Departure

As the song goes, "all my bags are packed, I'm ready to go". Though I'm not standing outside of anyone's door waiting to say goodbye. This makes it easy to go! I've got the car packed up with full camping gear and a stove, my guitar, blank notebooks for writing, painting supplies, backpacking supplies, even a hoola hoop, just in case.

This morning I take off up to spend some time in the Cariboo region: Horsefly, Williams Lake, Wells. All places I have heard hold a core of artistic types, places where I've got connections with like-minded folks. There's the Arts on the Fly festival in Horsefly first. I'm volunteering for a friend who runs the kitchen: free festival ticket, free food, good way to meet people. Then I'm a free spirit for a week before meeting a friend in the Yalakom before heading off into the mountains on a three-night backpacking trip. We plan on going to the same area where I was in the wilderness on a three-week Outward Bound course ten years ago. Seems a fitting way to begin my year as a traveler throughout B.C. Some time for reflection and reminiscence in the high alpine meadows. That course was instrumental in putting me back in touch with the natural world in a way I hadn't been in years. I hadn't even known the connection was missing until suddenly there it was, and I knew I could never let it go again.

Well, I'm off. I'll be in touch when I can though I may not be around internet much. I'm back in Vancouver for a quick one-day turnaround on July 29 before heading down the Fraser River again until August 25. Lucky me :)

Happy summer everyone! The next adventure begins.

Transition

One week ago Shirley and I pulled into the driveway at my parent's North Vancouver house after five hours on the road, her red pickup truck and my RAV4 packed to the rafters with my things. One week ago I left Gold Bridge on the start of an adventure with an unknown destination, full of emotion and excitement. Some more tears as we made the trip over the dusty Hurley, periodically stopping to check on the load as it was jostled by the rough ruts in the logging road.

We unpacked as hurriedly as possible so that she could turn around to get home again, and I spent the next days sorting through all that I have amassed while taking breaks to participate in some writing, reading, playing the guitar.

I sit here this evening in the dimming summer light with the house to myself as the dishwasher hums away. Robins and chickadees belt out their songs from the backyard bramble of bushes and forest, and a plane flies high overhead. It seems like there is always a plane. Always something flying through the city soundscape whenever I take a moment to pause and listen. The days are awash with the sounds of human activity, the sounds of a mechanized life. It's amazing how sensitive I have become to the noise of this place after finally adjusting to the quiet of such a small town. The quiet which at first seemed so empty and forlorn. I miss the river meeting my ears from the throat of the valley, but I know it will still be there when I return to visit.

Thankfully my parents have been away during this stay here, and so I was able to leave streams of boxes lining the hallways in wait for even more sorting and culling: what will I need access to over the next year? what can be permanently stored until I find a new home? what can I give away?

I've tried to fold my items as neatly as possible into a house already filled up with things. Tucking boxes into the corners of the storage room, sliding clothes into the inches of available closet space in my old bedroom, sparingly spreading a few things into a couple of vacant drawers. I want to make it easy for my parents to have my things here, because otherwise it'll be a storage locker. I am thankful to have this place to come back to, the place of my childhood. I will be able to do a load of laundry in between jaunts around the province, to have a few square meals with some denomination of my family, and switching out seasonal sporting gear before heading back out onto the road again.

I had a bit of culture shock in my first few days here, which surprised me at first, but in retrospect should have been expected after living for years in the type of environment I was immersed in. This place seemed tinged with a golden glow. New, exciting, different, full of green, clean, well-manicured streets. The cars so clean I could see my reflection in them. Nothing out of place.

After sorting and storing and boxing and labeling all day I spent the long evening hours just walking around, picking my way over my old routes to school, noticing where shortcuts had grown over into a dense tangle of forest, noticing the difference in coastal and interior vegetation. I strolled past where friends used to live, staring into people's open windows and doors, getting a peek at their lives, at their homes. I'm fascinated by it all.

I have been going to the forest often as well to walk and keep the connection to the wild growth of nature, escaping for brief interludes from a view completely made up of landscaping and pavement. And today it seems to have settled in more deeply that right now I don't have a place that is my home, but I do have this place to live and to come back to pause, and for that I am incredibly thankful. And perhaps in this search I will find that the feeling of home is something I carry within me. That if I take the time to look deeply within the walls of my soul I will find it housed there, just as radiant as the summer sunlight streaming through the branches of a forest canopy.

Haze

Night has just fallen, and a dark indigo blue hangs behind in the clouds. Rain off and on today, as with many recent days. It mirrors my own back-and-forth, my own wayward emotions, the minutes full of movement. It has been nuts. Year-end mixed with leaving and packing up all the belongings sprawled out over a three-bedroom house. 

I've given all my shelves away, the wardrobe that weighed fifty pounds that I shipped back from Australia, various chairs, patio furniture, the sturdy table from my art room, boxes and boxes of clothes. It feels good to get rid of some things, and I've had enough experience coming upon things secondhand to know that I can get more when and if I should need them. Trying to go as light as possible, hoping it will all fit into my car and a friend's truck, and then my parent's garage. I wonder how long they will let me store things there without complaint. Feel very fortunate to have that option rather than having to spend money on a storage locker somewhere. A third truck is available for the move tomorrow, and I might need it. I also feel fortunate to have friends who are willing to take the time out of their busy lives to help me move. Big dinner out at the Mineshaft Pub tomorrow night. Makes me think of when I first drove up here with my sister Stephanie. It was June 2011 and I had applied for the job even though I had never visited the town. It seemed surreal then, like we had stepped into another timezone. Back in time. Now living here feels completely second nature, as natural as dreaming. The roads used to seem foreign and vacant but I became used to that too--to the flow of life here--to my own space, vast and empty and pregnant with silence. 

July is fairly breezy in terms of plans. I was planning on rushing off to the Oregon Coast to surf, but now that I plan on taking a self-imposed sabbatical I think I will wait to surf when the waves are bigger and crowds are thinner in the fall and winter. I might actually spend a week or two in North Vancouver, something I have not done since I moved rural almost three years ago. The thought actually excites me, as I know it will be temporary and I can re-charge with a heavy dose of city stimulation. The arts! How I miss the arts living here!

I have a number of things on the list for July, like going through all the material that I have written to find some common threads of story. Writing. Daily writing. Playing the guitar on a blanket at a park in the sun, grass between my bare toes. Going to art shows, to music shows, walking the busy streets where no one knows who I am, where I came from, or where I am going. A contrast before I move along to explore some different small towns. Nothing as small as Gold Bridge though I am sure.

We had our year-end ceremony this week. I tried not to cry, but as my principal was talking and thanking me for all of my hard work my lip started quivering, and then that was it. I kept it under control, not the gasping-for-air sobbing but instead a steady sniffle and tearing. The parents and community members in attendance gave me a standing ovation. It is such a wonderful feeling to be so appreciated and to feel like I will be missed as much as I will miss this place. 

Couple more tears as I closed up the school this afternoon, locking my keys inside so that they are there on the desk when the other teacher opens up the doors for the fall with her second set. The culmination of a distinctive era in my career, in my life, really. But I'll be back. This place has a way of weaving itself into the heart, and there's still much exploring I'd like to do around here.

The last weeks of school were great, but I am absolutely exhausted. Full days of work and then full evenings of sorting, packing, moving furniture to houses, moving plants, moving. Many experiential lessons and such, but the time is wandering on and I still have things to pack and a last bath in the giant soaker tub to succumb to. I am sure going to miss this place. The people, the school, the students, the history, the walks, this house. But it is time to seek somewhere new. A new place to call home. It's strange to think about all the possibilities. For a while I am going to gypsy around to see what my options are. And then some new road will reveal itself. It always does. 

Solstice

It's rainbow weather out today. Rainy with the sun shining, casing the raindrops like a dust cloud over the ridge beyond my house. And it's warm--a welcome shift after the wet, chilly weather of the past week. I've been watching Pioneer Paul's chimney to see if it's reasonable to be lighting a fire. Feels strange to be burning wood into mid-June and most of the nights its warm enough upstairs where my bedroom is to forgo the effort of chopping more kindling to get a steady blaze going.

I've been sparing in the updates lately as things bump up against themselves in my year-end schedule. Only ten days left until I move from here, and there is a lot to get organized before then. I've been picking away at it in the moments between work and visits with friends I might not see again for a while, and it feels satisfying to watch things slowly start to disappear from shelves as they go into boxes.

This week at school we had our last tea party. It was a "low tea" put on for students by a few dedicated community members, and one lady even brought all of her fancy china to the school to spruce things up. Students showed the guests the movies they have been making and gave a couple of presentations, and afterwards we built a labyrinth on the edge of the schoolyard with a local expert. Last week we painted rocks to go in the labyrinth, and our guests brought special rocks from their collections to add to the creation.

Students also got the chance to drive some serious remote control vehicles brought over by a new friend. These cars were nothing like I have seen before: doing flips, spin-outs and crashing into each other with no problem. It was certainly a highlight for them.

We have been busily working on our memory books and on wrapping up units for the end of this week. I've been writing report cards all day, and after being indoors looking at the sunshine I had to get outside.

I took Hunter along for a walk on the shoulder of the highway. We have been walking a lot lately as I try to visit some of the favourite places I discovered with Sanford. A handful of cars passed us, Hydro trucks on their way out of town for the weekend, cars I didn't recognize on their way in. I wanted to walk down by the river, but the mosquitoes were so bad as we veered towards it that we walked along the old highway instead for a while until we could cut back up onto the pavement to take us home.

I've been writing a lot as well, in addition to reading. Spent many hours last weekend putting together my application for that writing program in Banff. Now the wait.

Barry and I have been out on a few horseback rides too, meandering through the criss-crossed trails through the forest thick with birdsong and rustling leaves. I was able to catch "my horse" which we named Tyax last year after we couldn't remember his original name. He is still young and "needs some miles put on him" as Barry says, and last weekend he gave a couple of bucks at twigs jabbing him in the side as they flicked from my stirrups.

I've been spending some time with friends up in Bralorne and out at Gun Creek Road too. I want to pack in as much as possible before heading away from here. Next Friday is my last day at the school, and then on Saturday I plan on packing up my vehicle and a friend's truck before driving my things down to Vancouver on Sunday.

Not sure what I am going to do with the blog, but I do want to keep a line of communication open to share my adventures with those who are interested. I'll let you know my plans.

I'm sure going to miss this place. The rain has let up again, and already the concrete outside my window is dry. A cat is running by the pond. Think I'll get to packing and then will have a little fire on my own to celebrate solstice and take in the darkening sky. Happy summer solstice everyone, wherever this may find you...

Lilac

The lilacs are out, brought here many years ago and planted by the settlers who homesteaded, etching their existence in the mountains in a time before reliable roads, bridges, a post office, telephones. They come back year after year, fragrant as ever, fluffing themselves purple, white and green with the life they have nursed underground all winter long.

And with them, the butterflies, the hummingbirds, the sweet scent of late spring placed in a jar in the centre of my kitchen table.

This way and that way...

June 8^th. Time feels like it’s compressing, but it often does in June at the end of a school year, when all the loose ends scream for completion and all of a sudden there seems not enough time to cover what is left. I seem to be going through a time of hefty appreciation for my time in this place, which feels refreshing and rejuvenating. 

The students and I started going through our photos from the year to work on building our memory books. It’s good practice for me too, as I can see how much we have done together over the year.

Sometimes working alone makes me feel like I am not doing enough. Like I’m all out of ideas, like there was more I could have done. Maybe it always feels like that in education. Always more to do.

When I was completing my education degree one of the academic advisors for my program reminded us that education is one of those professions that will take everything you give it, and even when it has sucked you dry it will still want more. Luckily I save enough time for myself to be healthy at the start of most days, but like the students I walk into the room carrying the baggage of my out-of-school life. I’m just better at pushing mine aside, at providing a safe place for students to unpack theirs, sort through things, examine. 

This was the absolute right place for me to land early in my career, when I wanted nothing more than to plug into work and into my own writing. It was a place to explore my own soul, to feel what it’s like to live in a kind of mountain isolation. I wanted to leave the city, and leave it I certainly did. 

I’ve always been one to test boundaries. In high school I was the student with my hand up asking “why do we have to know this?” about everything, driving the teachers crazy with questioning and then with complacency. Their answers about why were never good enough. Most of the time they didn’t even know.

I find myself still asking “why?” about some of the mandated curriculum, though as a government-funded teacher I am expected to give students an education that mirrors the Prescribed Learning Outcomes as outlined by the Ministry of Education while also subscribing to their personal needs and interests. Now, at this point, with a small sum of money stacked in my bank account, I can finally afford to do some research to see what is out there in the form of alternative options.

As a high school drop-out myself, I can empathize with the “so what?” attitude of many of today’s youth. I did end up going to university. First I had to upgrade my high school courses in my early twenties, making my way through courses I could have completed in my teenage years for free. That was certainly not the recommended way of doing things, but it was what worked for me. I wonder what it would have been like if I was able to take a month off to go live on a farm somewhere that I could help run for high school credit. Where there were other students from around the province, where we could be outside for most of the day doing hands-on learning instead of sitting in desks for five hours a day.

I’m curious to see what is out there in terms of schools run in alternative settings. I’d like to visit schools that are run by communities, that are based mostly in outdoor settings, that incorporate farming into their day plans. I have absolutely no idea what I will find. And I want to write while I flit around to check out this vast province. Just a couple of hours a day, processing and mapping out what has happened, what is happening, and maybe what I hope to happen. Drawing out the map of my life thus far in words. I am finding that it's all about the details, and in the writing of my experiences I am realizing that I have amassed some stories to tell! And so do you! That is what a life is, after all: one long, drawn-out story of choice and change. 

This weekend I am off to some social gatherings in the valley, and then to meet Barry to go for a horseback ride on my way home tomorrow. "My horse" as he calls Truax, is waiting for me. 

I’ve had a heavy dose of work and writing this week, and it feels good to have that insular, reflective time bookended with some social time.

Happy weekend everyone! 

Rainbow

Have seen a couple of these in the past weeks. This is just two different angles of the same one, as I was driving from Gold Bridge down through Britannia Beach on the way to the city last weekend.

Woman and Mountain

Standing along highway 40 after exploring down the bank. Soon the water will completely fill in the valley bottom below.

Moving Things

The rains have come, though they’re nothing like the torrents of downpour one associates with the coast. The grey sky puts a filter on the day, and the colours jump out at my eyes, no longer washed with the intensity of the sun.

Things have been busy. Some after school projects about the Fraser River kept me heavily focused on my laptop last week, which I was gladly forced to go without over the weekend as I visited friends living the rustic life. Too much technology, paired with some glitches, can really make a person insane!

Last week the students and I made our final trip to Lillooet for swimming lessons. Before heading home we stopped by Honeyman Bob’s bee field to meet his hives. Students and I were all suited up as we watched Bob subdue the hives by fanning them with his smoker. Smoke tells the bees that forest fire is coming, and they rapidly move into the hive and consume as much honey as they can in preparation to flee. This makes them lethargic and less concerned about the strange alien beings cracking into their hive to take a look.

There were a few students who did not want to go when we discussed the upcoming trip in class. We spoke a lot about fear and how empowering it can be to face it. I told them to see how they felt the day of, and that if they didn’t want to go then they could wait in the car. I had one student who was adamant about not going come up to me after swimming and say, “well, Miss L, I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’m going to see the bees today. I’m going to face my fear.”

Comments like that are why I do this job, even when they are at times few and far between.

I spent a night out in the Yalakom on Friday. What wonderful people I meet each time I travel there. Looking forward to spending some more time getting to know the community better when I am freed up from such a demanding work schedule. I am planning on seeking out many alternative communities and education options during my hiatus, just to see what is happening out there and what my options are. It’s also a good way to spend a little time in different communities: to volunteer my time for room and board, to write, to explore, to connect and take stock of what the options are for an idealist like me.

After the Yalakom I then spent a couple of nights with a friend who lives in Seton, right on Anderson Lake. What a beautiful scene the lake was, whether whipped into a froth of whitecaps, or stilled like a mirror reflecting sky. What a landscape we have here.

On Saturday we went to visit a couple of homesteaders—real pioneers of the area—who have rehabilitated a piece of clear-cut land devastated by logging over forty years ago. They moved onto the land after putting up three walls of one room, and now live in an incredible house built with found wood and stone over the last four decades.

The stories they hold in their history are absolutely spellbinding and humbling. It was a real joy to be surrounded by such creative minds living so close to the heart of the earth. My mind was blown wide open, as if linear time ceased to exist and I was caught in a super reality filled quite literally with the “art of living”. I continue to be in awe.

Planning a trip down to the coast (what locals call Vancouver) this coming weekend. Moving the first batch of things into the small storage space at my parent’s house. Thank goodness I can get away without renting a locker. That option seems ridiculous, but would have had to suffice if not for the option to move some things back to my childhood home.

I'll miss this drive...

View looking back at highway 40 towards Gold Bridge as I drive over Mission Ridge.

Going through things feels great, and with my recent inklings I am able to let go of things with an efficiency I’ve not embraced before. I’ve spent much time lately considering the impermanence of “things”, and I’ve had enough experience to know how easy it is to collect what we need as we go rather than hording it all. And, to be honest, having so much stuff stresses me out. I just don’t need it all. And what a pain it is to move!

I have no idea where my next home will be, but there are many things that fill this house that I can find in secondhand shops if I should ever need them again. Only the treasures I keep—the rest goes into the give-away pile.

Heading back to the sorting, dinner, and then to bed. Thanks for reading!

Textured Landscape

Spring Winds

It has been a hot ten days, and residual warmth clings to the shallow breath of wind that swirls under a ceiling of cloud of the type that often precedes rain. The ground is in desperate need of it, though the blossoms on the choke cherry trees in my backyard and stands of alfalfa lining the highway have slowly expanded to life after the few drops that fell last weekend.

Life has been both busy and quiet here, with friends and visitors arriving at my door like the migratory birds that dip their feathers into the backyard pond. I had a special visitor to my home and to the school early this week, a bird specialist from Lillooet. He and I spent Sunday afternoon in the trails near Kingdom Lakes, and I learned much about the species we saw. He visited the school on Monday to talk about his work in the Antarctic, fitting in well with our discussions of extreme environments, and then took us on a field study down by the river. I never thought I would be so fascinated by the world of birds, but it's amazing what a passionate speaker can ignite in our minds.

Reflection at Kingdom Lakes. 

At one point while we were stopped to take a picture in the thick of forest, we heard a great crash. We went to the only sliver of clearing between the trees to witness a stream burst through the rock and come crashing down the cliffs right in the middle of the only portion of the mountains we could see! I didn't want to interrupt my view to take a picture. We watched for a few minutes, marvelling at our luck in being at the exact right spot to get a viewpoint, before the water tapered to a trickle and stopped as quickly as it had started, leaving not a trace as to the event that had just occurred. 

I have been pairing the visits with friends with periods of solitude where I am able to get into the rhythm of writing and reading while appreciating the spring that has once again visited me here at this beautiful house. The sound of a bird gently fanning its wings in bath often rouses me from the pages of my journal, and for the last two mornings I have woken to the sound of a flock of Evening Grosbeaks playfully calling to each other from the cherry trees just beyond my curtained window.

The impending move is also quickening my resolve to finish the few artistic projects that have been left in stagnation over winter, and I am finding a sense of accomplishment as I tuck into things with fresh hands. I've set up a little painting table in the shade of white-blossomed cherry trees, listening to the hummingbirds chatter at each other as they dust for pollen. Just now the tissue-thin petals are being whipped from the tree, falling gracefully to the ground like spring snowflakes, finding their way into my green tea, brushing across my keyboard light as eyelashes.

I'm working on some stories to submit to a writing-in-residence program which would start in October for a month in Banff, and this is keeping me quite occupied in my spare weekend moments. Even if I don't get accepted it's a step in the right direction, and I like the challenge of finally going back to work on a couple of pieces that have always felt "unfinished".

We have set the date--September 2015--for the Fraser River Relay Swim, which is the twenty year anniversary of Fin Donnelly's famous marathon swim of the river in 1995. Unlike Fin, I will be on a relay team with three other women, though we will each swim a portion of every day; it will probably take us three weeks to swim the length of the river in its entirety, which is certainly challenge enough for me. We will have two rafts with us at all times, which will pick us up out of the water for the dangerous rapids. Still, it is not risk-less, and will require a dedicated amount of training and fundraising before we shove off.

We are swimming to raise public awareness about the threats to the health of the Fraser River ecosystem, as it is one of the most important salmon-bearing rivers in the world. We would also like to raise awareness about the Sustainable Living Leadership Program--to entice young people to get involved in the experience of living with a river on their doorstep for twenty-five days; it is impossible to come away from an experience like that unchanged. If people are to care about protecting the natural environment, their connection to it must be rekindled, as it has often been lost in the hustle of the modern, technology-bound era. Immersion in a natural setting over a few weeks is a great way to re-ignight this connection, and this is just what the SLLP does.

So there's lots to keep me busy in addition to a full-time teaching job. Many walks along the banks of Carpenter Lake/Bridge River as it makes the transition from river to lake with the spring run-off. I am continuously shocked at the amount of waste that has been left along the banks from past mining explorations, leeching corroding metals and oil into the surrounding water. I think of coming back here years from now to salvage pieces for metal sculpture, and take comfort in these plans to re-visit the Bridge River Valley in future. It is a place that is deeply entrenched in my heart, and because of this I will always carry it with me wherever my journey shall lead.

Filling up the Reservoir

My grade seven student and I drove into Lillooet this morning for a district-wide "Empower Her!" conference for grades 7, 8 and 9 girls. We had a great day mingling with our friends (me seeing some teacher friends from around the district, and she linking up with some other students her age from neighbouring communities). She and I have also been working together on a photography self-study, and we stopped to take some pictures along the road back.

Carpenter reservoir is filling up with spring run-off. The Bridge River used to come all the way up past Gold Bridge until a couple of dams halted it. There are stumps and tree debris all the way along the lake bottom, which make for an interesting subject juxtaposed with the silty sand and turquoise water. Enjoy!

Preparing

There is a small part of me that has started saying goodbye to this home I have made, even though I still have two months left until I take flight. I linger a little longer on the view of the sun cresting Mount Sloan, spend an extra moment looking across at the red canyon walls, listening always to the river in the throat of town.

It's busy here too, the trucks frequent and fast, the run of rivers project back into full swing, logging up in Bralorne, power line clearing, brush clearing. All the rooms in town are taken until the weather turns back into winter, and prospectors are trolling for vacant space to house their workers as brazenly as the town crows pick open coolers left in the back of pickup trucks. Certainly an interesting shift to behold in a place like this.

This past weekend I went into sorting mode, parsing out those items on loan from friends or borrowed from the library and never returned (no late fees here). Went through the closets, my drawers, amazed at all this "stuff" one can accumulate when we stay in one place for a while, especially when the place is a large multi-bedroom home, and I am a frugal spender and thrift shopper at that. It makes me think of a statistic I have heard many times in the past few years: that 99 % of the things we buy will end up in a landfill. Before I start a rambling tangent on this topic let me switch gears.

I have been doing a ton of writing, and had the realization about a week ago that I have been in the process of writing a book for years. I have been filling up notebook after notebook since leaving the city, and have yet to take the time to go back to read through them all to search for the story I am trying to tell. Thankfully whenever I have taken some time to peek back I have been pleasantly surprised, but still, there's a long slog of work awaiting my perusal.

They say one's first book is always an autobiography of sorts, and an author I met the other weekend said there is a genre called "fictional autobiography"; that's what I'm writing, which is an easy way to say that it will be about me, somewhat, with some made-up stuff thrown in there too. I'm still in the process of writing to find out what I am writing, if that makes any sense. I imagine a structure will start to emerge once I spend the time looking over the puzzle pieces that I have so far, and that's what I plan to do as my job once the school year ends. And I'm going to pay myself to do it with my little bit of savings, because I believe.

The more I consider my options over the next phase of my life, the clearer it becomes in my mind that the time is now to write. Ever since I was a little girl I have been fascinated by the world around me, and have yearned to record what I witness in words. And now is the time. The only time. I've paid off my debts, have a little savings, am free from a contracted position, have a reliable vehicle to gypsy around in. I'd like to see some of the nooks of B.C. while I'm at it. How will I know where I want to settle down if I don't scope out some of my options first? Just not the city. Everything else is fair game.

So yes, to write it is and has been lately. To write and write.

It has been cold here over the past week, and incredibly windy. I love the dramatics of a gusty windstorm, the unexpected upheavals rushing by like hammer strokes, turning the air calm in between. Have been walking with Hunter in the evenings, and generally enjoying having this house to myself with only the sounds of the wind against the windows, the wood popping in flame from within the stove, and the fridge humming itself on and off with a certain regularity. This has certainly been an adventure.

Things at the school are drumming along with the ease of spring. I find that things hit a wonderful rhythm in the classroom in the last couple of months of the year: routines are ingrained, relationships have been built, foundations laid. And it's spring, so outside we go more than we did during the cold winter months.

The students hosted another great tea party this past week. We have been having them monthly, and what a great way to get shy students and community members interacting! There is usually a theme or activity, and last week it was staining the bat boxes that a generous member of the community built for the students. We also made quiche to serve to our guests, which went well with the fraction unit we are studying in math.

Spent the April 20-21 weekend in Lillooet attending the Rivershed Society of B.C.'s annual forum. It was great to re-connect with the two Lillooetians who went down the Fraser River with me last summer, and to meet new faces who may be on the trip this year. Met a couple of authors which was incredibly inspiring and gave me just the direction I was looking for at this point in my process. I always love when the universe links things up like that: a very serendipitous meeting of minds. On the Saturday night there was the Planet Peace Cafe in honour of Earth Day, a night replete with performances of all sorts: guitar, a cappella singing, poetry and story reading, skits. The performances went on until midnight and I was completely inspired by the talent. Next year it's my goal to get up there to sing a few songs, and I've been practicing guitar all week inspired by the creative energy.

Well, my house is super clean which is great. Vacuumed and swept this evening while some leftovers heated up in the oven. It takes a ton of energy to keep up with a house and yard of this size, in addition to everything else I squeeze out of a day. Feels good to have that out of the way so that I can be ready to play outside when the weather warms up again. And it'll give me more time to write. Speaking of which, my notebook awaits. And thank you, dear reader, for spending the time reading my meandering updates.

Freedom

The thermometer reads 18 degrees, and even though I am in the shade on my back porch it takes only a thin blanket around my legs to shelter me from the cool of the breeze that flutters and whirls at the tag on the end of the string dangling from my mug of sweet tea.

I spent a long time sitting out here last night in the calm midnight air watching the clouds ripple over the half-full moon like waves across a vast, glowing ocean. It was quiet then, and is now, though the motel and hotel in town are fronted by a stiff row of trucks each evening, which convoy off to their various industry jobs on the outskirts of town at dawn: the Jamie Creek power project, logging, and variations under these umbrellas. Hotels have had to turn lots away; there is just not enough room here, and no one to build more for jobs that are only in town on temporary terms.

The men live in trailers outside of town too, as I noticed while Hunter and I walked along the start of the Hurley road, into the barren hills where Sanford is buried.

Looking out over the landscape of the claim, which is now an area to be used for gravel for the power project. When I first moved here it was forested.

I have found myself once again giving to the push and pull of unknown trails, being led this way and that into places I have never walked. There is an ease and freedom that comes from walking with a dog at one’s side, from setting out to simply walk, from not having anywhere in particular to be.

This time we walk on the other side of the river, the grass at the edges of the river dry and brittle, breaking like thin twigs underfoot. We need rain, but there is not much sign of it coming. The dryness leaves the landscape brown and fallow, the new shoots awaiting a dense drink before they begin reaching for sky. In places along the path the ground is dotted with the holes where squirrels have come back for their stores of food, and in a sandbank there are holes where some type of bird has made a home.

Although we don’t find Sanford’s grave today, I like this, walking in a new place, and the feeling dances itself around the walls of my insides. Freedom. When I walk I feel free.

Last night I hosted a little impromptu jam session: three guitars and three locals in my living room. We banged on the drum a little, used the percussion around the house, and they sang out country songs about beer and women and finding happiness in the simplicity of life as I strummed away the chords along with them on my guitar. And then I went to watch the clouds.

This afternoon I am heading into Lillooet for the weekend for the annual Rivershed Forum. I’m looking forward to seeing some familiar faces from last summer’s river trip, and to finding out more about my own role and responsibility for the trip this year. I’ve also put together a little slideshow to present about my own experiences traveling down the river.

I’ve been writing too, and everything seems to be falling neatly into place, as it seems to when we trust that little intuitive urging inside ourselves. Not long now until I am back on the road again, but until then I can turn to the seat I sit in now, still, simple and comfortable, and I can listen to the quiet of this town with the wind through the trees, and the river reaching its voice from the depths of the valley. For now this is my home, and what a wonderful place of discovery it is.

River Walker

Over the past week I have been spending a large amount of time walking along the river. Something has drawn me to its shores, as if I wish for the mental chatter in my head to be wiped clean by the rush of water over smooth stone. And now with my new walking partner, Hunter, I am once again free to cruise what I call "cougar canyon" after a local told me that he has seen a cougar on the rocky bluffs each time he has walked there, "but they don't get very big," he reassured me, "a one-hundred eighty pound cat is rare around here."

Hunter and I have been beaching it whenever we can :) This one's beside the old Haylmore site.

Here's Hunter.

And one further down the canyon which is always full of animal bones. I call it "kill beach" for dramatic effect.

Late last week I also went for a walk with Sanford's owner, which was liberating for my soul. We walked a favourite walk that Sanford and I used to take, along an old road leading up to an abandoned mine portal now even more shut off from the outside world from rockfall after this year's thaw. It was nice to reminisce a little, and hopefully to ease a little of his guilt over a situation that he had no way of predicting. He also asked if I had my neck x-rayed. BRILLIANT! Why had I never considered this before? I'm heading into Lillooet on Friday for the 3-day forum put on by the Rivershed Society of B.C., who hosts the Sustainable Living Leadership Program, and I plan on seeing a Doctor there to discuss the option. It would be nice to know if anything strange is going on in there, as it still bothers me for at least a small portion of each day.

This weekend I had some visitors stop by the house, which is wonderful. A couple of friends stopped  in on a lazy Saturday, me still in my pyjamas at noon.

I also had my friend Phora come up to visit from Lillooet for the night, and we went on a SERIOUS hike on Sunday. We went up the Hurley River from Gold Bridge, at first following the old road Sanford and I used to walk before the mountain slid it away and we had to make our own path. We hopped between rocks on the river shore when we could, and bushwhacked when the river left us no ledge on which to stand.

The beginning, Phora and her girl Taya when the road is easy to follow...

There was one point when we had to scale a ledge beside the river, which was not dangerous in itself, for the fall was a mere foot into the water, but it would have been an uncomfortable rest of the walk if this had befallen us. The road disappeared completely in many sections, and then it would miraculously reappear, rock walls covered over in moss, old camps left in ruin. There was even a cabin and green bus across the river from us, and we wondered how the people would have made it over there. How fun it would be to explore the other side!

Getting a little harder to follow, but not much...

Hikes like this remind me of why I live out here.

Finally it seemed that we should head up away from the river and towards the high stretch of road that leads to Bralorne. We walked up and up and up climbing over deadfall, with me wandering ahead to scout out a safe route that avoided the cliffs.

Here comes Phora.

Almost at the road. You can't tell in the picture, but at this point it has started to snow!

When we finally made it up to a view of Mount Sloan, it started to snow, and in the faint distance as we sat down to eat a few segments of orange we heard a moving vehicle. We walked the few hundred yards higher, and as I climbed up the embankment and onto the road a man in a huge truck stopped.

"You okay?" he asked when his window had slid all the way down.

"Yes," I said breathless, for I had heard him coming and wanted to make sure I caught him. "We just hiked up the canyon from Gold Bridge. Do you think you could give us a ride home?"

He was happy to fit us all in, and just like that we were snaking down the steep hill towards town. It was 4:30 pm when we were picked up, and 11:30 am when we left. How thankful I am to have a friend like Phora who appreciates hikes that the majority of the population would find punishing.

We were home soon eating spaghetti and garlic bread before she left on her drive home and I settled into an evening of reading and writing. Ahhh this is the life :)

For Michelle

A painting I made for my middle sister. The light is a bit too bright to see all the details in green along the bottom of the painting, but this was the best representation I could get after trying a number of different things.

Enjoy!

A single flower in detail.

Spring Texture

Encounters since Last Time

Happy spring everyone! We had what the locals call the “usual heat wave” here, which has now dissipated back into cooler weather. Did not make the mistake of putting any of my wood away early this year as I did when I was new to the area last season; I’m still lighting a small evening fire when I get home from work to take the chill from the corners of this vast house.

I’ve taken a bit of a break from technology lately, and have been spending my free hours in conversations with like-minded people, and between the folds of books. I’ve also been trying to keep up daily journaling, checking in with the self, figuring out the direction to take next by looking deeply at where I stand and at where I have come from.

Not sure if I mentioned it before, but have been reading a lot of Dr. Gabour Mate’s work, and was especially intrigued by his book When the Body Says No, which is, in a very simplistic rendering, about how people who take on too much of the stresses of life can come down with illness and disease. I think I saw a lot of myself in its pages, and related it to my own bouts of illness. It made me consider how much of an impact our mind truly has on our physiological health, a connection that is often neglected in the science of medicine. We sometimes forget that our body is an integrated system that functions as a whole unit, just as we sometimes forget that the world is more complex than the parceled subjects of school allow.

Have had a couple of packed weekends since my last update. Was at my best friend’s wedding this weekend down in the city. He’s a guy, and I was his best WOman. Have never been in a bridal party before, and that aspect was very fun. He had four other groomsmen, which included his two brothers, a childhood friend I too have known since kindergarten, and one of my long-time ex boyfriends from my early twenties who has remained a close friend. It was a beautiful ceremony, casual and tasteful, and my speech was a complete hit. I think this is partly due to all our friends in the crowd who were laughing at all the right spots, and thanks to my sister and mother for their invaluable input. Public speaking. Certainly a stress-producing activity!

I’m currently reading a book called Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway! by the late Susan Jeffers, which relates a lot to the whole public speaking thing. It’s also a very positive addition to my reading list, as I am about to embark on some big changes in my life, yet again. I’m mentally preparing myself to lift my roots from this place, and it feels like the right thing for me to be doing. I long for an alternative lifestyle that I haven’t completely found yet. I’m considering the other options for someone with their teaching degree—options not necessarily within the government-run education system—but also other options entirely. I have a strong faith in my ability to find a job too, which is helpful when considering a bout of unemployment.

And the writing. Always the writing knocking on the door of my conscious mind.

A couple of weekends ago I went on a nice ski tour hike with my close friend who had moved away this winter to work. He was back for a couple of weeks to visit, and it was nice to have someone whose main focus in the backcountry was skiing rather than sledding. I know I will always have friends here in the valley, and this is a comforting thought while prepping my heart to fly elsewhere.

Instead of rushing back to the city for Easter, I went to a party in the Yalakom valley, which is an absolutely amazing community about an hour towards Lillooet. It was started as a commune in the 70s and is now in its third generation, and parties are filled with people of all ages, fantastic cooking, and always wonderfully eclectic and enlightening conversation. This is the type of community I seek to know more about, and I have a feeling that B.C. hosts many alternative communities like this if I take the time to find them. And many alternatively-run education programs.

I also had an astrological reading by someone who came highly recommended by close friends of mine who believe strongly in our mystical connection with the universe. Yeah, yeah, I’m sure some of you are rolling your eyes as you read this, if you’re still with me, but the more I connect with nature and with myself, the more mystical I am becoming. As far as I am concerned, what we get over the internet about our sign is such a thin sliver of the dynamically complex alignment of the planets, the sun and the moon at our birth. It is a blanket summary of only the sign under which we were born, and tells us nothing of the other planetary interactions that integrate to form a small part of who we are.

It was totally fascinating, and I am still integrating the information. The astrologer knew things about me that  were uncanny, and has a background in Jungian psychology, which has always been of interest to me. It has sure spurred me to take my own life slowly, to watch the unfolding that is occurring within me, and to trust my own intuition rather than societal and familiar expectations, which are at times like a stifling blanket across the bed of my decisions.

I am starting to realize that it really is my life, and I am responsible for the living of it, so why not dream it up and imagine it becoming exactly what I want, regardless of how “crazy”, “weird” or “irresponsible” that may seem to those around me whom I love and respect. The fact is that I am not irresponsible in any way, am just crazy enough to keep life abundantly fun, and there are other weirdos all over the place out there if I keep myself open meeting them.

We shall just have to see where this all goes, but I am considering my options while also drinking in the life around me in the here and now.

I’ve spent the last two days walking with a new companion, Hunter, a black lab who has more energy than any other dog I have ever met. His owner called to tell me she had broken her wrist, and is in a cast for the next six weeks, which swells and itches like crazy each time she goes out for a walk. It was nice to be out with a dog again. I realized how much I prefer having an animal companion out there in the woods to being alone.

As I type this Hunter is traipsing through my backyard, just as Sanford used to do, plugging his nose up against the glass of my kitchen window.

Tick season is here with a vengeance, and last weekend I had one embedded in my scalp. I noticed it as I scratched the crown of my head, and asked Shirley to take a look at the lump. Thankfully I was over there for an afternoon visit. I knew right away what it was, and she confirmed it. She drowned it with dish soap, as they will sometimes back out on their own if suffocated, and fetched Ken who pulled it out with a pair of needle-nosed pliers. I called our local paramedic first, just to double-check the removal protocol, and all went smoothly. Whew.

Things at the school have been going great. I had a new student start early this week, which brings numbers up to five. We are spending lots of time in the outdoors exploring the signs of spring unfolding around us, sketching and painting. We also had the Department of Fisheries and Oceans in again to perform another Coho dissection, as this was such a big hit last year I thought it valuable to repeat the activity.

I hope this finds you all well and enjoying a spring of your own inner blooms. 

New Shoots

The Easter Bunny and I at this morning's pancake breakfast. 

I’m sitting outside in the cool spring sun. The snow has melted from the sunny spots in town, its recession bringing back the robins, the chickadees, the blue jays to bathe in my little backyard pond. I welcome the rejuvenating power of the sun, and as the grass begins to sprout new shoots I feel as though I too am entering a period of rapid growth and change after a winter of self-reflection. Even a plant I have had for twelve years is starting to bring up new shoots after being frozen while I was away over the Christmas break. I’m glad I didn’t give up on it as a lost cause. It feels like a time of rebirth for much in my life.

The teacher I am covering for is coming back to work in September, which means I will be going through some big changes in the next few months planning my next move. I was originally considering taking a little time off, spending some of my savings on living while pursuing some of my alternate passions: writing, painting, playing music. A good plan, yes, and it would be great to check out some more areas in B.C., but with plans to pursue a master’s in creative writing, it might be a good idea to keep working and bank some extra funds to help pay for more education. I’m currently working on a manuscript to submit to UBC’s creative writing program for their fall 2014 intake, which I hope to complete by the end of July. Then I’ll wait to see if I even get in.

Some abandoned buildings standing in dark contrast 

to the snow fields surrounding them.

Prairie field from the highway. 

It’s good to start making some goals and plans for the near future, even if my living arrangements are quite open-ended. I’ll see what jobs are available in this district, but I am also open to moving, with a small list of pre-requisites for the next town to try out: must have access to skiing or surfing, must be a town, not a city, must have easily-accessible wilderness. This sums up almost every B.C. town, but I also feel like now is the time to be exploring my options and trying out different places.

I’ve stayed in the valley this weekend, and it has been wonderful. My good outdoor playmate is back for a couple of weeks from his stint away working for the winter, so we were up on Friday walking with our skis into the mountains. My back is still tender and sore, but moving feels good so that’s what I am doing. I’m tired of sitting around being in pain; might as well move.

Farm boy and his dog. We tried to walk to the other farm yard, but the cold of the evening sent us back before reaching it. The land here plays tricks on a person. Things look a lot closer than they actually are.

Farm on the outskirts of a town.

Leaving Regina and heading out to the family farm. What "blowing snow"/whiteout looks like. And this is actually good visibility compared to what it can be.

Things with Cameron didn’t really work out as either of us had hoped, although we are open to supporting each other as friends in the future. Long distance dating is just not my thing, especially when I am trying to figure out where I want to be this fall.

Even still it was wonderful to travel to Saskatchewan, to meet his family, to garner a deep appreciation for how wonderful it is to live in B.C., where spring has unfurled its wings completely even though the prairie landscape is still wracked with blowing snow and seems in the deep freeze of winter.

We stayed at a little cabin and cross-country skied in the lodgepole pine forests of Cypress Hills Interprovincial Park watching the deer swish their white tails at us as they fled our company, we played badminton and swam at the rec centre in Regina, we saw The Hobbit in 3D at the IMAX, went out for a wonderful fancy dinner, went to the art gallery, went to a reading put on by writers nominated for the Regina Book Awards. I experienced what “blowing snow” means in the weather forecast, a new one for this B.C. girl; highways closed with twenty foot drifts across them, semis and cars in the ditches. I felt what a winter walk was like, breaking through the hard crust of the frozen landscape as a coyote yipped at us and called for its friends. It made me consider a different type of isolation: living miles away from town in a house with just your own family and the fields of grasslands and wheat spreading out in a blanket under the sky. It seems like a much harder lifestyle to me than what I am currently living here, but everything is seen through the lens of our own individual experience.

The roads blew me away. So different from the sights I am used to living here with the mountains and forests.

Last night I went out to a local jam session, wandering there with my guitar in hand, although I was too shy to play until the night wound down and only a few stragglers were left to bear witness. A guy who lives next door has a real knack for strumming out popular songs; he’s here for another week so we plan on rocking out a little together before he heads back down to his working life in the city. I am learning a lot about music these days, building up my confidence slowly, learning the lyrics and strumming patterns to some popular songs.

Snow deposits itself almost like sand across the landscape.

This morning there was the famous Easter Breakfast at the Community Club. Tons of kids were in town, and it was the largest turnout at a community event I have seen here. There was an egg toss, egg rolling, egg hunt, and of course lots of chatter. It has been great to talk about my upcoming move with the locals here, many of who are into the same extreme sports as I am, and have often lived other places in the province that I have yet to visit. I’m feeling no shortage of options, which is exciting, but I am also trying to ground myself in the experience of the now. You just never know what opportunities will come up in this life.

I have been asked to travel down the Fraser River again this year as a facilitator in training. It means I go for free, and that next year I might be able to have a paid role in the trip! That’s an exciting opportunity for me, as I am keen to get more involved in facilitating outdoor education experiences, and getting some experience teaching young adults with a passion for nature, just the types of folks who apply for a trip like the SLLP.

Well, here’s to spring and to feeling positive and strong in welcoming all the opportunity that comes my way. Life is sure beautiful in all its complexity, and the dips and dives make the view from the heights all the more grand.