Happy Holiday Update

An update with snapshots of the last couple of weeks. I have been taking a much-needed and spontaneously-planned break from technology lately, meaning the blog updates have taken a back seat to socializing, reading, writing, and participating in outdoor sports. 

At the moment I am with my family staying at a swanky place in Uculet overlooking the winter surf crashing up against the black rocks of a cove. I’ve had a great couple of days out surfing on my own, and with a new friend today that I met while looking out at the waves. I think I’m going to stick around in Tofino for a few days on my own instead of heading back to the city with my family tomorrow. No more plans over the break, and I don’t have to be back at work until the 7^th, so just going where the adventure takes me. With my future job prospects uncertain it’s nice to check out new places while asking myself if I could live there. So far so good over here on the island; perhaps a visit to ski on Mt. Washington on my way back will make it even more intriguing. Skiing and surfing in the SAME DAY while living in a rural setting! What more could a person like me need?

Before school ended for the break we hosted a very successful Holiday Tea Party. The students showed our guests around the miniature Santa’s village they had been constructing, handing out “Go through ticket[s]” that they made themselves. There were roads, trees, a backdrop mural, Santa’s sleigh flying through the classroom air pulled by candy cane reindeer, the North Star made from those plastic six-ring things that hold cans together in bundles of six, Northern Lights, a skating rink, waterfall and river. The students came up with all of the ideas, and I just facilitated by providing the materials and helping them where they needed a little more scaffolding to figure out how to turn an idea into a material thing. I’m just loving this project-based approach to education. I’ll post some pictures when I’m back at my desk. We also showed our holiday movie which was filmed to the tune of “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas”. Incredibly funny and adorable at the same time. Gotta love kids! I’ll post that too once I get all the permission stuff filled out by parents.

 Photo credit: Mike Jensen

And living in a small town means that Santa can stop by the school. He arrived in a Snow Cat to our front door, and his elf let us know that the reindeer were tired and needed a bit of a break. On Wednesday morning, the day of our tea, it started to snow and snow and snow, and it didn’t actually stop or let up until Thursday night, so Santa arrived when the sky and ground was all white with big flakes of it coming down for more than a day. What a magical place this mountain town is, especially with a fresh foot-and-a-half of powder covering absolutely everything.

 

Photo Credit: Mike Jensen

It’s a good thing that I was not trying to rush down to the city for my 30^th birthday, which was on Dec. 21, because I certainly would have been snowed-in. Instead I went out ski-touring with a friend, and then went to a wonderful winter solstice party in the Yalakom. Yalakom folks are notorious around this area for living a self-sustaining, alternative lifestyle. The community was started back in the 70s by a group of like-minded folk who purchased a large piece of land and started living a sustainable, communal lifestyle there. It’s about an hour from my place towards Lillooet. I knew a couple of people there, but most faces were new and what an amazingly open and welcoming group of people! The community is now in its third generation and shows no sign of slowing down. I was warned that I just might become “absorbed”, and after spending a night with these lovely folks I can see why. There must have been over 100 people there at the party, and we had a big welcome circle to introduce ourselves and say a couple of words as we ate platefuls of the delicious potluck food guests had brought.

 Birthday at the top of Sunshine.

 Almost back at the sled, with the recently restored Sunshine cabin in the background.

There was a gigantic burning man constructed from bundles of sticks tied to a frame, and we were each asked to write something down that we would like to be rid of in our lives or in the world and to place it somewhere in the sticks before it all went up in flames. There was also a gigantic snowman and a huge bon fire around which was some drumming and guitar-playing and dancing, but most important of all to me all of the wonderful conversation about real-world and relevant issues. It was an amazing way to spend my 30^th birthday, and is perhaps an indication of my continual removal of myself from the life that was once mine in the city. I just didn’t want to rush back to go out to some restaurant somewhere, although I would have loved to transport some of my close city friends to join me. Still, though, even without them I would much rather spend the time eating locally grown food around a fire in the fresh air.

 The burning man in full flame.

Before the drive down to North Van I dealt with my wood pile, splitting some of the large rounds that have been sitting there since last winter and smashing my index finger in the process. A large bruise bubbled up immediately and I had to stop work for a while to stick it in the snow. It’s good to remember that I live quite far from medical attention here, and I much prefer a reminder of this sort than something more threatening. Oh to be a klutz in the wilds of B.C. Don’t worry, though, I will be more careful from now on.

Have been doing a little writing here and there, but not much work on “the manuscript” which is in rags of thought. I’m okay with this, though, as I keep saying. No use getting too stressed about it at this point; I already have a full-time job to stress about. I think I am realizing that I need to write my own story, the story of how I came to be where I am. I’m trying to force it into something else, to make it into a story of some other person, because I feel like this will be more interesting, but it fuzzes things in the process. A good friend once said that I should write a book about my own life first. I think it’s what Margaret Atwood did, not publishing it, before she started on her string of success. Seems like a good person to take direction from.

Have been out on some beautiful B.C. coast walks with the family in between surfing and overindulging in evening dinners out. I just love the smell of cedar mixed with the faint hint of ocean air. I do love living in the mountains, but find that I vacation near the sea to keep my outdoor exposure in balance. What a great life. Here are a few pics from the beautiful coastline.

 He-Tin-Kis Coastal Trail near Ucluelet

Out to surf again tomorrow. I’ll update you all if I get the chance, but the computer is not high in my priorities until I’m back beside the wood stove in my beautiful kitchen.

Happy Holidays all, trees and other life forms!  

Found

In the snow it lies, black in contrast to the shocking bright of sunlit white. Immediately after work today I set out to find it, knowing the dark curtain of night would fall quickly. Sanford and I retraced our steps to the abandoned mine portal held in the amphitheatre of the river canyon, placing our feet in the same line we had walked the night before with the moon lighting our way and the stars so sharp in the sky they sent shivers up my spine. A walk in the dark, headlamp in hand, which was then lost when I put my gloves in my pocket, although I only noticed this as I rounded the last corner towards home.

Home. It is very much here right now, but I am starting to think of where else I could find it. Today I was thinking that home really lives inside of me, and is something that I can therefore take with me wherever I go; wherever I head next I will take with me the same attitude of adventure and exploration until I finally have that feeling in my soul that this is the place to spread my roots for a while. And the skills I have picked up here—learning how to live on my own both personally and professionally, and how to entertain myself all by myself—are those that last for a lifetime.

I have also been thinking a lot about how we come to really find and know ourselves, as people, as friends, as lovers, as beings forever in transformation and flux. How we define who it is we are, and how so much of that comes from how other people view and react to us. And how powerful the stories of one life are. I listened to and told a lot of stories this weekend. What powerful snapshots into one’s life--for self-reflection, for connection, for learning to listen. I notice that sometimes listening can be hard for me when someone is telling a story that I can really relate to. I want to jump in with all these comments and connections, when what I should instead be doing is letting them finish first instead of taking away the power of their voice. Yes. Always learning more about myself. Always, always.

Things have been picking up a lot around town as far as creative gatherings are concerned. Went to an acoustic jam session at the pub next door. First night out in that pub, and I almost wasn’t even going to go! I can see the hotel from my kitchen, hear the horseshoes being thrown across the lawn in the summer, see the dogs "x" paths in the snowy yard on their way around town in the winter, see the lights in the curtained room windows go on and off all year long. It was wonderful to shuffle home afterwards to my warm home and bed.

On another tangent, my job is great. A one-minute walk to work in the snow, spend the morning listening to music from Egypt, looking up the unusual instruments, talking about pharos and mummies and pyramids and deserts, then making presents for family, working on the Santa’s village, opening letters from Santa, making cards to tell people that we are thankful to have them in our lives, then sledding for recess. And that was only from 8:30 am – 11! But I won’t go on and bore you. It just rocks, simple as that. I'm taking the students (I keep calling them the “kids” because in this context it starts to feel like we are somewhat of a family) out for an afternoon of cross-country skiing to finish off the holiday week, and then it’s play time, although it already feels that way in my life these days.

Listening a lot to Ben Howard over the past couple of days. Here’s a taster of one of my favourites, although they are all so great it’s hard to choose.

Lots of great people coming into my life these days. It is invigorating and fulfilling in a deep intellectual sense, something that I prize so much in my relationships with others. 

Looking forward to the solstice, my birthday, to the tea party tomorrow at the school, to bringing the community together again in the little school building. 

Thursday we are going on a cross-country ski trip all afternoon to finish off the week before break. Then up to the Sunshine cabin for dinner and a pre-solstice party. Life is certainly wonderful.

Have not been able to write as much over the past few days, but whatever, I deserve the break. It will come soon enough…

I feel found here, and it is beautiful.

Insulation

Lately I've been wrapped inside my own thoughts, spending a lot of time watching the winter roll in from my large living room windows, staring at the snow on the leafless trees, chopping wood, working on this book thing that I for some reason thought was a good idea last month. This month, not so smooth, but I keep chipping away at it each day. Some days are easier, others feel forced and wasted, but in the end I think it will all add up to something that I did that was hard and that I stuck with; even if it just sits as a typed manuscript on my hard drive, read only by me, I will know that I wrote it, and that is what matters most at this point. And for some reason I like to finish things that are hard. And long. And arduous.

Speaking of this, have also been working on my applications to grad school. Yup. Handing one in tomorrow. Perhaps I should write "I like to finish things that are hard" on the mirror in my bathroom so that I can look upon these words when I am brushing my teeth, morning and night, fighting mental exhaustion. But it does ring true for me, so here goes.

Last Friday I went for my first ski tour of the season off the Duffey Lake Road with a friend. It was amazing. So amazing that we climbed this incredible mountain, Roar, skied almost all the way back to the valley, and then climbed back up for round two. So wonderful to be out in the mountain air, amidst the clouds and fog that made its way in and out of our vision, walking up a mountain on our own steady, then shaky legs. There's just nothing else like it.

Here's the one picture of me that day before my phone ran out of battery. Notice the mountain across the valley just barely visible in the fog.

Was at a "cookie exchange" the night before with some Lillooet friends. Spent three hours baking soft ginger cookies the night before the exchange, 8 dozen of them to be exact, to hand around at the party. Got six dozen other cookie varieties in return, but learned how ill-equipped my kitchen is for baking as I lined up the ingredients on my counter the night before, even though I had three weeks to prepare. I enjoy lots of things, but baking does not seem to be one of them. Wrote a three page detailed lament of the ordeal, in between taking out and putting cookies in the oven, that I used as a creative writing exercise with my older students: how to expand an hour of your life and write it with details, details, details. In the piece I document the two trips I made to my neighbour's house, once to borrow baking powder, and again to borrow an electric mixer and a bowl big enough to house enough dough for 100 cookies, among my own mental processes. Baking is like doing surgery for me. No distractions, no music, requires FULL and COMPLETE concentration, and even then I might burn something.

Driving into Lillooet that night I immediately noticed a house completely engulfed in flames high up on the ridge across town. It happened to be the neighbouring house (in a multi-acre, rural sense) to where our cookie exchange was happening. Apparently a propane tank exploded, and the owner of the house made it out with only the clothes on her back. Amazing how quickly one's life can change. I have often thought of the freedom I would gain by having all my possessions burn. Would I choose to live how I do now, or would I take off on some crazy adventure living out of a backpack for a while? Who knows. Who ever knows until it happens, and hopefully it never comes to this for any of us.

On Sunday I went for a great cross-country ski with a colleague who was in town to visit my school for some professional collaboration on Monday morning. Yes! We are working on connecting my grade 7 student with his grade 7s. Very productive day. I also learned (finally) how to use GarageBand, a program on Mac to record and create music. The applications of this as a learning tool are infinite. Very cool. Perhaps I will finally record some of the songs I have been tinkering away on in the isolation of my living room.

We did get a little lost on our ski though, and had to walk back to the car, 45 minutes uphill. No big deal at this time in the year, with food and water in my pack, but a good reminder of how vast this area is and how easy it is to get off track. I warned him that this might happen before we set out, as I have only been to the area where we skied on my mountain bike, where the trees are alight with leaves and the long grass of the trails is worn down, but we set out with adventure in our hearts and ended the trip still smiling. Did stumble upon a cabin that was completely restored, probably originally from the 20s or 30s. It even had an old radio in it, very basic structure. Simple. Clean. Beautiful. Maybe a place to shoot a film about life in Bralorne during this time period, when it was 7,000 community members strong. I'll have to find out whose place it is first, but that shouldn't be too difficult in a town of this size.

More wood chopping tomorrow, and then skating on the pond with Shirley. And skiing of all kinds over the weekend. What a good life I have. I was thinking this as I was driving down the hill from Bralorne today after taking the students skating on the outdoor rink for Thrill Thursday. We have also been doing a lot of cross-country skiing on our field for P.E. And building an entire Santa's village, and making another movie for the holiday season.

The most recent painting, as promised. It's the largest one I have done, about 4" by 4" square. Looks pretty nice hanging on my wall, if I do say so myself. Have another larger one that I am now working on. Who knows what it will be in the end, as I certainly don't. This seems to be how I create: step out of the way and hope that something interesting presents itself. Always learning how to get out of the way, as this can be the most difficult part for me as an artist.

And hanging on the wall...

Building myself quite a little life here, but it's nice to think of the future as well and all the possibility it holds. All the hope. Well, I should start gearing my hyperactive mind towards bed. Goodnight, good morning, good whatever stage of the day this may find you in.

Planting Garlic

Really getting into movie-making lately. Here is one of the first ones that whetted my appetite, documenting a day planting garlic at a friend's farm back in late October. 

Layers

After a trip to the city it always takes a few days to recover—mentally from the massive dose of sensory stimuli, emotionally from acute exposure to the unbridled consumerism of fellow human beings, physically from the drive and from the socializing. It’s good to be back and in good health once again.

Bullet holes in an old metal pail I found at an abandoned mine site.

I returned home on Sunday to a shrunken snow pack exposing the holes of dirt on the road, to the bare tree branches hanging in a grey evening fog. I unloaded my grocery-laden car, put the woodstove alight and immediately went for a walk with Sanford, a long meandering trail pulling my footsteps easily into the thin inland woods.

The walk. Not a single car, not a single advertisement, not a single fluorescent light to send my mind abuzz with anything extra. Just me, a gigantic dog, and the slushy path before us. Home.

I take comfort in this, in the quiet of this place, in the solitude of it all. I have always enjoyed it here, but the longer I stay the easier it is becoming to be content with the silence, with cooking and eating meals on my own, with entertaining myself in my spare moments. On my own I have much to fill my time, which is a nice thing to come to know and appreciate about one's self.

Bark peeling from a tree in the fall.

I spend my mornings fighting to relight my fire while others spend time rushing to buy coffee, to beat traffic, to get to someplace far from where they live. My work is a one minute walk away and I have to actively pursue any outside distraction in my off-work hours, but that is changing as I make more and more friends up the hill in Bralorne. At times I am thankful for the hill, for the small distance that separates me from a constant social pull. Living here I have time to pursue art and writing and teaching in ways that I could never honour while my soul was caught up in the frenetic pace of city. Living in Vancouver there just wasn't time to fit it all in, nor space to spread various projects out across the floor. But it won’t always be this way, and I know this, so I welcome the time while it’s here. One day I’m sure I will share my life, my home, my bed, but until then I will write and read and paint and ski and bike my heart out with nothing to explain to anyone but my own conscience. That is truly living. For me, in this moment in my life, it doesn’t get much better. Of course it's not always this easy. Life is never great absolutely all of the time, no matter what one's geography is; however this living alone in isolation thing has helped me become much more content to let moods slide over me without judgement, because most of the time I am great, and that is enough. 

The handle of an old drawer left out to weather.

I’m off to spend some time reworking, rewording, editing, deleting. Delaminating these characters that have popped up during my month of writing. And I DID IT! Made it to 50,076 words at 5 pm on November 30^th. Still have no idea exactly where I am going or what the story is carrying within it, but I’m okay with wading through the mystery as it unravels itself before my eyes. Hoping to have a full first draft (which will still be shitty, of course, as they are) done by the end of January. May need to revise this deadline as it approaches, but I must start with some end in mind. Then I will let it rest for a couple of months, perhaps until the summer, and then we go for round two. We shall see. It's all one big unknowable adventure, just the way I like things.

Thanks for your support everyone, my mystery readers and otherwise.

Photos from Past Lives

Message From the Couch

The telephone rings and I answer groggily from under a blanket on the couch. It’s my next door neighbour calling to see how I am feeling, if I have anything to eat for supper. You gotta love small towns! 

I’ve been couch and bed-ridden for two days, too lethargic to move, to think, to do anything other than stare blankly and sip fluids. For me the hardest part of living on my own is being sick, although I have been quite content to stare silently at the birds picking at choke cherries in my backyard trees, to watch the ice on the pond recede in the afternoon sunlight. Basically to sit and space out, getting up periodically to refill my juice, make some toast, put another log on the fire.

On Saturday I came home from a visit to Ashcroft and Lillooet for a district Boy Smarts conference and painted prolifically, finishing four paintings in the afternoon and into the evening. I found myself wanting to start another project with all of these half-finished canvases loitering in my workspace, so I had to get them cleared out before I allowed myself to make more mess in the artistic sprawl of my studio room. How lucky am I? Sometimes I just can’t believe that I have a studio room! Another beautiful part of living the rural lifestyle. When I’m feeling up to it I will post some photos. All but one are slated to go to different friends, although I would be happy to just hang them up on my own walls, which is quite a satisfying feeling. It’s not always that we artist types make things we actually like. But sometimes it happens, and when it does I always feel thankful to the muse for showing up ready to make something beautiful.

This writing thing is still going strong, although thankfully I was over the daily word count before the flu hit me. I have 8,000 words left to make it to 50,000 by this Friday. Easily possible, and I am going to keep going after the 30^th because the story is flowing more smoothly and easily now that I have written through the cobwebs in my mind. It only took 30,000 words to get there, but who is counting? This project could take me years to finish, but I'm okay with just letting it come as it does.

I’ve also been going through some photographs that have been collecting proverbial dust on my hard drive and plan on getting some printed out to put up around the house. I have all this wall space, and have been meaning to do this for years now, so maybe tapping into the energy of this creative tsunami will help with my follow-through. The thing is that I get overwhelmed with choice while using those computer stations at London Drugs. Do you want glossy or matte, boarder or boarderless, what size, colour or black and white, how would you like to adjust your colour? I usually come with a memory stick full of disorganized photos, hoping to pick and choose. All the other city errands of the day press themselves upon me as I sit there in front of the screen, overly sensitive to the time ticking by, so I go through a few and then abort, freeing up time to take care of more immediate needs, like getting groceries and renewing my car insurance.

I’ll let you know how it all goes.

Went for a wonderful cross-country ski with a friend just outside of Bralorne on Sunday, hours before sickness came knocking. The sun was shining from a perfect cloud-free sky and the snow was cold and light, throwing sparkles into the air behind us. Amazing. Looking forward to some more days on the trails soon. I’m supposed to be headed down to Vancouver this weekend for my best friend’s 30th birthday party, weather and health permitting. And to print photos. And get groceries.

Well, I should get back to staring blankly in contemplation. In comparison to being sick last year, this time it is much smoother. Perhaps it’s because I have friends here now, so I am no longer starving for social interaction. Perhaps I’m just more accepting of my whole situation here. Maybe I have developed a comfort with this whole living alone, sitting in solitude thing. Perhaps it is all of this, and more.

Portal

It's another foggy winter day here. The thin layer of snow is melting from the roof, and two crows pick at the last apple on a leafless tree in the yard.

Sanford and I have been going out for long walks in the dark, wandering just out of town where the night caves in on itself into a bottomless sea of black. I bring a flashlight, of course, but often only use it when I hear the infrequent sound of an approaching car. Instead I like to feel my way, to attune myself to navigating through the black silence without the aide of my vision. When we walk at night in the dark I am more aware of the sounds, of the way the wind brushes itself across my cheeks like the feathering of a paintbrush. The way it splashes through the trees in hushing gusts. My boots crunching along the gravel of the dirt road, and then sinking into the soft shoulder as easily as a fork presses into raw cookie dough.

Yesterday Sanford and I went on a long wander through the woods, veering off the well-worn path and onto an old road that I spotted from the trail. I'm getting skilled at noticing the signs of the old roads--the steady sloping rise of the ramps, now covered with slender newborn trees, the cut aways from the banks of dirt.

We followed it for a long time, getting tangled in some dead fall before finding clearer ground under the large fir trees studding the landscape. I found a large glass bottle, some metal to bend into a sculpture, an old open lock, some bright blue twine. We saw a couple of deer, a couple of blue grouse. Got a little lost and turned around at one point, but we ventured into the woods because there was lots of light left in the day and I eventually brought us out onto the highway at exactly the spot I had predicted. It's nice to feel more confident with off-trail travel, but at the same time I am still cautious. It wouldn't take much to get lost around here, and no one would have any idea where I was. However, the problem with telling people where I am going is that I don't know myself when I first start out. We just go, and whatever catches my interest guides us.

At least I have Sanford, and snacks, a light, a knife, and sometimes mace, usually water. Would not be able to travel as I do without him to rely on as my steady sidekick.

I've been doing a lot of 3D art lately, mostly with found objects from my walks. The more I make, the more I find, and my imaginative muse is constantly rumbling with new ideas for how to combine the materials I come across. It's a nice compliment to all the writing--something hands-on and visual to give my mind a break from the land of language. On the topic of language I have also been using old books that my mother was going to give away. I've been tearing them up, creating poems, splaying the words out on canvases, sticking them to pieces of broken glass, dying them to look old by painting over the page with a cup of instant coffee my family left in my cupboard after their Thanksgiving visit.

 Here's a little peak at the latest. It's made from a piece of driftwood with the inside discs from old hard drives tied on with fishing line. It's about five feet long. Hangs above the living room couch. The discs chime when I walk by or when the door is open and it's breezy inside. They also reflect, showing the view from all the windows during the day and casting some interesting shadows at night.

The writing has gone slowly this past few days. This is the toughest part so far. Yesterday the words were rich, but the count was low, and I have to be okay with that sometimes. Sometimes it really is about quality instead of quantity, but making those choices comes more in the second draft than in this rambling, meandering first. I'm still figuring out exactly what this story is about. Still letting it come as it wishes, sometimes about me, sometimes about other things, a huge jumble of words that will hopefully sort itself out and weave itself together if I just stand out of the way and let it do so. More for the second draft. For next month. I have a feeling this will be a long process. Have been drawn to seasons, and right now it is fall going on winter. I suppose I'll have to sit down and bang out some more as the seasons progress on their cycle.

Have been writing about the mine up here, about the old portals that still exist all over the mountains. Went to visit a couple of them with Sanford this evening on one of our favourite quick walks. I'd like to go underground in the mine up in Bralorne, and from what I hear it's possible to go down on a tour after you sign all the necessary waivers. It was interesting to talk to some friends this weekend who work underground, blasting away rock tunnels and then filling up rail cars with the resulting raw ore. The ore is then ground down into fine rock and then dust at the mill, and then gold is melted into a bead from the dust.

Working underground sounds like quite an intense experience, and then to top it all off the regular shift rotation is to work for 28 days on, split into two weeks of ten-hour day shifts followed by two weeks of night shifts before having two weeks off. Insanity. Not for the faint of mind. Like going underground. But I must try. Just to see what it is like. The muse and my own curious inclination demands it.

Things are going wonderfully at the school, although there is always more to do and I always feel like I am leaving things unfinished. I think it's just the way the job is: a constant work in progress. My desk is perpetually piled high with resources, although it is a chaos that is organized in my own way, and I can generally find what I need.

We hosted another tea party, red this time for Remembrance, and we showed our Monster Mash movie to the guests. As soon as I have permission from parents I will upload our creation to Youtube for your viewing pleasure. Students also took guests on a tour of our latest refrigerator box creation: a full-sized robot complete with fuse box, cardboard keys with slot, on/off button with instructions, wheels under the body to allow it to move around the room. It's absolutely amazing to witness the ingenuity of young minds still unhampered by the filters we seem to impose upon ourselves in our later years. My art this week has got me thinking about doing some found art with the students. I think we will start to collect things that they find outside to work with in the classroom. To build up a little stockpile of found art objects.

We have started a new unit on local history of the area, which will of course be interspersed with the typical Christmas theme. Our next project is to design and build a model of Santa's village, which I will also tie into lessons about the "north" and to geography when we talk about true north versus magnetic north. We are also going to be writing a Christmas play to record and edit on our ipad, which may alleviate some of the stage fright that accompanies being one of four kids performing in front of the entire community at our Christmas concert.

Well, it's chocolate o'clock and I am overdue for the day's writing session. Send me your positive thoughts with the writing. At times it feels like I am writing a lot but really saying nothing; all part of the process though. Doubts and all.

Weathered

This is how the dry summer and deep-freeze of winter ages things. It bleaches exposed wood and leaves the shock-red of paint still showing even after decades left to the whim of wind and sun. It leaves a history for me to find on my walks with Sanford. Not so in rainy Vancouver, where the rain demolishes abandoned wooden buildings and the plants eat so quickly over their shallow remains.

There's a light dusting of snow on the ground that came overnight. The first of the year in town. Good for tracking animals. Up at dark I light the fire, put the water on for tea. Drive up to Bralorne after forcing down some it's-too-early-to-be-eating oatmeal and get in the truck with my friend and the guns. His quad is strapped to the pick-up bed in case we have to pull a dead animal out of the bush.

We drive down an old logging road that is an artery for some of the backcountry I have climbed on skis. The same road where I saw my first moose last winter. I wonder if it is still alive. He tells me stories of growing up hunting with his father, with his brother in-law on horseback, of the moose and deer. The cab of the truck smells like burning fuel.

I spill my honey-laden tea on my lap, on my fingers, then wonder about what happens with the blood. I know that it will be sticky if it gets on my hands. In the end there are no shots, there's no blood, no game. We did follow a couple of wolf tracks, and caught up with them around a bend in the road. He stops the truck, looks at them in the sight of his .33. Two huge, black Sanford-sized wolves that stick out against the snow like peppercorns would on top of a pile of salt. We watch them for just a moment before they notice us and dart off the road into the thick bush.

Later we check the swampy places for moose tracks. Nothing. No deer. No grouse. No moose. Just two wolves, which is plenty to see in my opinion. You could almost see their scary wolf faces from where we were. Could almost hear one growl to the other to "look there's someone there!" in a snaky wolf voice with death on his tongue. They were HUGE and absolutely beautiful.

We will head out again on Friday, and maybe then I will see where the line of my comfort is drawn. But maybe not; I am also okay with just watching for wolves.

Breaking the Ice

I've been writing every second day over this weekend, as it felt like I was just beginning to break through the ice and getting to the meat of the story at the end of my shorter writing sessions. And I'm certainly not one to push myself past the words that are absolutely necessary after I have already put in a long day of work at the school. Not at this stage anyway. Still getting to know the storyline, the characters, still meandering and rambling, and I am okay with that. Rambling means more words.

Tonight I hit 20,000 words in the novel draft. So far the words still come with ease, like cutting through butter that has been sitting out on the counter all day, but I also let them come out sloppy and disorganized and misspelled. Sitting down and getting started is the more difficult part, although I have a little evening routine--stoke up the fire, kettle on for tea, some chocolate. My life here is full, and so I have much to draw upon for inspiration, and the more I write about this life the more I realise how intriguing it really is to be living here like this, as a member of this small community. I consider how much we really know about each other, or think we know. And in that I am starting to find a voice, full and strong, that seems to scribe out the nuances in the lives of others. I'm not sure if I am writing for an audience someday or if I'm doing this just for myself; what I do know is that I am having a wonderful time humming along in the writing of it.

It is writing about me, yes, but also not, as there is much imaginative elaboration in the words. In the end only I will know which parts are true and which parts are embellished and added to, or are changed just enough to push them off the fence and into the lair of fiction.

This weekend I have spent a lot of time walking with Sanford, splitting wood, playing the guitar and painting. It is finally winter outside, at -10 in the morning and warming to just below freezing in the afternoons. Sunny, and the air is pregnant with the crisp smell of snow.

Today there was a Remembrance Day ceremony at the local Gold Bridge Cemetery. A good dozen people turned out. Poems were read, names from the plaque to honour the fallen from this area were read. Some unfamiliar faces. It's always exciting to be meeting new people even after living here for more than a year.

I'm going hunting with a friend tomorrow. I have no idea how it will all sit with me, this killing and gutting of an animal still steaming with the breath of life. I feel that since I do eat meat I would rather be involved in the preparation of my own food, therefore pinning the consumption of it to a life that I have taken, rather than putting the responsibility for the death of my food out of my hands. Rather than purchasing a sterilized version of meat on a styrofoam tray wrapped in plastic, I want to remember that what I am eating was once a living, breathing animal rather than remaining blissfully unattached to this reality. And the animals slaughtered for purchase in stores live lives much more horrendous than one lived by a wild animal out grazing tonight on woodland plants. Perhaps this line of reasoning seems strange to some of you, but I want to be aware of where my food comes from, and want to learn how to get it myself, and if I want to eat meat I need to be okay with taking a life. Not that I am doing any shooting tomorrow. I'm just going along to observe and help in the gutting, if I am even able to. I suppose I will learn where my comfort levels are, and this is the whole point. I'm sure the experience will make me think twice about wasting any of the meat on my plate.

Word Count

Eleven-thousand three-hundred seventeen, so far with relative ease. Now finished day six of the thirty day novel-writing marathon as part of NaNoWriMo. Apparently week two is the tough one. I'll let you know.

Still participating in activities in other areas of my life in addition to the daily word count. Enjoying splitting wood, keeping the wood stove burning, heading out on some drizzly walks with Sanford, researching grad schools, keeping up with fruitful email banter with good colleagues and friends. 

In school tomorrow we are making our own video that goes with the famous "Monster Mash" song. We storyboarded out all of the scenes, looking line by line at the lyrics of the song to decide what kinds of images we should be filming. We have assigned roles of costume/makeup, director (me for this first movie), actors, cinematographer, editors, choreographer. I even made a clap board with erasable scene and take areas, just to get the full effect. 

Our refrigerator box--which was first a spaceship, then a coffin in our Haunted Corner--is now transforming into a robot. 

Working on creative projects is a great way to practice multiple skills and to get everyone in the room involved in the same learning activity with each student participating at their own level. It's also nice because students can try on different roles in a project, starting with something they feel comfortable with and branching out as the project continues, or on the next similar project. And the talk amongst the students is AMAZING! Sometimes I just sit back with a pencil in hand to record all the intelligent ways they are solving real-life problems that arise as they work. I am proud that they now ask each other for help rather than running immediately to the adult in the room (me) to mediate the situation. When this happened at the start of the year I tried to respond with, "well, I'm not sure how we could fix that. Let's bring it up with the group to see if we can solve it together." I tried to then model how to ask for everyone's ideas and talked my thinking out loud as I considered all the options that were suggested. Ultimately the solutions, whenever possible, came from the students, rather than from me, and I hope this showed them that they really do have the ability to solve complex issues if they work cooperatively as a group. They already hold the knowledge within themselves if they remember to take the time to stop to ask for ideas and to have a discussion about it. It's definitely an ongoing process, but so far this group is great at relying on each other and valuing the input of each member of the group.

In writer's workshop we are working on creating powerful openings. The Ks are working on adding details to their stories, and on listening for the sounds of things in their pictures and matching those with letters they know and copying words from around the room. Very fun with children, who still have much of their imaginative spark in tact. They are also incredibly good at "thinking outside of the box", for lack of a more original phrase. Or, as in our case, they are good at thinking both inside the boxes, and out of them. (Hahaha... aren't I funny? Get it?)

Sweet dreams all. Thanks for taking the time in your busy day to be interested in what I am up to. I do appreciate it :)

Play Again - Documentary

You've gotta check this out. It's a two minute trailer for a documentary entitled Play Again, which, from what I gather, looks at what childhood behind the screen has become: one devoid of regular daily interactions with nature, and follows a group of young participants as they get back to nature and discover things about themselves that they just wouldn't be able to indoors. Some of the quotes from the children participants are shocking, yet relate to what we hear all the time as educators: kids are spending the majority of their waking hours inside. Let's get them out!

I'm going to try to host a screening for my community here, and possibly one in Lillooet too. The pie chart was especially illuminating for me. Really puts the amount of time kids spend in the virtual world into perspective. Take the two minutes to watch and tell me what you think. Which parts of the trailer stand out for you?

Click here to be directed to the official Play Again website.

NaNoWriMo

National Novel Writing Month, known as NaNoWriMo for short, is here: November! Obviously I am feeling like I need a bit of a push to get this novel finished, so I signed up to write a novel, 50,000 words, in the month of November. You are considered a "winner" if you make it to the word count, which frees up the creative mind to write complete garbage. You allow yourself to write a "shitty first draft" as Anne Lamott puts it succinctly in her book on writing, Bird by Bird. A highly recommended read for you writer types. If you have any books you'd like to suggest, please leave a comment.

Part of the tricky thing while writing is to get the editor side of your brain to shut off while the creative side is let lose on the page to scribble and meander and play. The editor is the part of your mind that worries about your writing being interesting, worries about spelling, and tells you that your ideas are completely boring and unoriginal and who would even want to read them anyway!? Who can write with such pressure?

So it's day four, and while I haven't finished my writing for the day, I have been getting at least 1,700 words in over the last three days. To get to the 50,000 I need to type at least 1,700 words each day, or double up if I miss a day. So far so good. Lots of ideas, lots to say, lots that is waiting to be found if I keep looking, like the layers of bark peeling back around the trunk of a trembling aspen. New layers are just waiting to be found, and if I run out of material I have the ten or so journals that I have been filling up with ideas for years at my disposal. Now is the time, and I am certainly seizing the days.

Outdoor Classrooms

Schools are already doing what has long been a dream of mine: holding class outside! Click here for a great article about an outdoor kindergarten class in Victoria. Since moving here I feel a lot less constrained to keeping students inside, which means I am able to teach in a way that is closer to my own beliefs about learning: that learning happens deepest when in direct connection with experience.

This philosophical belief is something I hope to pursue in my master's. I'm going to apply to a couple of programs in B.C. and then take it from there. The more I think about it, the more I think that now is the time! I'll keep you posted.

Door

Door to an abandoned house just outside of Lillooet. The man who built it was convinced of an imminent nuclear disaster which he did not end up seeing in his lifetime. He researched different places in the world and found this spot nestled in the cliffy mountains on the very outskirts of town, harnassed the river flowing through the property for hydro power, the rights to which are now owned by BC Hydro, and built a haven for himself "just in case". Now the property is abandoned, except for quaint house down the hill which is occupied by people who watch out for unannounced trespassers.

I have always thought that I might go back to this place to write, to sit in the living room with the caving in ceiling, on one of the cushions of the couches left over from what was once a lavish living space. One day perhaps the right door will open for me to do so. Maybe it will open easily, although more likely I will have to force it open with a shoulder-check after cutting off the lock and crow-baring it loose from its grip on the old frame. Writing is just one of those things that is easily replaced with other more demanding to-dos.

I've also been thinking a lot about doing a Master's degree in Ecological Education, a program at SFU which starts next spring and runs for two years. It is designed for teachers to continue working full-time while in the program, and it requires one weekend per month down in Vancouver on campus, some on-line courses, and then a few weeks each summer engaged in field work. So many doors, which I suppose is better than having just one to open.

Seeds

It's the time of year for seeds. I had a great discussion with a friend who is studying plants in a university course. We talked all about the seed cycle--well, he spoke and I was glad to listen. Fascinating stuff. The world is such an intricately-wrot web of life. Sometimes we forget just how much is humming with existence around us--from the seemingly minuscule like the tiny seeds clinging to a "hippie on a stick" to the grand curtain of the turning fall leaves. The going on of life is absolutely pervasive if we pause to take notice.

The hibernation of the plants and animals mirrors my own desire for some heavy self-reflection time spent warmed by the wood stove and steaming cups of tea. I've been doing a lot of writing and guitar-playing lately. Lots of thinking about my own role in the world and where I see that going in the future. I think I will be here for at least the remainder of the school year, and then what? It's exciting not knowing, and to consider the multitude of possibilities given my drive and experiences so far in my short career.

At the school we hosted our second monthly tea party with great success. We had about fifteen guests, which is a huge turn-out considering the size of our town, and students gave them a tour of our Haunted Corner and served them the soups we had made--stone soup, in honour of the book by the same title (made with a turkey carcass from my Thanksgiving dinner, and potatoes and carrots we helped harvest from a neighbour's yard) and carrot-giner soup that we made with the shipment of carrots received from the BC Fruit and Vegetable program. A parent and a community member helped us make the stock and the soups, and they were absolutely delicious!

Photo Credit: Michelle Nortje

Photo Credit: Michelle Nortje

After the tea we carved the many pumpkins that were donated to the school, and a number of community members stuck around to help us with this. It has been such a wonderful year getting the community involved with the school. It's a great way for students to show off their learning, and it's so beneficial for them to practice interacting with community members and building relationships that can carry on outside of the school walls. I think the community benefits as well--a meeting place of ideas, and what day is not brightened by a kindergarten student handing you a hand-drawn map inviting you for a tour of the haunted corner. Students had such a great time designing tombstones and coming up with creative stories for how the people had passed away (people dying after being trapped in a haunted house was a popular theme). We also repurposed our space ship, built from a donated refrigerator box after a visit from a retired NASA professional at the start of the year, into a dark and scary coffin filled with a seven year-old vampire waiting to jump out and scare our visitors. Our grade 7 student also wrote up a very spooky legend about the haunted corner and was an absolute star at making sure our guests had full soup bowls.

We never know just how the seeds of days like this will spread through the community. What I do know is that it is such an amazing thing to look around the room and to see people talking with smiles on their faces, watch students who are so proud to show what they have built with their own hands and ideas, and to feel the room abuzz with positive energy. I hope that everyone was able to take away one small seed to plant in their winter garden--one small sentiment of warmth and connection to remember during the long months ahead.

Past Poem and Self-Regulation

I was feeling a little nostalgic this morning, thinking about writing and just generally being alive in the world in which we live. This is perhaps in part due to being in Vancouver this weekend for a teacher's conference on Friday, while also trying to keep up with the numerous errands that are not possible where I live--mostly vehicle maintenance, dentist appointment, and absorbing as much culture as I can.

The city has started to impress itself upon my senses in increasing amounts when I come back, and I'm realizing that perhaps it has always had a stirring effect on me. In the conference our keynote speaker was Dr. Stuart Shanker, who is the lead authority these days on self-regulation--one's ability to regulate their arousal states while simultaneously processing the numerous stressors present in their environment. Stress, from Shanker's consideration, is anything that requires energy to deal with, and we all have different sensitivities to stress and therefore require different levels of energy to regulate our alertness. For instance the lighting in a room can be a stressor to someone who is sensitive to such things, as can traffic noise and city smells and sounds. Even the comfort of the chair in which you sit can have an effect on your ability to pay attention to a speaker, as a friend who attended the Writer's Fest told me--she could hardly listen to the writer who was speaking because her chair was so incredibly uncomfortable! This of course presents itself in the classroom, and what Shanker said is that we are getting kids who are less able to self-regulate their arousal states because they are under more stress than ever before. He suggested that this was in part due to increased urbanization, and to an increase in media use rather than having kids who go outside to play, which has been shown to be an effective way of combating stress. I could get into the whole thing in much more depth, but I'm soon off to VanDusen Gardens to see a Wild Art Exhibit put on by students in the city. Perhaps more later.

Shanker's address got me thinking about my own choices in my living situation, and how much calmer and more relaxed I feel since choosing to live outside of the city. The city winds me up, makes me feel frazzled and exhausted, and this is surely exacerbated now that I spend the majority of my time without all this extra outside stimulation. When visiting I feel acutely aware of the artificiality of the city, of the pavement, of the buildings and the lights, of planted gardens instead of sprawling fields in various states of reclamation over the scars left by industry. Sitting in traffic to get downtown with my two sisters on our way to dinner was alarming to me. I don't drive downtown anymore when I visit, choosing instead to take the bus or seabus, and the core of Vancouver has been filling up with residents and vehicles steadily since I have left. An increase in traffic seems a slow transition to my sisters who live here, seems to have almost occurred without notice just like days of aging pile up slowly in the mirror, but to me it seems abrupt, jarring on the senses, my desire for fresh air met with the sour smell of exhaust as I rolled down the passenger window.

I suppose I am in heavy thought about just how many of us live without a direct connection to nature, and how we can therefore become removed from concern for her health and well-being. What we see is the growth of our city, we spend our time walking and driving on pavement, flicking on our light switches with the same ease as breathing, and we forget that the fuel for this growth comes from somewhere.

I'm not sure what the answer to all this thought is, but I know that it is something that I think about often. How to create a more connected and sustainable lifestyle. How to battle the difficulties with things like self-regulation that are plaguing our society at an ever-increasing rate. How to find a state of equilibrium between self, community and earth. How to connect, wholeheartedly, with the essence of life on this planet--not just our own but to all living things.

My thought process this morning reminded me of a poem that I wrote a couple of years ago, which can be found here.

Adrift. We are far from shore right now, but I still believe we have the strength to swim back.

Here's a fifteen minute talk from Shanker about self-regulation and learning, for those who are interested.