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.