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.