Other Perspective

  Sometimes hearing other people’s words opens other perspectives. A word or two uttered in a conversation can lead to a lifetime of discussion. Listening to each other is becoming more important than ever. I heard a new expression last week. We were in Sault Ste. Marie and had taken a lunch break from the running around chaos. While I enjoyed a toasted western at a Queen Street eatery, I overheard the strange words “chaotic good” from a couple of young diners. But the TV, with an interview with Chris Hadfield at the space station, distracted me from the rest of the young philosophers’ conversation. However, the odd terminology stuck with me. So once at home I turned to the Google world, which told me that chaotic good refers to the combination of a good heart with a free spirit. That was easy enough.
 And that trip to the Sault had been an easy one. The highways were clear and the snowstorm factor was nonexistent. In fact, most of the snow has disappeared from this part of the world. Last week we were able to snowshoe through at least 10 inches of beautiful soft powder that had arrived in late December. But then January thawed into April. A wild wind arrived with the mild temperatures. Lake Superior churned and roiled. Ten-foot waves crashed the shore, tore to the back of the beaches and released thundering echoes into the air.
 On the second morning of the storm, as the lake was trying to calm down, we noticed a large bird, a partridge, fly into the birch tree outside our front window. The ruffed grouse was exquisite. It tiptoed along the slender branches, stretching its neck to reach and grab the tender fat fingers of “fruit” at the end of each birch twig. We marvelled at the bird’s dexterity and balance as it walked on the multitude of tree tightropes. It was so amazing to watch that Ward grabbed his camera and filmed a minute of the acrobatics. You can watch the bird on YouTube under the title, “Lake Superior ruffed grouse in birch tree.”
 The bird’s tiptoeing was an effortless exercise in time and space compared to some of the recent antics that humans have undergone up in the sky. Not only has Hadfield been sharing his insight, but NASA’s Kepler mission also has been relaying some mighty sublime stuff. The advanced scientific project has revealed the possibility of some 2,400 candidate planets a few light years away and even suggests that there is a planet that is composed of diamond. The study, launched in 2009 to search for other earth-like planets, now suggests there are even more possible habitable planets up there. Some of the data from Kepler suggests that we could have 17 billion further sisters and brothers. Such planets exist in what researchers call the “goldilocks zone” — not too hot, not too cold, just right.
 Chris Hadfield, Canada’s philosopher astronaut, is living on the edge of the goldilocks zone right now. And we were lucky to be among the millions who could appreciate his 20-minute live interview last Thursday from the Interntional Space Station. Hadfield is an incredible ambassador for Canada and our world. From his module he can watch his own nature channel and observe the earth roll around space, showing its different faces at each turn. Hadfield shares his view with more than 165,000 followers on Twitter. His crystal-clear images of familiar places emphasize the beauty and vulnerability of our world. And he adds his own introspection: “Yes, there are important territorial issues; there are important personal issues. But at the same time, with increased communication, with increased understanding, comes a more global perspective.”
 Chris Hadfield, I think we need your insight right now. From your perch in the sky give us guidance. Canada could be in trouble. We are dealing with a multitude of conflicting ideas. An ever growing chorus of voices and opinions fills the media and the streets. The chaotic good is walking a risky tightrope. And it’s not easy for people like it is for the grouse. This tough balancing act teeters between wanting to do good and not wanting to impose force to do that good.
 We must be careful with what we say and how we treat each other. Unkind words, heavy blame or rash actions could tip the scales. Judgemental biased opinions could condemn any combined successful future.
 Columnist Brian MacLeod put it well when he said that we need an omniscient observer. Maybe Hadfield could be one. Maybe his Twitterverse can give our country the balance it needs. And then we could adopt Hadfield’s simple, yet complex, perspective. “We’re all in this together.” Those are words that could unlock any door.

January 2013 Pictures

Flip Through 2012

 
Meditating on the past is a natural consequence after Christmas. This is such a reminiscent time of year. Some might even say that a flip through 2012 is inevitable.
     Although, the present moment can be quite fine also. I stole one the other morning. The light from a full moon danced across the lake, leaving a light trail before sinking into a bed of sea smoke. As the moon slid away, sunrise pink blushed the early morning blue. Such a marvellous sight from such a non-technological source. No YouTube here.

          But, technology drives our world and as we speed into the next year, electronics makes it even easier to check out what was. I’ll share a couple of my own personal highlights. This week I am enjoying Adele’s CD 21. Her Rolling in the Deep sends shivers down my musical spine. What a powerful voice she has. And as for the books I read in 2012, I started the year off with Margaret MacMillan‘s Paris 1919 and am ending it with Tolstoy’s War and Peace. All that War of 1812 stuff got me into the heavy tome, although I suspect it will take me about another 200 years to finish it.

     Regarding my 2012 columns, I want to thank all of you for reading my missives. Your enthusiasm is most appreciated. As I perused my 2012 stack of writings, some memories jumped out at me. 

     On Jan 24th I wrote about the abandoned Eastman house beside Highway 17, right across from the Mississauga River. There is something so enticing about that empty old place.  It must house hundreds and hundreds of stories.

     On April 2nd it was fun telling about the digital camera we found at the mouth of the Agawa River. The trusty little unit had spent the winter by theshore until spring break up released it into, and back out of, thelake. The wonder of Facebook made it possible for us to find the owner, Scott Matthews. We returned the camera intact. 

     On May 30th I enjoyed sharing the recipe for lamprey pie. (Yoikes) And then on July 23, 2012 there was the coincidental July 22, 2004 entry from a notebook in the light keeper’s house on Otter Island. That grand old lighthouse is one of my favourite haunts on Lake Superior.

     For Aug. 9th, the connections between the wonderful Olympic opening ceremonies, Shakespeare and Lake Superior wove together. 

     The Aug 20th paddle on the little lake with all the little frogs is my great memory for stormy winter days.

     On Sept 24th honouring Glenn Gould was an honour, as was writing the Oct 22nd story of Baumgartner jumping into space and landing in the New Mexico desert.

     Nov 19th gave me the chance to describe the incredible light filled Dieppe memorial on the Windsor waterfront. And Dec 4th was for imagining Mark Carney as he played hockey on an outdoor rink.

          I’ll end the year with just one more story. Last week, scientists called off their search for microbial life in the water of an Antarctic subglacial lake. The 100,000 year old lake, lying beneath 3 km of ice, remains inaccessible for now. The scientists couldn’t reach the hot water cavity they had created to supply the water needed for the drill. However, the researchers will return to the Antarctic in four or five years to try again. Science! You gotta love it.

     I like this story because I like ice. It is such a winter treat. Last year there wasn’t ANY ice on our stretch of Lake Superior. I missed watching it form, missed that glimpse into an artist’s heart. The creations are magical. High crystal cliffs, singing ice sheets and shining reflections always refresh the spirit.

     And that transformation from liquid to solid is a natural miracle everywhere. The little frogs in the little lake sleep within an icy grasp. The pages of the Otter Island notebook curl up with frost flowers. And skating on an outdoor rink can open the soul. However, even if the ice man does not cometh, I shall embrace whatever the winter of 2013 gives.

     So Happy New Year everyone and may your 2013 be full of fine, fond memories for the years to come.

Santa Takes a Break

     This is such a thick, rich time of year. Everything is enhanced.   Christmas brings out the artist in almost everyone.
We decorate everything from doors  We decorate everything from doors to stairwells to table tops. Shiny things drape the dull. Lights transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. And all endeavours bring a smile to someone.   The scene also is overflowing with animated music and song. The Nutcracker with dancing sugar plums or a snowman frolicking on a street corner is all believable. Music makes the season. As I write this, I am listening to Sarah Brightman sing “They said there’d be snow this Christmas, They said there’d be peace on earth” from Emerson, Lake and Palmer’s famous seasonal tune. On each December day, all kinds of musical gems play in the memory or on a disc.

And then there’s the multitude of holiday entertainments and videos. One of my favourite shows of the season is the Polar Express. For years I have enjoyed this Christmas vid. The singing porters who bring in mugs and mugs of cocoa for the pajama clad children on the mythical train always make me reach for my own hot, hot, hot cup a choc. And the scene of wolves running alongside the train as it flies through the wintry night is a marvellous bit of artistry that imitates real life. For at least once during Christmas, moonlight silhouettes trees against a forested background.     That’s when lunar brightness calls a person out into the silent night.     

The other day I walked a trail that follows the shore of Lake Superior. On my right was a rather calm lake. Small greenish waves curled onto the cobbles, causing the rattling sound of their clunks to echo off each other. On my left were rows and rows of skinny balsams, fatter spruces and towering pines. The steps I trod followed snow dints from four leggeds. As I hiked, I checked out the well defined prints - the sharp two clawed from a small coyote, the many toed bunch of four from a leaping squirrel and the scattering of big ovals from the hares. Even though it is easy to see amongst the trees this time of year I couldn’t spot any of the animals, but, like the wolves in the train scene, they might have been watching me.     

Besides animal magic, the Polar Express also evokes the romance of train travel. At one time, northern Ontario was linked by steamy engines with a long entourage of passenger cars. One 30-year-old map of Northern Ontario showed a line of railway stops with marvellous names. Ghost River, Minataree and Lynx are just three of the many from an era when trains provided a way out of or into the isolation of small communities. Building the rail beds must have been quite the trek over field and mountain as workers hammered away until a yonder star let them call it quits. But all that work was most appreciated. Not that many years ago there was a rail link from the Sault to Toronto, and all stops between. Coming home for the holidays meant packing sandwiches, cheese, cookies, apples and a thermos of hot tea into a cardboard box, boarding a chugging train and finding a seat next to a window, if you could. The world whirled by as you dreamt of that snowy white Christmas in your home town.     

The romance in Christmas is so important. It comes at a time when people often need their moods lifted. Darkness can breed loneliness. Nostalgia can become ponderous. Being the inventive species that we are, we then create. Art, with the resulting urges to dance, paint or sing, is a natural response. Our creations give us light; offer another perspective. The movement forward is a momentum that keeps one going, even if we are sometimes asking, “What child did this?”. This interactivity with art is a mystery. Look at what Dickens has done to Christmas. His word art has created a culture of honouring the ghosts of the future. That’s such an interesting concept. An entity that hasn’t yet existed forces a character to redefine his life. And then there are the countless versions of the red suited wonder that lands on rooftops and flies with Rudolph, a red nosed reindeer. But that’s ok. Like tracks in the snow, everyone has their own identity, their own version of Christmas delight. Some might even watch Polar Express and add a little extra whipped cream to their hot chocolate. Such an easy comfort and joy. Happy Christmas everyone and to all a good night.

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.