Sometimes I get frustrated with how little I managed to accomplish of the huge ideas and all that I planned to get done this year.
A story:
A few years back while I was sailing down the Pacific coast of Central America, I met a beautiful old man, a sailor and navigator, the type who really represented what those two titles used to mean. He was in his early 80s during the time I knew him. He lived aboard his wood sailboat, a Spray copy that he and his brother had built with hand tools and a team of horses near Lake Champlain about 50 years earlier. He had no engine or anything electric onboard. Candles and lanterns for light. A five-gallon bucket to bail out the water that leaked in through the rotting planks.
By the time I met Bob Carr, he was having a hard time to keep his boat Sirius maintained. A few years earlier, they had been hit by a French freighter about 10 miles off shore, and the boat had been damaged and its masts and spars destroyed. As well, Bob was having a few health problems, mostly tropical skin conditions that had festered too long and had become weeping ulcers on his legs. Still, he refused most favours, or help of any kind. He didn’t want to be “beholden” to anyone for anything.
At one point during that time, I had flown back to Canada for a number of months and I worried about Bob. Could he keep his boat afloat? Would his crooked shoulders and arthritic hands be able to keep rowing against the tidal currents when he decided he wanted to go ashore? (I would always wait for slack tide, but Bob wasn’t intimidated by the tidal race.)
When I finally reached the rough little town of Puntarenas where we had our boats, I rowed over to Sirius, wondering if Bob was alive or destitute or thriving. I rapped on the side of his hull and called for permission to come aboard, and Bob came out of his cabin. He was squinting at the tropic sun in the afternoon, his eyes watering, and cataracts prominent. He stood on the deck as solid and twisted and strong as I remembered him. His leg sores were still red and draining, but he said he was fine. He said that there had been a few hard times saving his boat during the past couple months, but most of that was in the past now.
What I remember most was when he said that sometimes things felt like everything was going wrong, and nothing was happening the way he wanted it to go. He talked with that quiet but solid voice. The kind you know you should listen to. Not preaching, but wisdom leaking out without effort. His hands looked like they could still crush walnuts. Big hands, the kind you needed to work the coal-fired forge he kept in his cargo hold.
He said that at those times when everything seemed to be falling short and nothing was going the way he wanted it to go… he said that he realized that maybe sometimes we’re just asking for too much.
I could write a long list of what didn’t work out this year – and why it wasn’t fair, or that it was fate, or bad luck, or my black karma, or lack of focused desire to manifest, or whatever catch-phrase or mantra we like to go on about. But I think that I’ll just stick with Bob Carr and his wisdom. Everything and everyone are exactly where they (we) are supposed to be.
The good things that have come this year include:
- the good energy and motivation from Kymo – a long-time friend, a food forester, and great spirit to have as a neighbour.
- an expanded garden that produced well, even after a wet cool early summer. About 60 tomato plants of 20 different heritage and open-pollinated varieties. Lots of greens, potatoes, carrots and new additions like tomatillos and a couple varieties of squash.
- finally receiving the water licence and permissions from the government and First Nations to proceed with our planned micro hydro project – and plans this winter to begin clearing and slashing work along the path where we will run the twin 2” pipes.
- Moving the access driveway to the back of the property so that the waterfront area can now be used for more gardens, orchards, and building sites. This was done well and affordably thanks largely to our friend and distant neighbour Rod, along with his excavator and gravel truck – all fuelled with the requisite cold cans of Coors Lite (no class) Thank you Rod.
- Rod also did me the favour of giving me 20 minutes of instruction on running the excavator, and then generously told me to “play around with it.” Likely he wasn’t expecting to be gone for two or three weeks when he made the offer. By the time he returned, the hillside behind my house was cleared and terraced, and I’d planted 16 new fruit trees, a row of blueberries, and seeded it with Rye, clover and oats. Thanks again Rod.
-Along with the main hillside terrace orchard, I terraced a number of smaller areas, planting fig and walnut trees, as well as using some of them as the new winter garlic garden (approx 300 garlic planted)
- I killed my first deer this year. Once again, any success in this last year has been due largely to the help and guidance of others with more experience than I have. My friend David (a.k.a “Cowpoke”) took me to T. Island last winter at the end of the hunting season, but by the time we were there it was January, with storms blowing and tearing at our tent camp. But I think that I came back empty handed deer mostly because I wasn’t yet ready to kill a deer - to take full responsibility for the act and everything that necessarily follows to complete the obligations one has to the animal.
This year, in the first week of the hunting season in September, I killed a 3 point Black-tail deer on T. Island. Once again, Cowpoke was camping with me, and so the field dressing and handling of the hide went as smoothly and respectfully as I could ever have hoped it would. Since then I have been able to enjoy and to share venison meals with other friends and also with my parents when they visited last month. Thank you Cowpoke.
- David Parkinson and the Food Security Project he works with have organized and initiated the Skookum Food Provisioners’ Co-op. Although I haven’t been able to participate as much as I want to so far, it is another solid step in the community towards finding ways that people can access, produce, process, store and share good, healthy and affordable food. Thanks you David Parkinson.
- Good friends Jonathon and Jenna often have to field my gardening questions. This year they also gave me some guidance as I began my first efforts to can tomatoes and peppers and herbs into salsas and sauces for the winter. Fantastic. They also sent me home with a large pressure canner that I hope to use after the next hunting trip.
- Completely unexpected – we had a great one-day workshop where Brig (student and long-time friend of Mushroom guru David Aurora) came to our community from a neighbouring island to help us gather, identify, understand and prepare mushrooms of all types. A local winemaker provided wines, and I brought along one of my raspberry homebrews. No one went home unsatisfied.
On the following morning, Paul (a friend, neighbour, and definitely a solid source of gardening experience and knowledge and inspiration) generously took me along for two hours of very successful Pine mushroom picking. It is very rare for anyone to share their local mushroom knowledge. This was a first for me, and Paul was a great guide, silent and patient. It opened my eyes and mind to another luxurious food source that the forest provides.
- I had a chance to talk with local First Nations people about salmon harvesting and smoking techniques. While it is likely too late to take part this year, I now realize the amazing food opportunity that exists very close to my front door. Thank you to Vince, Melvin and Frank.
I could go on further, mostly telling of other favours and words of wisdom I’ve received, but it comes to me most clearly when I sit down with a group of friends and neighbors and we share such wonderful food that we have grown, collected, hunted and prepared ourselves – venison, salmon, chanterelle and pine mushrooms, squash, salads, and even the wines and ciders made from the apples, blackberries, plums and other fruits we have picked.
While I’m aware of how little I still know, and how clumsy are my first small steps in the garden and forest, it feels like I’m walking along a good path, with a few good neighbors, guides, and friends.
A story:
A few years back while I was sailing down the Pacific coast of Central America, I met a beautiful old man, a sailor and navigator, the type who really represented what those two titles used to mean. He was in his early 80s during the time I knew him. He lived aboard his wood sailboat, a Spray copy that he and his brother had built with hand tools and a team of horses near Lake Champlain about 50 years earlier. He had no engine or anything electric onboard. Candles and lanterns for light. A five-gallon bucket to bail out the water that leaked in through the rotting planks.
By the time I met Bob Carr, he was having a hard time to keep his boat Sirius maintained. A few years earlier, they had been hit by a French freighter about 10 miles off shore, and the boat had been damaged and its masts and spars destroyed. As well, Bob was having a few health problems, mostly tropical skin conditions that had festered too long and had become weeping ulcers on his legs. Still, he refused most favours, or help of any kind. He didn’t want to be “beholden” to anyone for anything.
At one point during that time, I had flown back to Canada for a number of months and I worried about Bob. Could he keep his boat afloat? Would his crooked shoulders and arthritic hands be able to keep rowing against the tidal currents when he decided he wanted to go ashore? (I would always wait for slack tide, but Bob wasn’t intimidated by the tidal race.)
When I finally reached the rough little town of Puntarenas where we had our boats, I rowed over to Sirius, wondering if Bob was alive or destitute or thriving. I rapped on the side of his hull and called for permission to come aboard, and Bob came out of his cabin. He was squinting at the tropic sun in the afternoon, his eyes watering, and cataracts prominent. He stood on the deck as solid and twisted and strong as I remembered him. His leg sores were still red and draining, but he said he was fine. He said that there had been a few hard times saving his boat during the past couple months, but most of that was in the past now.
What I remember most was when he said that sometimes things felt like everything was going wrong, and nothing was happening the way he wanted it to go. He talked with that quiet but solid voice. The kind you know you should listen to. Not preaching, but wisdom leaking out without effort. His hands looked like they could still crush walnuts. Big hands, the kind you needed to work the coal-fired forge he kept in his cargo hold.
He said that at those times when everything seemed to be falling short and nothing was going the way he wanted it to go… he said that he realized that maybe sometimes we’re just asking for too much.
I could write a long list of what didn’t work out this year – and why it wasn’t fair, or that it was fate, or bad luck, or my black karma, or lack of focused desire to manifest, or whatever catch-phrase or mantra we like to go on about. But I think that I’ll just stick with Bob Carr and his wisdom. Everything and everyone are exactly where they (we) are supposed to be.
The good things that have come this year include:
- the good energy and motivation from Kymo – a long-time friend, a food forester, and great spirit to have as a neighbour.
- an expanded garden that produced well, even after a wet cool early summer. About 60 tomato plants of 20 different heritage and open-pollinated varieties. Lots of greens, potatoes, carrots and new additions like tomatillos and a couple varieties of squash.
- finally receiving the water licence and permissions from the government and First Nations to proceed with our planned micro hydro project – and plans this winter to begin clearing and slashing work along the path where we will run the twin 2” pipes.
- Moving the access driveway to the back of the property so that the waterfront area can now be used for more gardens, orchards, and building sites. This was done well and affordably thanks largely to our friend and distant neighbour Rod, along with his excavator and gravel truck – all fuelled with the requisite cold cans of Coors Lite (no class) Thank you Rod.
- Rod also did me the favour of giving me 20 minutes of instruction on running the excavator, and then generously told me to “play around with it.” Likely he wasn’t expecting to be gone for two or three weeks when he made the offer. By the time he returned, the hillside behind my house was cleared and terraced, and I’d planted 16 new fruit trees, a row of blueberries, and seeded it with Rye, clover and oats. Thanks again Rod.
-Along with the main hillside terrace orchard, I terraced a number of smaller areas, planting fig and walnut trees, as well as using some of them as the new winter garlic garden (approx 300 garlic planted)
- I killed my first deer this year. Once again, any success in this last year has been due largely to the help and guidance of others with more experience than I have. My friend David (a.k.a “Cowpoke”) took me to T. Island last winter at the end of the hunting season, but by the time we were there it was January, with storms blowing and tearing at our tent camp. But I think that I came back empty handed deer mostly because I wasn’t yet ready to kill a deer - to take full responsibility for the act and everything that necessarily follows to complete the obligations one has to the animal.
This year, in the first week of the hunting season in September, I killed a 3 point Black-tail deer on T. Island. Once again, Cowpoke was camping with me, and so the field dressing and handling of the hide went as smoothly and respectfully as I could ever have hoped it would. Since then I have been able to enjoy and to share venison meals with other friends and also with my parents when they visited last month. Thank you Cowpoke.
- David Parkinson and the Food Security Project he works with have organized and initiated the Skookum Food Provisioners’ Co-op. Although I haven’t been able to participate as much as I want to so far, it is another solid step in the community towards finding ways that people can access, produce, process, store and share good, healthy and affordable food. Thanks you David Parkinson.
- Good friends Jonathon and Jenna often have to field my gardening questions. This year they also gave me some guidance as I began my first efforts to can tomatoes and peppers and herbs into salsas and sauces for the winter. Fantastic. They also sent me home with a large pressure canner that I hope to use after the next hunting trip.
- Completely unexpected – we had a great one-day workshop where Brig (student and long-time friend of Mushroom guru David Aurora) came to our community from a neighbouring island to help us gather, identify, understand and prepare mushrooms of all types. A local winemaker provided wines, and I brought along one of my raspberry homebrews. No one went home unsatisfied.
On the following morning, Paul (a friend, neighbour, and definitely a solid source of gardening experience and knowledge and inspiration) generously took me along for two hours of very successful Pine mushroom picking. It is very rare for anyone to share their local mushroom knowledge. This was a first for me, and Paul was a great guide, silent and patient. It opened my eyes and mind to another luxurious food source that the forest provides.
- I had a chance to talk with local First Nations people about salmon harvesting and smoking techniques. While it is likely too late to take part this year, I now realize the amazing food opportunity that exists very close to my front door. Thank you to Vince, Melvin and Frank.
I could go on further, mostly telling of other favours and words of wisdom I’ve received, but it comes to me most clearly when I sit down with a group of friends and neighbors and we share such wonderful food that we have grown, collected, hunted and prepared ourselves – venison, salmon, chanterelle and pine mushrooms, squash, salads, and even the wines and ciders made from the apples, blackberries, plums and other fruits we have picked.
While I’m aware of how little I still know, and how clumsy are my first small steps in the garden and forest, it feels like I’m walking along a good path, with a few good neighbors, guides, and friends.
Hello Martin! A friend of mine, Mary, knew you when you lived in northern Alberta, and suggested I contact you about an expedition I am planning! It is a 33-foot York boat, and we are going to row/sail on the Peace River from Dunvegan to Fort Vermilion. Interested in coming aboard as a crew member? Mary thought of you and all your sailing experience.
ReplyDeleteI know this is really out of the blue, but I hope you'll consider coming along! To learn more about the expedition, please go to
http://www.geotourismcanada.com/yorkboat2011/
or my website: http://flownorth.ca/yorkboat/
The crew are all volunteers, and are shaping up to be a great group of people! :)
By the way, I'm enjoying your blog! My blog, if you'd like to check it out: http://hovergirl.wordpress.com/
Take care,
Teresa