Santa Takes a Break
This is such a thick, rich time of year. Everything is enhanced. Christmas brings out the artist in almost everyone.
How You Look At It
How many times have you heard that expression? Usually it
surfaces when people are trying to agree. Everyone ends up saying, “It all
depends on how you look at it.”
I think that our latest shot of winter was a joy. The first
few inches of white that fluffed up our world and made everything soft again.
The wetness on the pines, spruces and balsams released a sweetness into the
air. There was more to see. Animals lost their sleuth as their tracks recorded
every move. And each deep cold breath invigorated.
But as December ties the knots on the gifts of this season,
many folks start thinking about moving to more moderate climes. A migration
begins and the flocks leave Canada. In fact we just heard about one who is
making a five year commitment to another country. Mark Carney, the governor of
the Bank of Canada is leaving us to become the governor of the Bank of England.
That’s a huge loss for the BoC and what a gain for the BoE. Carney is one very
talented Canadian. He was born in the Northwest Territories, spent his youth in
Edmonton, and then went to university at Harvard. While there he was the
back-up goalie for the hockey team. After Harvard he went on to Oxford and met
his wife Diana. Carney’s trek to London looks like an amazing career move but I
wonder if he will miss seeing the snow and the magical clarity of our northern
winters. I do hope that he keeps some of his Canadian heritage close to his
heart. May he always remember those freezing nights leaning on a hockey stick
and watching steamy breath rise up to the stars.
Of course heading outside to enjoy all this requires quite a
bit of different attire than the jeans and runners of early autumn. Each cold season,
as I haul out the lidded tote labelled “winter boots”, I peruse our
accumulation of felt-lined, leather and rubber choices. But somehow I always
end up with those old, made in Canada, boots that I just can’t seem to throw
out. Fashionable they aren’t; dependable
they are.
They are heavy clod hoppers. But they are the best, with wide
rubber bottoms, high leather tops and original laces that are so long it takes
at least a minute to string up each boot. Repeated layers of shoe goop cover up
splits in the rubber but thick bumpy soles still look brand new. I’ve had these
boots for almost 20 years and they have been faithful. They’ve carried me
through knee high snowdrifts during games of pie tag on recess yard duty. They’ve
gripped my wooden and sinew snowshoes over the ups and downs of bush trails.
And they hold my balance as I pick my way along frozen, ice-covered, cobble
beaches.
The approach of winter enhances the beauty of the night sky.
Last Friday morning, as I looked at out over Lake Superior, I noticed a planet sparkling
beside the full moon. A quick read of the mag, Sky News, let me know that it was Jupiter. The name corresponds to
the idea of brilliance or celestial light. Mythology says that Jupiter himself
had some unusual ideas. Once, when besieged Romans asked Jupiter for advice, he
told them to throw bread over the wall at their attackers. This was to show the
enemy that the Romans were doing well, not starving and not intimidated at all.
Such a unique approach is certainly opposite to traditional warfare. But it
goes along with Jupiter’s turn at sky dominance. On Sunday December 2 it was in
direct opposition to the sun, rising at sunset and setting at sunrise.
On that day, at dawn, just as the sun was rising, an owl
flew in and perched on a post near our house. Probably a Barred, the bird turned
its feathery round head from side to side surveying the ground for mice or
squirrel or bunny. The owl’s beautiful striped (or barred as its name implies)
chest was easy to admire, even in the dim morning light. When we stepped outside
it cared not; the only concern was for a tasty breakfast. The bird visited for about half an hour before
swooping to the ground beyond our sight. Whether it found a morsel or not, I do
not know. However, but it did leave me with a thought.
Often it is not so much how we look, but more how we see.
Back to the Milky
Hunker down in the dark? With the light leaving that could be the temptation. But being the tough Canucks that we are, we always find other ways to get through our temporary light lessening world. The Santa Claus parade helps. Shiny floats, laughing children, smiley faces. And now neighbourhoods are beginning to glow with the extra string of lights over the door.
The other day it was calm and I was sitting on some boulders by the shore. I happened to see a white flash amongst the huge round rocks. I sat still and sure enough the flash re-appeared a couple of times. It was a very healthy, pure white weasel with a solid black tip on its tail. If it had been summer I probably would not have noticed its brown shape amongst the grey and red granite but its white gave it away. Another creature adapts with the same cloaking device.
The trip to Windsor was a wonderful experience. Unlike that unflattering rant of Stephen Colbert’s, I say that Windsor sings a sweet song of history and romance. The city is similar to Sault Ste Marie. It’s a border town, has a strong ethnic community and a river runs by it. We were visiting for a celebration at the University of Windsor.
The Alumni Association was inducting individuals and teams into their Sports Hall of Fame. Ward’s basketball team from 1971 to 1973, which had won the Ontario championship three years in a row, was among the honourees. Our star though was his coach, Paul “Doc” Thomas. He was our host and in his senior years, is boundless with his energy. Doc still coaches basketball at a private high school, plays jazz on the piano and vibes plus he cooks up a mean breakfast. He also drove us around Windsor and showed us some amazing sights. Thanks Doc.
Among the sites was a 4000 square foot English cottage style home built in 1928 by a rum runner named Harry Low. Low called his place Devonshire Lodge and the sight of it brought the Hobbits to my mind. The architecture boasts a unique roof that looks thatched and rolls over the copper eaves trough. Low asked the architect to make the roof “look like the waves of the sea”. And it does.
Another stunning sight was a memorial close to the city’s riverfront boardwalk. There, a 2.4 m high slab of black granite honours the sacrifices made at Dieppe during World War 11. One can read the words “Essex Scottish Regiment”, “August19, 1942” and “Red Beach” carved into the stone. And a hole, at an angle, is cut right through it. But it is what the monument DOES that startled me so. At one pm, on August 19, if the sun is shining, sunlight flows through the hole and illuminates a stainless steel maple leaf embedded in concrete on the ground. One pm, on August 19, 1942 is the exact moment when a call to surrender ended the Dieppe raid. The Windsor monument was erected in 2010 and is an exact duplicate of the one placed four years earlier, in 2006, at Red Beach, Dieppe. That was the landing site where so many young men lost their lives.
A young woman from Windsor designed the memorial. Rory O’Connor was abudding art student when an idea lit up her imagination. She was putting in the long hours of a lengthy road trip. When she saw sunshine on the dashboard it occurred to her that it would be a great idea to incorporate sunshine into the story of the Dieppe raid. The sunshine idea is one that we can all use. As the November sun slants low in the sky we can rejoice in its golden glow. That shortest day is closer than you think. Each hour that passes brings us back to the light.
Bottom of the Ocean
The bottom of the ocean is a long way down. Not something that’s easy to picture. However, the world has been challenged with just such a thing, and much more.
The past while has been rather chaotic. If anyone wanted to pump up Halloween scariness, there was no need for a Queen Street zombie walk. All it took was the weather channel. And to think that when the popular TV site started out people thought it was a joke.
But Sandy was no laughing matter, as we all found out. I got a hint of what was to come by the cloud action the day before the waters let loose in Wawa.
That Thursday there was a sky show the likes of which I hadn’t seen since the night the Edmund Fitzgerald went down. Low slung blue-black tubulars were having a full blown race due north. The entire sky was one mass of heavy darkness as wave after wave of water-loaded clouds steamed ahead as fast as they could.
And it was warm, way too warm for October. That evening I grew concerned for my sister Noella Depew whom I figured would be getting the full brunt of it where she lived in Michipicoten Harbour. Sure enough, creeks rose, beaver dams gave way and an onslaught of water let loose in the middle of the night. Noella’s home was safe, but it was very close to the deep thundering rush of water. Her neighbours, Jim and Debbie Saunders, lost their house to the Brient Creek. The Ford dealership west of Wawa on Highway 17 lost vehicles to a gaping washout. Owners of the Northern Lights Motel lost their business and travellers lost a way west. Everyone was devastated.
It takes a while for the seriousness of such a situation to settle in. One very startling thing to absorb was the fact that raging creek waters pushed the Saunders’ vehicles out into Lake Superior! The photo of waves sloshing over the roof of their red truck was a sharp reminder of what had happened.
The cleanup will take ages. That monstrous hole in the highway was a huge open mouth hungry for fill. And feed it they did. While truckload after truckload of gravel filled up the washout, the highway north remain closed. We've had many highway closures, but never one this long, this time of year. I walked out to the road and was amazed. The silence was a calm contrast to the regular hum of traffic including the echoing buzz from vehicles as they cross the rumble strip on the Montreal River hill.
The lake, being quiet too, accentuated the silence. I wondered if the animals felt the same way. Did they wander to the side of the highway too? Or maybe the coyotes ventured to places where the steady stream of trucks sometimes discouraged access. Like our yard, where wild/tame bunnies live?
The quiet days were awesome. We took a drive up to Lake Superior Park and hiked a sand beach. The campground at Agawa was a hush. Summertime campers who sling derogatives at traffic noise would have been in heaven. The silence ended in a few days. The highway south of Wawa reopened and cold north winds charged due south. Then, on October 29, just before Halloween, devastation hit another shore.
Hurricane Sandy punched the east coast of the United States and knocked out one of my favourites – the Bounty! I became enthralled with the wonderful tall ship, built in wonderful Lunenburg, when it docked at the marina in Sault Ste Marie before heading up on a circumnavigation of Lake Superior. Just when the bizarre nature of the Wawa floods was beginning to subside, I heard that the well-loved ship, had sunk in the Atlantic Ocean.
The burnt bones of the original Bounty lie in the bottom of Bounty Bay in Pitcairn Island. Now the rebuilt Bounty lies on the bottom of the ocean some 90 miles south east of Cape Hatteras,
North Carolina. Fourteen of her crew are well and safe; Captain Robin Walbridge, who in an August interview laughed about chasing hurricanes, and another crew person, Claudene Christian,(some reports say she was a direct descendent of the original Bounty’s Fletcher Christian) perished in the storm. Sandy took them, as well as many, many others who lost lives and homes in the wind and waves. With so much devastation and hardship people are looking for solace and answers. This is when the human spirit surfaces.
The outpouring of help to everyone affected by the Wawa floods is proof of that. The folks at Michipicoten First Nation opened up their homes and their hearts to help Noella. So, just as trucks and workers and ingenuity must raise Jim and Debbie’s vehicles out of the waters of Michipicoten
Bay, maybe craftsmen can build another Bounty. There’s always hope to sail again another day.
much up is up
