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.