going to happen. She’ll remember and a repeat attempt at coercing her into anything usually fails. Recently I tried clipping her toe nails. I managed two before her frantic struggles and screams ended the ordeal. She is a wonderful dramatic actor and this was a stellar performance. Later that day, the clippers ended up on the floor where Arye was seen inspecting them thoroughly. She then picked them up and trotted off to hide them under a bed. Clever wee bitch! I can’t imagine what I need to do about those little claws without having to anaesthetize her. I’ve come to dearly love both my wee inherited dogs. I insist they both be dogs, none of that fuu-fuu-la-la business for me, but it seems that big dog solutions don’t always work. I’m open to suggestions about this ten-pound beast.

What the girls were watching. Perhaps they were pondering the age-old question about why the chicken crossed the road.

Warm and fuzzy. What’s better for the soul than two cute wee dogs on a pile of warm laundry?

I have always been bemused by the roof-top cargo boxes which many folks attach to their car roofs. I see a sarcophagus shape and makes jokes about why people want to haul a dead relative around. Recently I saw a brief story about an English couple returning home from France and finding that someone was trying to smuggle themselves in a rooftop luggage box. These folks tied the box lid with a rope and called the police. My sympathies, of course, are with the illegal immigrant. There were other videos of the same practice and now whenever I see another roof box hurtling along, I see more immigrants.

Flotsam. How did this end up at the high water line? I think it’s part of the drive system of an old gillnet drum, but how the hell did it arrive here?

Maple Street long view. I love this moment in time on a Chemainus street by the sea.

Two nights ago Jill and I went to our favourite local Thai restaurant in Chemainus, It is superb in all ways, the food and service are always perfect. It is in an old house with a lovely verandah for outdoor dining, a grand place to have a summer supper. Another couple came to the next table. They proceeded to loudly analysis the menu for the next twenty minutes. “Well if you have a twelve then I’ll try the nineteen.” Finally the proprietor was able to take their order. The conversation evolved. “ I sure hope it’s a good vegetable roll, haven’t had a good vegetable roll in a long time!” A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste and I so wanted to say something loudly about a roll in the garden. Down boy, down! Their chat had moved on to discussing friends. “She sure is kinda purty though she’s a bit wide for her length.” Uhuh. I went and photographed flowers in the garden while waiting for our food. Lord knows what folks say about things I tend to spout and how I behave.

And so there… another blog about not very much at all. Just like the six o’clock news!

I’m not saying I want it, but I sure do admire it. The view is great. It must belong to some humble writer-type. I can imagine sitting with a pot of coffee watching the sun rise over the Gulf Islands.

What I can afford. Arye wonders where her room is. Every summer young engineers erect some very dangerous-looking driftwood structures.

“In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”

Theodore Roosevelt

Say What?

Say something; anything. I’m telling myself that as I sit here and stare at a blank screen. Really! Nothing to talk about. Me? Of all people! Write something, make a start, there must be sprouts in your fertile mind.(fertile=fertilizer=manure) Rants come, then go and so do silly anecdotes but I have nothing to change the world or even make anyone laugh. Empty wagons rattle the most I remind myself so I keep my big fingers away from the keyboard. The world tragedies are horrific, political bungles continue, miseries and darkness the same old fodder; and those are the ones we are told about. And frankly, I don’t give a toss about poor Prince Harry.

Arbutus wet. I find these trees incredibly beautiful, even in the pouring rain.

Green grows. Insidiously, despite the cold and dark, the green slime overcomes all.

The Christmas “stuff” has been stowed away. This year our total decoration was a single tiny live cedar tree about sixteen inches tall. It was bowed over with a copper wire wrapped around it and a red ball hanging from its tip. There was sprig of festive decoration poked into the pot which was wrapped in a vaguely Christmasy bag. The whole little rig was frozen solid on a rack with several others. They were on sale for $6.50 each at the Home Despot which was clearly trying to dump them. I employed my usual argument with myself, “You didn’t need it until you saw it.” I shyly packed it home under my arm actually feeling a bit embarrassed at this pathetic specimen. Then, I discovered that the wire binding was actually a string of microscopic lights but the battery case was filled with frozen rain water. It needed new batteries. Bastards! Ripoff! Think I’ll go get my money back.

Two new AAA batteries and it sparkled magnificently, the frozen rainwater melted and dribbled for two days and we had a miserable little Christmas all things considered. But we had one! And we had a tree. I was not astute enough to take a photo but here’s one since I have de-festivized it. Some day it may stand tall and proud, an arboreal giant. Squirrels, children and perhaps monkeys will cavort among its branches. Eagles will perch in the gently swaying top and environmental groups will dance arm in arm around the broad base. All because a cheap grumpy old fart bought a discounted ornamental tree. Bumhug! By the way, individual small cedar trees one would use to plant a hedge sell for $35. each. My bargain tree chucked out of the house, I turned my attention to stowing away the Christmas cards. There were about a dozen and it took a minute or so. Christmas…over!

Think green. The little tree gets another chance at life. It beats being tossed into a chipper or a bonfire.

When I was a child Christmas cards were a huge part of the season. We’d tighten a string along the four sides of the living room wall and hang our cards on it. Handfuls came in the daily mail. Sometimes we would have to hang more cards in the kitchen. They were a traditional part of the decorations and began arriving in late November. There could be over a hundred of them. Postage was two cents for an unsealed envelope and we’d often sneak in a photo and a letter. My father had become a mailman and he hated the season. Relief workers were hired to cope with the overload and he worried that they would receive his Christmas gifts from the customers along his route. Some folks gave cards with cash inside, others provided bottles of booze and some offered cartons of cigarettes. Dad neither drank or smoked but bartered the gifts off for other treasures. Yet gifts were never expected, we were poor enough to understand. Imagine that going on today!

Just think. At today’s prices of $200. for a carton of smokes, $40. for a cheap jug of hootch, and $1. for a postage stamp, plus the cost of the card, and the time to write something in each one, Christmas could be a very, very expensive ordeal. As for snow storms, they were a regular part of the season and did not make headline news. We plodded on, it was winter, it was normal. Buffalo always got six feet of snow, Lake Ontario often froze a great distance from shore. Most folks were smart enough not to go out on the ice. Kids would shovel driveways for a quarter and were expected to show up for school no matter what the weather.

I’m now reading these wee scritchings a week into the year. The cold January rain is hammering on the skylight over my head. The little doggies don’t want to leave their beds. They’re smarter than I am. Once again I’m stuck for words. I started this blog ten years ago to share my travel adventures. What a dismal failure! I’m still here. It rankles me to mention someone else’s videos of their adventures but it would be immoral not to share this particular and incredible work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBn2YT5fsW4

This is the work of Iohan Gueorguiev. There are over seventy videos which he has posted. They are absolute masterpieces of outdoor film work. He documents his travels by bicicyle from the Canadian North all the way to Patagonia. The link above is a feature-film-length account of his 1000 km, 45 day trek through the Argentinian Puna, a high altitude desert. It is stunning and mesmerizing. I found it a life-enhancing experience and I sat mesmerized watching this unique work. What an expression of the joy of living in balance with the natural world! Sadly he is with us no more, his demise a poignant end to his amazing achievements. How many other inspiring people walk among us, quietly living their lives and we never learn about them?

Doggies and I have been out in the rain for some fresh air and are back home drying off and warming up again. Next to my desk is a leather couch with a broad soft top on the back. The dogs like to sit there at times and are wonderful company, albeit a bit demanding and distracting. Libby, the mini daschund is there at the moment producing some amazing snarts. (sneezes and farts all at once) I guess the caviar pizza didn’t agree with her. A nice thing about having a dog is that you can blame them for your “stuff.” Seriously, these two beasties have helped us through each day in wonderful ways. I’m still a big dog guy but I must concede that these two mini monsters are whole and complete dogs. Their love is as big as any dog of any size can offer.

Run little wet dog, run. Thar be trolls beneath bridges. She was happy to get home.

Morning girl? NOT! Another damned walk? She crawled out of bed one toe at a time.

And so the year is wearing on, only 355 of these days to go. Grey, wet, foggy, I’ve got all the enthusiasm of a garbage can. This too shall pass but it is time to go find some pleasant adventure to write about. Last night we programed the new “smart” television so that we could explore the delights of Prime TV. I think we were the ones being bent into shape. With all the wizardry available, why is nothing straight forward? Download and transfer codes, find a password, then another, that the “app” likes, start the process over and over, all the while working out the dynamics of three different remote controls. Finally, for some obscure reason, the same old process works! WTF? I feel I’m an idiot and know that there are millions out there who have no problem with this stuff. I just can’t wrap my weary brain around any of it.

I can’t recall how I spent long winter nights in my younger years but neither do I recall rolling into my bunk in abject frustration, overwhelmed with a sense of uselessness. There’s a lot to be said for a woodpile and a chopping block. I never did read a firewood manual. I just split away and I’ve got both arms and legs.

I like to imagine that this was a blacksmith shop. I can smell the acrid coal smoke billowing out of that chimney and hear the clang of hammer on anvil. A simple secret of photography is to take the photo when you see it. It’s never the same when you come back, if you can. How many images I’ve missed! It is a matter of time until the encroaching subdivision overwhelms this landmark. Then it’s gone forever.

The unfurling. Even inside, in the dull limited light of January new growth insists. What a mystery, this life force.

“It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity.”
Albert Einstein (How long ago did he say that?)

See The Light

In my previous blog I once again admonished readers to never go anywhere without something which takes photos. If you want to get good photos, you need to have a camera to capture the moment. Timing is everything, technical skill is a distant second. My six best photo opportunities, ever, are filed only in the back of my skull because I did not have a camera. I usually carry my mobile phone which I acquired because of its photographic capability. It does not replace a shelf full of professional equipment, and often offers a stubborn attitude at critical moments, but it does produce some superb images. I’ll say no more. The photos in this blog were all taken with that mobile phone within an hour during a recent morning amble with Jack. Here is some light and cheer in a very dark season.

Happy Christmas.

The mystery of sunrise and buoyancy , dark metal ships that reflect the light.

“Fog: Air slowly becoming sea, sea slowly becoming air”….Ray Griggs

Jack and Beau savour the warmth while chasing frosty sticks

Islands in the stream. Dunsmuir Island, a favourite anchorage

Slowly yet rapidly, the scene changes. Ships vanish then reappear.

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. Buddha

Abbey Knoll

Using the same pose she has taught to her fawn. Deer have the uncanny ability to appear calm and yet are eternally poised for flight.

Our gravel lane which angles down from the paved main road is called Abbey Road. There is a grass knoll above it which I have named Abbey Knoll. It is a spot which has beckoned to me all the time I’ve been here and finally I’ve gone for a wander over the knoll. There are many things in life we don’t get around to. Places nearby, things to see and do or taste or hear and we never just go do it. I marvel at both visitors and staff who come to this magnificent wild area and see none of it. They roar around in their flashy boats, ATV’s and off-road vehicles with stereos throbbing and see nor sense any of the magic they are helping to destroy. Many of the employees here are unaware of the incredible forest and lakes all around us. They have no interest in the wildlife and don’t even seem to see the mountains.

I arrived at my jobsite here in the Southeast Kootenays in early April. Now we are already in the declining days of summer. Time flies whether you’re having fun or not. I notice a few limbs of tamarack turning gold already and one morning in the next few weeks there will be frost. The evenings darken ever earlier and there is a chill in the air. Soon I’ll be gone from here.

Wild deer fascinate me. They are always a joy to simply watch. This old hunter may not come home with venison anymore but I savour some of my photos with deep satisfaction. My only weapon now is my camera. The remainder of this blog is images.

Not the best time to be heading into the woods for a walk but…it’s when the critters come out.

Looking south a long way into Montana. The open grassy areas are entirely natural. Oh for a horse!

Dance. On a recent visit to Fort Steele I looked across the Kootenay River and saw three whitetail deer frolicking in the meadow beside the pond. One deer can be seen beside the small spruce tree.

find the deer. There are six in this photo. After a lifetime in the woods I’ll wager that for every deer we see, there are ten we don’t.

During an all-day downpour this young buck showed up behind my camper to savour some fresh, wet greens.

Deer, like many creatures, seem able to know when you mean them no harm.

Across the province several man-made nesting sites for Peregrine falcons have proven quite successful. Three adjacent nests all had maturing chicks. One annoyed parent chased my truck along the road with load screeches and several low passes.

Dad takes off to chase the big red truck.

Down from Abbey Knoll. I thought I knew where he’d be hiding… right where mom told him to.

Domestic beasts. They’re a formidable pair, weighing not more than ten pounds between the two of them. I must be getting old, I now like little dogs too.

This barn looks like I feel all too often lately. I drive the back roads as much as I can and find sights like this.

Whatever their official name, I call these guys Wifi bugs.

On closer inspection, they are beautifully marked.

Free Range day for the cows at the water park. They were promptly moved along by ladies in housecoats.

“It’s a strange and insufferable uncertainty to know that monumental beauty always supposes servitude. Perhaps it’s for this that I put the beauty of a landscape above all else- it’s not paid for by any injustice and my heart is free there.” …Albert Camus

Fly

Grass. The beginning and the end. This large Black Boar is a rare breed originally from Southern England. They are allegedly docile but this big porker’s tusks and punctured ear (from fighting) aren’t reassuring. We’ll call him the Pope of Fort Steele.

I am a dog guy but this little black cat won me over. I love this photo and had to share it.

This once mighty great white hunter (I was a classic legend in my own mind) has learned to respect and admire all of god’s creatures, great and small. Photos in this blog are often proof of that. I often conjecture that humans are clearly the only obviously alien life form on this planet. We don’t fit and can’t even get along with each other. I argue that even the lowliest creature we know has a place and a function which, even though we may not understand, ties it into all the other species which we have not yet rendered extinct. But then there is this one goddamned tiny housefly which is driving me crazy.

I’ve reasoned that because the average housefly lives only twenty-eight days this particular vexatious wee monster must, in fact, be several. But I’ve come to see it is a one-of-a-kind and I also think I’ve trained it to be annoying. It lights on my skin, then buzzes off in a second to land somewhere else. Every time I smack at it, the little bugger buzzes away and lands somewhere else. It knows. It flits in front of the computer monitor, daring me to take a whack at that and delights on landing on my knees. They’re both arthritic and I have a job right now that involves constant kneeling so those old hinges are especially painful. The last thing they need is an angry blow. It bloody hurts!

What sort of sound do flies make when they laugh? It is only here in the sticky warm evenings, never in the mornings and goes home as soon as I go to bed. I’m counting down from twenty-eight and look forward to finding it with its six little legs in the air on the middle of my table. Now that I’ve reduced myself to blogging about a single housefly I’ll post the rest of those Fort Steele photos.

“Just ‘cause you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.” George Carlin

“Hurry up, you don’t want to miss the school wagon.” I wonder when the ubiquitous school bus yellow first appeared.

Ft Steele arose in the midst of rich placer mining. This large number of old mining carts is evidence there was also some serious underground mining in the area.

No permits, no foundations, still able to provide shelter after a century.

More shelter. No transgender outhouses back then.

Well, yeah mebbe we can git ‘er goin’ agin. Come back on Tuesday.

There is a sense that the town is still alive.

One of three hotels in town. One has been refurbished and is again letting rooms.

The entire town was virtually levelled in a fire in 1906. This is the front of the town’s original bakery and the evidence is clear that it survived, barely. Now left to crumble at nature’s whim, the old stone ovens in the back are visible.

A marriage of wits, steel and wood. This wheel was moved from a nearby mine where it once ran underground pumps.

The southern approach. I could live there.

As the business grew, so did the house. It would be a full time job keeping all those chimneys smoking.

Images of this water wheel are used to identify all things Fort Steele.

The REAL thing. This fir floor will outlast vinyl laminate flooring without doubt.

I am not comfortable around churches but I’m a sucker for beautiful windows.

An eastern view to a steaming tree. Very biblical.

The latest in fire suppression. That’s it! A huge wood stove sat in the far end of the church.

No microwave oven, no ice-maker, no big screen TV but the food was good. I can almost smell venison stew and baking bread.

After the day’s work was done, you could sew your kids some new clothes. What’s a Walmart?

What a piece of cabinetry to have in a clapboard house.

The center of town. When everything was real horsepower.

Another dimension of the good old days. Always a wonderful thing to see and hear, this beautiful locomotive is only ninety-eight years old. It cam from Vancouver Island as a donation from the MacMillan Bloedel Company

A vision from my childhood. Yes I’m that old.

Granite cumulus. After the rain, heading for Forte Steele. It was a good day.

Up the Kootenay River where the paddle wheelers used to go.

Frolic

“Hey wartlips! Ever think that of all the frogs you’ve kissed, some might have been toads?” This tiny guy was in the garage. I put him in the weeds where he was much safer.

My greeter at Fort Steele. She’d be four feet tall…laying down! Methinks there’s a baby donkey soon to arrive.

Where I live in my camper there is an adjoining parcel of land. The small lot is rented by a family who keep a large holiday trailer there. They spend a lot of time here and their two lovely children are often in the yard with a screaming mob of their friends. Last night, the small blond freckled girl sat alone in her swing and began to sob. Between choking wails I heard her repeat “my puppy, my puppy.” I believe she was grieving for the old family golden retriever ‘Roxy’ who had to be put down recently because the old girl was suffering horribly. Of course this “grumpy old bastard” (as I’ve recently been labelled,) was in tears himself. There was no way I could comfort the poor wee thing without someone taking umbrage. I sat thirty feet away and shared her sorrow.

On a cheerier note I have a chipmunk living in my woodpile, darned if I can get a photo of the tiny beauty…yet. And, we’ve had a lovely, steady two day rain. It was bliss to drift off to sleep in my bunk with the drops drumming over my head, and to awaken with the same music. I guess I’m a coastal boy, through and through. For the moment the dust is settled. I took advantage of the weather to visit Fort Steele, a preserved historic town site a few miles north of Cranbrook. I reckoned that with the unpredictable weather, and soft light, it would be a great day to take some good photos. There were few people there and I had a grand time with both still and video cameras. So here is a photo essay about a wonderful place.

Fort Steele was an outpost set high on a bluff overlooking the tumbling green waters of the Kootenay River. I stood looking down on the river and thinking what a good fishing hole I was seeing when a movement drew my eyes up the opposite bank and into a small meadow beside a clear pond. Three whitetail deer, two does and a fawn, were frolicking. They hopped and bucked, whirled round and leapt. They seemed to be dancing. I was too mesmerized to raise my camera. As so often happens, the best photo of the day was the one that got away.

Automatic, fully enviro-friendly, self-fertilizing lawnmower beside a square-hewn log wall. Downtown Fort Steele. Imagine if we traded our lawnmowers for sheep.

Boiled lawnmower complete with recipes on the label.

Lots of selection, so long as it’s in a can. All the homes had big gardens.

Gardens like this, complete with deer fence and outhouse. Solar clothes dryer in neighbour’s yard.

The poser. a black cat from the Blacksmith shop

Northwest Mounted Police headquarters and a glimpse into the old parade square. In the back, stables and barracks were hard to tell apart. How times have changed!

Nothing personal I’m sure. These guys were more interested in breakfast than in me.

The ubiquitous one-room school. apparently there were up to ninety students at times.

The assayer’s office. Mining was the center of all activities in the area.

In the blacksmith shop. Branding irons, wheel assemblies and a faller’s saw.

I have an affinity for blacksmith shops and feel completely at home. Maybe in a previous life…?

A trademark image of Fort Steele, I always thought it was a bastion or a guard tower. It is in fact, the town water tower. that’s not so disappointing.

He were going’ ninety mile an hour when the wheel fetched off into the ditch. What is the real story?

Even big wheels eventually make a final turn. And so the rest of the Fort Steele portfolio will have to wait until next blog. Happy trails.

“ Discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust

Signs

A sign of spring. What beauty in just one little crocus!

There seems to be signs for every occasion and every level of stupidity. Here’s one I saw recently which I liked. “I don’t like being old so it doesn’t take much to piss me off.” On a T shirt I read “the older I get the less life sentence means to me.” A caption on a short video I just watched says, “Everybody wants to be the captain until it’s time to do captain stuff.” That’s certainly been my experience. And then there are really dumb-assed road signs which say things like “Be Prepared To Stop.” Are there really folks out there who aren’t? There probably are!

Name this object and win two, shipping not included. It is a gadget I conjured up to allow the changing of a through-hull valve on a friend’s boat. I chickened out at the last moment when too many “What ifs” began to shout.

In a farmer’s boneyard.. Maybe this old delivery van had a second life as a hippy home on wheels. She’s a ‘Moho no mo!’

Remember this? The Dead Dog’s Memorial Christmas Tree? After the season passed the photos and decorations were removed. Now some bastard has cut off all the lower limbs!

The recent Virtual Fisher Poets Gathering went extremely well. I’m amazed at the talent which coordinated all the performers from around the planet and threaded them together like pearls on a string. Kudos to all and let’s hope we don’t have to do it again. Here’s the link to my little gig, I am on right at the 1:18 hour mark.

Following is a little piece I wrote in tribute to the wonder of it all.

Fisher Poets 2021

I sit mesmerized in front of my computer screen

absorbing all I can of the lights and depths of musicians and poets,

my peers, my muses, my confessors and affirmers, my fellows

from around the long curves of the planet

who are possessed by the common bond of sea-bound masochism

and the thrust and sway and plunge of living water beneath our keels.

This strange gathering was all made possible by the discovery of the electron

and the spreading wake of technology

and now we take for granted our instant ability to see the universe

through the pinprick camera lense of our computer screen.

Try to explain this to someone fifty years ago,

We would have been considered as mad as a hootchie.

I watch as a senior fisherman named Gary reads to the world

from the confines of a spare room and uttered wisdoms

you only gain from the peace and terror long-lived at sea.

Through the open door of that room

I can see a lady, presumably his wife, in another room,

sitting in front of a window

through which I see lights of other buildings in the night.

She is busy with her own endeavors

painting a picture perhaps or maybe knitting

I feel very much an intruder in that home

and I marvel at the different worlds

so far apart

even though we touch mutually oblivious to our passing.

This particular poet lives in old Port Hadlock

A place I know well

I have anchored there on more than one long winter night

sheltering from a brisk Sou-easter

in front of the wooden boat school and a fine quaint restaurant

and who can resist a place with names like ‘The Old Alcohol Plant?’

I feel a familiar ache as I imagine the gentle rumble of

anchor chain on bottom, the flicker of my oil lamps.

I hear the echoes of my own addiction to the sea

duplicated in the words and tunes of my fellows

I am in the affirming company of fellow mariners

who I’m sure all long to reach out and

draw each other into firm embrace

but we sit safe in our homes

like goldfish in a bowl

only an arm’s length away.

This old wooden liveaboard boat burned to the waterline a week ago in Dogpatch Bight. A woman died. Jack and I had met her, she seemed nice. Today is the only one you have.

Well, like the little pig stuttered, “Tha, tha, that’s all folks.” There are some big (to me) changes coming which will upgrade this blog to make it more suitable for plans ahead.

You’ll be the first to know.

“All I know is just what I read in the papers, and that’s an alibi for my ignorance.”
― Will Rogers

Bang

They’ve freakin’ blown it. The Republicans will not win an election for generations. That’s my humble uniformed bog trotter’s opinion. I’ve promised to restrict my political rhetoric but this is so pathetic it demands comment. If the Republicans truly wanted to restore trust and belief in their party all they needed to do was to make a stand and declare that they do not support or condone the abhorrent attitudes expressed by Mr. Trump. “He was our mistake.” This way they have virtually guaranteed a Democrat win next election and probably the next as well. Some Republican senators did vote in support of the impeachment. It is encouraging that these politicians chose to put their country ahead of their party. They will probably be punished for their historic stand. A quirk of politicians, in particular, is that they seem unable to admit mistakes. If only they could confess their human frailty they would be demonstrating a strength which would take them much further than any lie or denial.

As far as I am concerned one party is no better or worse and ongoing political chess games have nothing to do with reuniting the country and putting it back on the rails of peace, prosperity and “In God We Trust.” The “united states” may well dissolve in anarchy and the Second Civil War will be upon us. Yeah, I know we are Canadian but if you don’t see yourself as a North American, you will be rudely awakened when the troubles erupt in full blossom. We’re part of the fiasco.

Yesterday I watched a video clip sent to me by a friend. It was a cell phone recording taken while some goon sat on his ass and watched as a police officer was assaulted by a madman with a large stick. Ultimately the cop shot his assailant twelve times, point blank, before the nutter finally fell down and died, twitching and jerking just like some of the deer I have taken. What appalled me more than the actual graphic detail was the shallowness of the man recording the event. The videographer cheered the policeman and expressed pleasure as a fellow human gasped his last breath not ten feet away. The event was entertainment to him. This pathetic soulless son-of-a-bitch is not alone. There are millions like him…on both sides of the border. Here’s the link if you have stomach enough for a dose of harsh reality. That the perpetrator/victim may have chosen ‘Suicide by Cop’ does not devalue human life.

I’ve confirmed that this is a real event which occurred on Feb. 6^th. It is ironic that this is an area where several fatal shootings of black people by police have occurred. Here a black man encourages a policeman to shoot a white perpetrator. I can’t help wondering what might have happened if he’d gone to help the cop.

https://www.thetruthaboutguns.com/video-crazed-man-attacking-deputy-soaks-up-12-rounds-before-hes-stopped/

After I wrote the above I wrestled with myself while I showered, vacuumed, ate breakfast, walked the dog and shovelled a heap of snow. Dark tabloidism is not my genre. I prefer to provide hope and cheer, introspection and humour with my blogs. The darkness here doesn’t do much to make the world a better place, but sometimes a little slap therapy is in order. I desperately need to find another boat.

By the way, Happy Valentine’s Day. It has something to do with love I’m told.

A wild flower for Valentines. Bee happy.

“Thou shalt not be a victim, thou shalt not be a perpetrator, but, above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.”
― Yehuda Bauer