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.

Geometric Valley - The Hike up Truax

A few weekends ago (my gosh how time races) a couple of friends came for a visit with their homegrown veggies and well-mannered dogs for a weekend of exploration in the Bridge River Valley. I've been meaning to write about it since, but have been spending my free time in the evenings doing more hiking, mountain biking, collecting and chopping wood, writing. Our jaunt up Truax was, in hindsight, the last time I would get into the alpine on foot before next hiking season, as the mountaintops are now alight in the fine glow of fresh snow, which I have to say that I was ready for. Bring it on winter--bring on the powder. My skis are ready, and I've got an overly large wood pile stocked for your stay!

We started our hike late in the morning with the intent of summiting Mount Truax, a beautiful beast of a mountain that juts from the landscape along Gun Lake and from the outskirts of Gun Creek Road, although a late start and dimming light sent us back to the vehicle on the cusp of a dark that necessitated headlamp use. Nonetheless it was a beautiful climb, and we were able to find some rocks cracked into intricate geometric shapes, and even a space that I thought would make an amazing place for some kind of high-alpine art show and camp-out. Who knows! I'm sure crazier ideas have become manifested in reality, and I am a huge believer in getting people out into the great outdoors as a way to slow down the destructive actions we are currently waging on our earth with our bottomless consumption habits. Something's gotta change. 

We didn't make it to the top of the mountain this time, but the detour across the valley that we took instead was well worth it to check out some possible winter ski terrain, and to discover the rocks cracked and placed together like puzzle pieces. How cool is nature?! We have been talking a lot about patterns and shapes in math, and I brought in some photos to illustrate how math happens all around us in the natural world. How amazing it all is. And how tragic our indifference.

 Looking into the old mine on the way up. I'm repeatedly amazed at the tons of waste just left on the mountainside from all of the resource extraction and exploration that took place in the last century. It's shocking and depressing that the land is left exposed and scarred, gigantic hunks of metal left to leech and erode. I guess that's what happens when there are so few people living in an area; no one bothers to make much of a fuss...

 The valley of the stones is behind me. Beautiful isn't it :)

 Paul in his red jacket to give you a little bit of perspective. Being in a landscape like this really puts the small worries in your life into some semblance of order. A drop in a bucket we all are, although perhaps we are much more.

 At the helm of a ship.

Phora, Paul, Angel and I at our high point for the day.

reflection

spent the day

seeing trees 

shapeless

scatter

in the rings of raindrops

Gallery of Trees

Just a reminder to click on any image to enable viewing the gallery in large-scale format. Enjoy!

Information

This day we name Friday once again arrives, and I start the morning by filling the stove with kindling and balling up the city newspaper left by my family. I always scan the headlines before contorting the words into a combustible sphere, often surprised at what people will spend their time reading, what kinds of worries occupy their minds: fashion trends and movie listings, the impending doom expected to befall one precariously placed foreign government or another, the NHL lockout, celebrity this and that.

Don’t misunderstand my feelings of amusement towards the headlines—I love the news, and I think current events are very important—especially while living so far removed from “society” as some of us understand it—but I just can’t comprehend the need for the kind of volume published in a local city newspaper. Hundreds of stories each week, many which lack contents that engage the public in any real critical thinking. And who actually has time to read all the stories that are published, especially when you live in a city with all its distractions, errands and traffic?

I’m going to stop myself here before going on a longer rant. Internet news. It’s great! You can check out multiple news sources publishing on the same topic (a more rounded view of an issue instead of taking one paper’s view on things as the undisputed “truth”), and you can pick and choose what to read. Sure you are probably tailoring your reading to fit your own biases and opinions, but such is the way we often seek out information, assimilating the stories that confirm our prefabricated worldview and discarding those that oppose what we believe to be true. And then there is the issue of corporate and private ownership of media outlets, and tied to that the interest in particular stories being published (or not). It’s a complicated world out there.

The wood pile. Went out and got my last load of wood with Simon last night, and then another friend stopped by after his hike to bring me more. Perhaps I’ll have to live here another year just to burn it all; then again it could be a long winter, and I’ve been gifted an amazing outdoor fire pit for my backyard—an old metal washing machine basin, complete with the perforated holes in the sides and a spine where the agitator would have fit. Tons of metal made its way into the valley with the thousands of residents who once lived here, and it rarely makes its way back out again. I find it strewn beside the river during my walks, leeching rust into the waterways it rests beside, somehow beautiful and haunting in its stillness. I always wonder how the items got there, what story they would tell, and why someone decided to abandon them the particular place in which I find them.

The weather seems to be changing. Clouds hang on the mountains this morning, and wind sends the red and yellow leaves raining onto the concrete beyond my windows. I’m tentatively scheduled to go on a hike tomorrow, but will not be braving the roads if the rain starts. After this kind of a drought I imagine there will be some heavy slides and rock falls happening along the highway out of town. I’ll be happy to be stuck inside working on some writing about the Fraser River trip and planning our next unit at the school. Life has been full of activity for me with this spectacular weather, and I have to say that I’m looking forward to a forced slow-down during the off-season. Some time for inward reflection and writing instead of always looking out. I’ve got enough material to keep my busily working away for months at least, and I’m planning on taking some time to have writing as my “job” at some point in the next few years.

I find myself actually missing the rain. Missing the steady grey cloud that stops itself like a ceiling over Vancouver, cleansing the air and the sidewalks, bathing the cedar trees in their own sweet scent, feeding the moss that grows over everything, erasing the traces of our human imprint that withstands the deep-freeze and sunshine here. The dry weather in this climate preserves buildings and fallen trees for decades that would otherwise be swallowed up by forest down on the rainy coast. I suppose this has given me things to look upon for a glimpse into the past, a way to get to know this place, some landmarks to explore. And I know that the rain will visit me here too. It will come before the snow, and I will welcome it as a reminder of my own roots, of where I have come from.

Sunrise

Mount Sloan can be seen from all over this town, from the highway as you drive into town and up the hill to Bralorne. I look upon it from the front door of the school, watch it stand as a sentry over the valley as I walk home from work, see it peek from between the trees in the front yard of my house, from beyond the cliffs on the walks I take with Sanford. One morning last week I was lucky enough to look back as I left my house and started the one minute (literally) walk towards the school, and caught this glimpse of the golden sun held in the clouds like a halo of light above this mountain, the daily backdrop to my life here.

This weekend I took my family up to the old fire watch cabin on Green Mountain, which is the rounded hump to the far left of Sloan's peak. We looked out over the view of Bralorne, of Gold Bridge, of the cavity of mountains holding us high above the carpet of trees and clearcut patches below. I showed them the routes I've taken ski touring in the winter. I think they started to sense a little of what it is that makes me so happy here. How close nature is for me. Although they were sweating. I forget that not everyone routinely hikes or bikes up mountains on their days off. Oops.

Gazing upon the razor edge of the same mountain through a full rotation of the seasons is part of the magic that holds my heart cupped in its palms. I'm hoping to hike up to the top before the winter spreads her blanket over the valley, but time is quick and my days are full.

Changing Seasons

A knapweed plant begins its fall fade. The small purple flowers look beautiful, but these plants are actually an invasive species that thrives in disturbed areas like the gravel patches next to my home and beside the school. In the spring the students and I will be out there clearing these plants and putting some native species in their place.

Time

What a weekend, as they always are here. My family was up, everyone but my middle sister, and we spent our days walking, hiking, hanging out at Gun Lake and eating fabulous food under a sun-saturated sky.

As an assignment over the weekend I sent each student home with a disposable camera with the instructions to take pictures of the things they are thankful for. I explained that they wouldn't be able to see the pictures, and showed them how the cameras worked. "Why can't we see them?" one of my Kinder students asked, and I started to explain how photography worked before losing her to the click of her first picture: me.

I had my own disposable camera out and ready to use this weekend as well so that I have images to model some of the writing activities we will use the pictures for. I took pictures of Sanford on a walk with my Mom, of my family doing the dishes after I cooked dinner, of my parents dancing in my dance floor-sized kitchen, of the delicious turkey dinner at my own little dining room table. I realized many times this weekend that I have so much to be thankful for. My life here has blossomed into something very special. I have embraced it, this whole living-on-my-own-in-the-mountains thing, and in doing that I have been open to the many people and unique opportunities that have present themselves. I feel so thankful that I made it though a year up here on my own, and I look forward to the challenges that this winter will bring, however cold and long it may feel. I know that spring always comes, and I've learned to start taking things one day at a time by living here. I feel like the city presses weeks of plans upon my shoulders, but here there is space to breathe; I can just live at the pace of living. The only thing I really should do this week is collect another truckload of wood. And go to work each morning. And there is such freedom in the thought of just having to "do" these two activities. Everything else is open, and I am ready to say yes to whatever my wandering heart takes pause at.

Time. It has a different pace here. There is no traffic pressing me to leave early for work, stopping me from coming home after a long day. No rushing to get to the store or do errands. Time stretches its legs out, flaps like a flag in a light breeze, folding back and forth upon itself beneath a calm sky.

A friend who was over for dinner this weekend talked to my family about the history of this area, about how many thousands of people used to live here. What were their lives like, I wondered, and then I realized that I know many folks who were born here, and that I should spend more time talking with them while they are living here as my neighbours, as the pioneers of this place that I so recently began to call home. Questioning the past makes me think of my own childhood; after this weekend it has a much tighter grip on my memory than ever before.

On special occasions while we were growing up--unbeknown to me until this weekend--my parents would rent a video camera and would record us on VHS tapes. Twenty-eight hours of footage in total. My Dad recently realized that the quality of the tapes would deteriorate and so he had them put on DVD and brought them up here this weekend for our inaugural viewing pleasure.

They are HILARIOUS!!! My parents ask us to sing and dance and for me to show off my gymnastics moves. It's pretty crazy to see myself as a small child, my sisters and their simple yet deeply complex thoughts, my parents talking about how heavy the camera is and what's that blinking red light that seems to be on all the time, and can you sing us a song that you know, Jacquie, and I just belt one out that I happen to know off by heart. A song that I find now, at 29, still buried deep within the bowels of my neurons, not even dusty after a decade-and-a-half of non-use.

There is even footage of us horseback riding, dressed in party dresses imagining a tea party in the backyard, spiders included, me showing off the art in my favourite alphabet book, Northern Alphabet, which I had forgotten about but instantly the floodgates open and I remember. Mostly it is footage of my family and I just hanging out. And I am thankful that we had time to do this, to hang out and be kids, because there are many kids in this world who don't get that time, who don't have all of the things we had plus parents to record it all, how lucky we all were, although I'm sure we didn't know it then.

I realized in watching the few hours that we did how incredibly HYPERACTIVE I was, and how into artistic and dramatic play I was even then. I realize that I was always an artist, even as a child, but perhaps children are all artists until we systematically shut down their creative selves by demanding "right" answers and standardized performances from them; this is a topic for another post.

Thank goodness I found an outlet for my hyperactive self, a place to balance me out: any activity in the great outdoors, which at this stage in my life happens to be in my own backyard.

Before watching the videos I imagined scenes of my sisters and I fighting: over toys, over attention, over a misinterpreted glance. Instead the few hours of footage show that we were actually quite civilized to each other. I was even kind to and helpful with my two younger sisters! I guess it was early enough in our lives that we still got along, because from what I remember of our teenage years the waters in our household were definitely turbulent, and the roller coaster of hormonally-charged, independently-minded teenage girls was certainly full of crashes.

Now the three of us get along famously, but we would have rolled our eyes at you if you had prophesized this when we were younger.

Time. It has crept back into my life in the form of remembered memories. Were they there all along, waiting to be mined, still intact after all these years like the song that lay waiting to be sprung forth from the trap of childhood? Favourite toys, favourite dresses passed down from oldest child to youngest, of songs and rhymes I used to know by heart. In a way I feel I have stepped back, but at the same time I feel further along than ever on this journey we name a lifetime. Each step has made me the person that I am and each has strengthened the muscles in my legs so that I can carry on walking forward to a place that I can not see. All I can see is the path directly beneath my feet, but I can also look back to the places I have been, to where I have come from. For this all, I am thankful.

Fall Colours

This morning the bite of fall greets my bare feet as they make their way downstairs. I light my first morning fire of the season, happy to feel the heat leap to my face as the thin timbers become engulfed in an orange glow. 

Earlier this week I was content to be back splitting wood and organizing the pile that will keep me warm thorough the long winter months. There is a rhythm to splitting wood, a Zen quality where your mind grows blank as you swing the splitting maul, eventually hitting the right spot and opening the log as easily as unfolding a book on your lap.

Luckily I have a friend with a chainsaw and a faller’s license who is responsible for taking down the snags (trees that have died but are still standing) at the Kingdom Lakes Campsite nearby and doesn't mind helping me stock up on firewood. One more truckload and I should have wood to spare at the end of the season. Better to have too much, as collecting it when the ground is snow-laden would not be fun!

Last fall I remember walking with Sanford, both of us new to the trails that lead away from town into the hills. I remember thinking how beautiful the fall was here, how the golden leaves of the trembling aspen line the ground in colour, how the brush at our feet was painted the colour of a rich autumn sunset. I remember thinking that I would like to experience fall here again, and here I am.

 Logging off the Hurley. This was last fall, but there is lots of new activity there this year.

Water over what used to be a bridge.

I have been doing a lot of reflecting on my teaching practice and on the daily interactions between myself, the students, the experiences of us all in school, and this has left me with less time to keep up with the blogging. It’s a necessary part of my job, though, being able to think about what went well and what I would change, or what a student may need, what their behaviour may be telling me, where they are with a given task and what they need to push their learning deeper. It is absolutely amazing to be able to observe and think about the learning of so few students; an opportunity for deep reflection that few teachers have.

I have also been going out on my evening walks with Sanford and on long bike rides. Yesterday I phoned a few people to see if I could interest anyone in a mountain bike, with no success, so I just went out on my own again. When riding on my own I do not take any thrilling downhill routes, but stick to the logging roads with a sense of exploration. As I pedaled out of town I thought about how I feel completely comfortable doing things on my own, and this is why I have been able to thrive out here.  When there is no one else to join you then you just have to do what you want anyways, or else you will sit on a heap on the couch instead of being out in nature.

Sanford waits patiently for the photographer to finish :)

I have also been working on some paintings, creating a stain-glass window out of some beach glass I found in Oregon, writing stories here and there. I got a book from the library entitled How to Avoid Making Art (or Anything Else You Enjoy) which is a series of cartoons with captions written by Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, about how to get stuck in the pitfalls all artists (and many people for that matter) experience. A number of the cartoons resonated with me, so I copied a small collection to post around my little art studio as reminders. Right now I am looking at one that says “Demand 15 hours of free time to create, so you can ignore the 15 minutes you’ve got.” The second says “Slide into despair rather than take one small exploratory action.”

One small exploratory action at a time. That is how art is created. And using all the minutes you can steal from the day.

I’ve started playing the guitar again. Not sure if I already mentioned this. It was something I hoped to start upon moving up here, but then I became frustrated at my lack of progress and gave it up for a few months before going back to it this fall. Now I have learned a whole song, “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and can play two originals that I wrote last year. I think I have realized that sometimes I just need a break from something before going back with a fresh spirit, and the workshop with Diego taught me that all creative pursuits use the same skills of exploration and open-mindedness; a sense of play threads their way through them all. They all relate, freeing me up to continue to be interested in tons of different things without the pressure to stick to just one. I am a dabbler, and it is great to feel an ease and contentment in this.

Well, it’s Friday and I’m off for a morning mountain bike with my friend Ian. Part of my family is arriving for a visit this weekend: my parents and my youngest sister. They have both visited before, my parents helping me move from Lillooet, and Stephanie staying here for a couple of nights before I had  really gotten settled. It’ll be nice to have them here now that I have an established life. I’m sure they will understand why I am so content here once I whisk them away on adventure after mountain adventure all weekend long.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!