A TOUCH OF DUTCH

 A TOUCH OF DUTCH NEXT DOOR

THERE is a quaint Dutch town only eight kilometres south of the British Columbia/Washington State border. It is called Lynden and it is now one of the largest Dutch American communities in the USA.

A small group of Dutchies settled there in the 1800s, followed by many others in that century, and the next, influencing the town’s history, culture and ambiance — much of which is still obvious today. It’s a community of about 12,000 and its economy depends on dairy, berry, grain, hops and vegetable farms, as well as tourism.

“Holland Days,” a Dutch Cultural festival, started in 1985. this two day Spring event, features costumed shopkeepers and Dutch Klompen (wooden shoes) dancers, and Dutch food. In the 1980s, Lynden remodeled part of Front Street in a Dutch theme, complete with a windmill. There is now also a Dutch bakery and restaurant in the town.

One of the showcase events of this part of Washington State is the annual tulip festival, an experience enjoyed by thousands of people who come from all over the region to witness the vibrant blooming of Spring.

Whether it’s festival time or just an ordinary day, Lynden is like a hidden jewel in the middle of nowhere, making itself somewhere worth seeing and experiencing!

Oliebollen — Dutch dumplings

 NEW YEAR’S EVE 2022

As my life as a single retiree unfolds, I have developed a love of establishing my very own traditions. One of those traditions has become a yearly trip to the lovely home of a Dutch family that lives only a community away — Pitt Meadows, British Columbia, Canada.

I met Klamer at the outdoor aquafit class many years ago and my ears were drawn towards his accent.  

“Oh my gawd, there is a dutchie in my midst.” I said to myself and immediately introduced myself. 

It is not often that I meet dutchies in my circles, and that point in my life cycle, was the most à propos time to get the opportunity to appreciate it. We engaged in lots of conversations, all linked to our homeland. We talked about how we ended up in Canada, how our family lives unfolded, what cultural traditions we kept, what Dutch things we still buy, make, eat and enjoy. 

As New Year’s Eve approached that year, he invited me over to his house to enjoy a Dutch tradition called Oliebollen, with his wife, adult daughter, and other relatives. It was a heartwarming experience that reminded me of the years I enjoyed those purely Dutch evenings with my family. 

We all watched Klamer who is a trained baker extraordinaire, prepare the batter, explain the process of making it right, demonstrate how to transfer the dough into the appropriately heated oil, wait for the balls to flip over on their own, and then transfer them to a stainless steel bowl, paired with a bowl of icing sugar, for presentation at the dining table. It felt so great to realise I was experiencing “Dutchness” outside of my family home for the first time in my life.

The occasion has continued every year since and this year was no exception. I arrived on time and there was Klamer outside on the back porch, standing in front of the small patio table upon which stood a new burner and a new pot of hot oil.  

He proudly and carefully dropped five ice cream scoops of batter into the hot oil, watched and waited for the balls to turn over on their own, to brown on the other side. He would then scoop them into the awaiting bowl, and go through the whole process again several times, producing probably fifty oliebollen for the guests to enjoy (and take home).

At this point the readers are asking “what are oliebollen?” Basically they are a special recipe of yeast, milk, flour, eggs and raisins (optional). They are Dutch pastries similar to doughnuts. Some modern variations are served plain or with berry filling, and they are a popular treat on New Year’s — and, especially delicious when served warm.

This yearly occasion definitely puts the ‘happy’ in my Happy New Year! What are the chances of actually meeting a dutchie; pretty slim. Probably even more rare is to actually meet a dutchie with lifelong experience as a culinary specialist, with a warm, loving, proud and welcoming family that invites me into their home to share in the glory of indulging in a delicious feast — all the while engaging in meaningful and interesting conversation around topics of mutual interest.

It’s a blessing for sure and it’s a tradition that helps me remember my roots, my culture and my mindset. Dutchies are steadfast and proud; our cuisine is simple and low cost; our bakeries are popular and very busy. Our candies are salty and sweet; black, white and colourful. Our hearts are spirited and we are determined in our resolve to not let go. 

Celebrating all of it at the end of the year, with the rising dough of oliebollen and the joy of like minded people in a beautiful home, truly makes for a wonderful celebration of one of our cultural traditions.

THORN IN MY SIDE

There is a thorn in my side and it just won’t go away!

A few years ago I was asked to take over the administration of an Aquafit FaceBook page.  At first I hesitated as I had no knowledge of what that actually meant and have never easily enjoyed learning new techno things. But, since nobody else volunteered, up went my hand.

At that point in time, our City communication strategy lacked public confidence because relevant information was rarely forthcoming and all too often last minute. Aquafitters would arrive at the pool  wondering things like why is the pool closed or why an anticipated instructor was someone else or why the location of the class had changed. Rumours would flap around by people who said they talked to a lifeguard and found out this or that, only to find out that the lifeguard spoke out of turn and was completely wrong. There was a whole bunch of he said, she said, they said — don’t you just love the line ‘they’ said …?  When you ask them who ‘they’ is, suddenly they don’t remember!  Certain people were striving to be seen as the person with the inside scoop — all the while they were most often misinformed, causing widespread confusion and frustration.

So then I came to the plate and immediately dug into the problem. I developed a close working relationship with the official management team and communication director.  I got head’s up on almost all alerts and longterm plans. I carefully presented them accurately and clearly so no rumours could form.  I built the membership of the group from 32 to 83 assuring everyone the only information I would post or allow others to post would be confirmed accurate and only things specific to aquafit. In other words, no lost pet notices, garage sales, craft events, funerals, marriages, holiday photos etc. 

Everything was marching along swimmingly, until a disgruntled person decided to adjust aspects of her Facebook settings and, as a result, lost the ability to view posts.  I worked tirelessly to find out what could have happened. I paid an IT person to help me understand and explain how to go back and reverse her actions. She had moved her ‘availability’ toggle from ‘available’ to ‘not available’ for postings.  As a result, she was not seeing posts.

I offered to assist her one to one if the recommendations were hard to follow and no matter what I did, she decided she had made no adjustments to anything and that her problem was all my doing. 

Occasionally she would go public and post an accusatory message implicating me. Each and every time I took the highroad and calmly explained the way to resolve her problem. I even suggested a specific learned person in the group could be immensely helpful to her in confidence.

It got to a point whereby other members of the group asked me to remove her because of her ad hominem attacks on my integrity. I dismissed the suggestion because she is clearly troubled, and needs an outlet.  Some would say it’s a form of grieving and others would say it is jealousy or envy driving that behaviour. I would say she needs a new mirror to figure it out herself.

Whatever the actual explanation might be, it’s now over the top with repetitive accusatory postings, or irrelevant postings, and I have suspended her from posting for 30 days. 

One good thing about all of this is that there is only one thorn in a beautiful appreciative collection of diverse flora, and my hope can be that one day that thorn will listen to the mirror, transform and fit right back in to live happily ever after with the rest of us.

RECONCILING DIFFERENCES

REFLECTING ON RECONCILIATION

From my very early days of being a child in the hamlet of North Bend, British Columbia, Canada — a small village of maybe 300 people in the 1960s, I have always felt different levels of being perplexed about the segregation of our Indigenous peoples from the rest of us, as well as being uninformed or misinformed about their traditions, customs and experiences upon the arrival of the new settlers.

It wasn’t until later in life that what I experienced and witnessed in our beloved North Bend, actually hit my conscience quite hard.  Even as a young lass I knew something wasn’t right about how we viewed, treated and talked about the indigenous people who lived on the other side of the tracks.

The mainstream attitudes carried well into my teen and young adult years when we moved to a metropolitan region of the province. Even the school textbooks accentuated the stereotype images that white man created and wanted the masses to believe. Despite it all, I still felt perplexed and felt a need within to never tow that line. 

Part of my drive to take this stand forward could have something to do with my own arrival to this country. My older brother and I came to Canada with our parents from our original homeland — The Netherlands, in the late 1950s. Almost as quickly as we got here, people who lived here counselled our parents to assimilate. This meant to leave our language, customs, and ways of life behind, and follow the way of established Canadians. Thankfully we did retain a few Dutch traditions while under our own roof. But, we just all played along publicly. It wasn’t until my late teens that I questioned that decision and set in motion a determination to correct that wrong, as have my brothers, sister and the other Dutch people we have met over the years.

In my working life on the political side of government, I experienced a wonderful awakening. I met and met with many Indigenous leaders and Indigenous people. I attended events, ate and made bannock, learned about smoking fish; but, more importantly, I learned about treaties and treatment, promises and broken promises. 

During those years I learned about genuine efforts to acknowledge wrongs, and witnessed the baby steps taken to show an effort to reverse or change discriminatory programs, policies and practices.  

As sincere as those efforts may have been, they could only be effective if they were supported with actions.  Sadly all too often, although the new path to moving us forward as educated, informed and responsible public servants in a democratic society should have worked, the original enthusiasm wavered and fell flat. I could go on and on as to why that happened, but I think that answer is obvious.  

So now, I am in my 60s and I continue to be on side with the ongoing reconciliation movement. I quietly put together a short story in which I present but one example of a co-produced project that demonstrates working together to inform, educate and appreciate the effectiveness of problem solving.  The story is called “Can You See Me Now?”  and it can be found on my blog.

I am also in the middle of reading Jody Wilson-Raybould’s newest book entitled True Reconciliation - how to be a force for change.” Her personal upbringing taught her to live in two worlds and to this day she strives to bring those two worlds together in order to effect change to the status quo. She has worked hard throughout her lifetime, has had some successes and some knocks, but despite the ongoing challenges, she stands tall and determined to keep trying. 

Her book is written in simple language and reads like a discussion; by the end, the reader can sit back and hopefully say something like “okay, this makes a lot of sense; how can I help?”  

True Reconciliation would be an excellent book for Book Club people and would bring out open and honest discussion at the very least. I also hope it will encourage more non-indigenous and Indigenous people to step harmoniously into the reconciliation journey. Leaving it in the hands of politicians hasn’t helped much; many of them mean well, but carrying good ideas forward needs more widespread support and efforts. 

As the author says: the three pillars to change are To Learn, To Understand and To Act —we all have a part to play and I feel confident that by following that sequence, we will get there in my lifetime!

[my blog is antoinettadewit.blogspot.com ] 

REMEMBERING WHEN

 REMEMBERING WHEN

Remember when our lives began?

After wars there came a Plan.

The Plan unfolded bit by bit

Few folks had much time to sit.

They rebuilt and built a fresh new start,

Creating a better way to live each day;

Days of peace and harmony

And better days for you and me

to remember, 

and to always remember when.

written November 2022

PICKLEBALL

 PICKLEBALL 

MY journey into the intriguing world of pickleball continues after four helpful and enjoyable lessons by Adèle, at the Pitt Meadows Recreation Centre.

Pickleball is a sampling of badminton, tennis and ping pong, and it is played either indoors or out. The paddle is an oversized ping pong racket and the ball is as big as a tennis ball, but hollow and full of evenly spaced holes.

The game can be played in doubles or singles. The serving is much like badminton — underhand and to the opponent at the diagonal position. There are some basic rules related to the lines on the court, where players stand, and how to score. The game ends at the score of 11.

So the other day was a new test day in the life of a newbie. I went to the outdoor courts in Pitt Meadows. It was a cool but sunny morning, but all the courts were full. I wandered around to watch people play and immediately noticed they clearly were experienced. They’d definitely had more than four lessons!

Since watching is a form of learning, I decided to find a bench and watch. I also decided that a few more lessons and a few more practices with players at my level, would be a good idea.  -- a very good idea!

MUSIC BINGO

 MUSIC BINGO

The other day I tried a new activity — Music Bingo, at the local Royal Canadian Legion in Maple Ridge, British Columbia. I had a bit of an idea of what I would be doing, but reality hit me in the head.

Arriving early was a good idea so that I could secure a good table for my friends who would be joining in. It also gave us a chance to chat and catch up, and order a dinner before game time. 

At some point someone brought up the question “how does music bingo go?”  We got various responses, some supposition responses, and all of them together made me realise a challenge was ahead. 

I got up from the table to visit with The Caller and to look at a typical music bingo card. He was happy to explain.

“This is a piece of cake!”, I said to him.

So the time comes for the first game. The caller announces additional ways to win prizes such as jumping up when we hear words like Love, Jump or Stumpheads.  

The first song started and I heard the word Love. I jumped up and collected an edible sweet treat, and felt excited.

“Bring it on!”

I check my card and realise that although I recognized the tune , I didn’t know the title. In music bingo, you definitely need to know titles. I hear people at the table whispering but I cannot hear them. As much as I abhor conversation during games like bingo, I had to heed to desperation. 

After the tenth call, and asking for help almost each time, I decided I was in over my head and maybe a slight bother to the keeners around me. The stress-pulse behind my temples on each side of my head started to thump. I looked over to the person beside me. She had an app on her smartphone that was able to detect song titles in an instant. My teacher hat said to me and only me; “ isn’t that a form of cheating? I’m almost 66 and this is what’s become of me!” I did look over at the smartphone most of the rest of the night.

In my younger days, I was an avid concert goer and I have always loved music; but, that night I realized that I had never connected a song title to an artist. Okay, maybe occasionally, but not frequently — especially not “one hit” wonders! 

I laughed at my stooping to such behaviour as I took another sip of Jackson Twiggs merlot. I reminded myself that I was a guest in a Legion and that the stress I was feeling was nothing compared to the stresses of our veterans!

At that point I heard the word “jump” … I jumped up to the caller to collect a prize — an other edible sweet.

My cards were filling in well but I never did get a bingo. I did however enjoy being in the company of so many others who were keenly into the challenge of naming that tune! It will never become my strength, but I will continue to enjoy singing the lyrics I do know, now and then, and make up lyrics that seem to fit the ionic pentameter rhythm of the song. I do love doing that!

So, although my brain felt very taxed, that Music Bingo night, I did enjoy the evening — the friendly company, the great Chef’s Salad, the wine, the sweets, and the atmosphere inside a special temple commemorating veterans, welcoming and serving veterans, with the help of all of us who honour and praise them in every way we can.

I will be back! 

THE SECRET DOOR

 THE SECRET DOOR

My intention today was to just jump on public transit to venture into downtown Vancouver for lunch with long time friend Michael. As usual, the adventure branched out beyond “just” and became so much more.

Upon arriving at Waterfront Station, I realized I was ninety minutes early so I decided to stroll over to one of my favourite textile stores at the edge of the seediest neighbourhood a few blocks away. It is called Dressew and it’s been at that location for more than 60 years. I have done this trip many times before, but this time it was like a scene out of a treasures of the world movie.

As I approached the block, I noticed a moving truck at the corner and three men pushing an antique display cabinet. Just prior to my destination, my eyes caught the window display in the store next door.  A businessman was exiting and acknowledged my efforts to read a notice on the window. It was yellowed but the words ‘Final Sale’ stood out.  

“Are you going out of business?”, I asked.

He looked at me stunned and said he has been out of business for the past twenty years.

“Oh! Twenty years! Aren’t all the things inside rather dusty?”

“The store has been shuttered but we kept the inside clean, selling things via Marketplace.”

“I love that beautiful table cloth in your display window? How much are you asking?”

‘All the tablecloths are in the center of the store. If you want to see them, walk in carefully and don’t allow anyone else in. You can have any one of those for $10.”

He left to deal with the moving van.

I jumped with joy and carefully walked through a small alcove and into the store. There were so many from which to choose and I was hurriedly thinking about my tables and the tables of everyone I know!

I settled on two. 100% cotton. One has a length of 90” and the other 120”. Each nicely embroidered. One had a regular price of $140 and the other $120.

As the man returned, I handed him a twenty and wished him well in his quest to sell everything.

So off I go to Dressew.  I know what I want and where to find them, and quickly finish the transaction.  I walk out of the store in the direction of the tablecloth store,  to take a photo. The once rolled up shutters had been closed.  I felt like nobody is going to believe me! It was like that unimaginable make one wish experience, and then POOF it’s gone! 

With an extra jump in my step, I went directly to the meeting place to enjoy lunch with Michael. I told him my tale and he was as excited about my buys as I was.  He suggested we should go back and take a photo of me in front of the shuttered door.

While we walked there, I kept hoping the owner had returned and reopened, but it was not to be.  Michael took the photo — me in front of shuttered doors, holding the tablecloths, smiling and feeling grateful for yet another fantastic day!

TULIP GOES PLATINUM

One of the first things Tulip does after cycling home from a Tuesday outdoor Aquafit class, is make a cuppa mocha. Today was different; very different. 

As she puts her purse down on the stairway while she locks up her bicycle, she hears a flurry of beep sounds from her phone connecting into the home WiFi. Her curiosity peaks to this unusual chorus.

“OMG!”, her inner self says.

“OMG!” , her outer self says, as she slowly sits down on the stairwell.

At first it looks like a message from the Queen — the actual Queen; our Queen; the Queen of Canada and every other British Commonwealth country! 

“Oh My God, nobody is going to believe this!”

Once the fog lifts from her sunglasses and she wipes her teary eyes with the sleeve of her tie dyed teeshirt, she manages to read the full message. 

“Congratulations Tulip, you have been nominated and accepted to receive a Queen Elizabeth II Platinum Jubilee award in recognition of your lifelong commitment to learning about and advocating for respect and understanding of indigenous history, culture and reconciliation initiatives.”

Tulip is astounded and shocked. She thinks back about her personal links to living in a small hamlet (North Bend) in the upper Fraser Canyon Region of British Columbia. It was a lovely place but something about it always stood out as odd. Although the small population was predominately ‘white’, there was also a group on the other side of the railway tracks with a lightly tanned skin. Few talked about ‘those people’ and although it was okay for them to come to the one and only elementary school, and attend the community square dances in the one and only town hall, it was standard to not talk to them or associate with them beyond those limits.  

Tulip did not like that, did not understand that and did not obey that expectation. In fact, her first amorous experience was with a delightful, fun, quiet, polite guy named Moses. He was from the other side of the tracks! They sat together at school, played marbles at recess and loved those dances. It all ended when her family moved to the big city.

Many years later, Tulip learned that Moses had died. It was not a natural death and a part of her stepped to the plate to not let his death and those of other indigenous people go unanswered. It was a quiet and lonely journey, often challenging, but she never wavered and to this day, she has not stopped.

An imaginary project entitled “Can You See Me Now” is a collaborative proposal involving the Kwantlen First Nation and the rest of society. Tulip combines her personal passion for cycling safely with her drive to inform and educate people about Kwantlen history and culture. An elevated cycling bridge is constructed over Kwantlen territory. At checkpoints along the route, there are story boards, videos or live entertainment reflecting the pride of the Kwantlen, providing all with an amazing insight, understanding and appreciation of things that help to open eyes, ears and hearts. 

When doing a bit of research about the Platinum Jubilee award — an Award to commemorate the Queen’s 70 years on the Throne, it shows the Queen asked for nominees in a few specific categories and “Indigenous” is listed. 

Tulip is not indigenous; but, the tribute in the “Royal” email is true. Her journey in support of Indigenous people and in bridging the socio-gap, started at a young age and it continues. 
The platinum award is huge, a true honour that will motivate her to carry on, to not stand back — because every step taken to fix a broken moral code, matters. Every ‘forward together' step matters, as it does in any meaningful relationship. 

Tulip looks forward to the success of the inaugural elevated cycling track, actual or metaphorical, with many more to come. Her personal motto remains “Stand above and make it happen!” — that would be a pretty platinum outcome.

She graciously responds to the email: “I humbly accept,” and sits quietly on her porch feeling Moses at her side.

Gold Nuggets Along the Gold Rush Trail

GOLD NUGGETS ALONG THE GOLD RUSH TRAIL

August 2022

It is a blazing hot August summer month on the west coast of Canada as I embark on my annual road trip to Cariboo country in the central part of the province of British Columbia.

The scenic journey is very familiar to me as I used to live in the Upper Fraser Canyon, in a hamlet called North Bend. It is a place filled with nostalgic memories that sit with me as though it was only yesterday that the moving van filled with most of my worldly childhood possessions, entered the one and only aerial ferry to cross the mighty Fraser River to start the journey along the Trans Canada Highway to the coast.

Whenever I am in that region, a wealth of flashbacks consume my thoughts — good ones and not so good, along with imaginary possibilities of resettling there as though nothing has changed. The truth is everything has changed and there is no going back, but the memories are like gold nuggets — they retain priority status in my personal archives. 

I drive deliberately slowly along the Gold Rush Trail section of the Trans Canada, as I continue to head north to my intended destination, Sulphurous Lake, deep in the heart of the Cariboo Chilcotin where a part of my family enjoys a golden nugget lakeside second home.

Being off the grid for three whole days might seem like a withdrawal experience, but the effort to adjust is no big deal. I arrive late in the afternoon and sit back with an ice cold cider in hand and a few salty potato chips, as the family gathers to catch up on the news. We all look forward to a roast beef dip dinner, supplemented with golden nugget cheese and onion buns or fresh hoagies from the one and only bakery and coffee shop located in the small town of Ashcroft. It has become my go-to place for a driving break, gas tank fill up, a delicious café mocha and fresh baking. 

To make that stop even more rich, I go to the local Fields Store — a store that used to be well known to all British Columbians in every region of the province until it became victim to big box commerce and a mother company no longer willing to give it much hope. It is a mini department store with clothing, bedding, gardening tools, kitchenware and some food items. The prices are reasonable and even more reasonable when on sale. I go in them with no particular need in mind, but almost always come out of them with incredible deals. This visit was no exception in Ashcroft, 100 Mile House and Hope. 

The weather at Sulphurous Lake was exceptional. Warm sunshine. No flies. No mosquitos. No wildlife. My sister and I went kayaking, the peddling type, at a good pace along the calm, quiet pristine waters for a fair distance for over an hour. It was effortless and relaxing, and especially cool to engage in short conversations with a couple of others out on the water at the same time. 

The next day we drove into town to gather provisions and for me to enjoy a specialty coffee at the Chartreuse Moose café and to explore the commerce, like I always do, trying very hard to support local merchants. It always amazes me that stores in smaller towns can survive as long as they do, but there must be something about that success that flies over my head because I really don’t understand it. It might be something like the success of the Gold Rush. Those people kept digging and digging, searching and searching with grit and determination telling themselves and future generations — when there is a will, there is a way; every nugget matters and every effort matters? Don’t give up.

By afternoon we are back at the Lake. The temperature is high and the lake awaits. The time is right for floating on fancy tube floats. I gather the essentials and place them on the dock. I stand and look at the float on the shoreline and decipher how exactly to get my body into it without falling into the water. It does take a few tries but I finally succeed, reach over to the dock for my water bottle, snack bag and suntan lotion.  I lotion up. Eat some almonds. Drink some water. Then I am ready to float away. Family members join in for a while and then I turn to realize they have had enough, and I am still relaxed and not ready to give up just yet.  The sun hadn’t finished rebronzing my previously tanned skin! 

Life in the Cariboo Chilcotin is not hustling; it is not bustling. There are things to do and you do them or you don’t do them. It is a different pace; a different lifestyle. Although it isn’t a lifestyle for me, I do enjoy it for short stints and always look forward to the next summer trip.

As I make my way back down the Gold Rush Trail, I again stop in Ashcroft for a stretch, gas and treat. I take a moment and stand on the main drag and imagine horses and buggies, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman and western movies. The difference is this street is not a movie set. This is how it is and it has been like this or something like this since the beginning of its creation. The gold rush revolution created this town and virtually every town on this trip. 

The gold rushers came and many left; those that stayed, built up the settlements, procreated and learned how to live happily ever after for themselves and for future generations. The pioneers set the groundwork. The history is amazing. The results are astounding, and whether I am standing on the main drag of Ashcroft, Cache Creek, Clinton, Lytton, Boston Bar, Yale or Hope — the gold nuggets are aplenty and their value need not be measured in dollars. Every one of those places is rich: rich in spirit, determination and pride.

As I leave the gold rush imprint, I head towards another regular diversion on this annual trip. I stop by the vacation home of the mother of a high school friend of mine. I make this arrangement before hand and always look forward to the visit with Karen, Mark and Mrs. Turner. They are so warm, welcoming and loving, and it is a great way to top up the journey.

The home is on a high ridge overlooking Cultus Lake. It is a popular recreational centre and can get very busy; but, the home is a good distance from the public beach, activities centre and campground. The view from the long deck is spectacular. The strong iced margaritas are definitely thirst quenching and although having two affected my balance a wee bit, I did not freak out. It would be okay because I would not be driving until the next morning.  We all enjoyed the afternoon, evening and following morning, and I am already looking forward to next year! 

Someone in a movie once said something like “life is like a box of chocolates” — I exercise creative licence by saying life is like a box full of gold nuggets. We just need to stand still once in a while and figure it out.

                                            

ENVIRONMENTAL PHENOMENON UNCOVERED

 ENVIRONMENTAL EPISODES ON A CYCLING DAY IN PITT MEADOWS

Today I embarked on a cycling challenge from the Watershed Watch Salmon Society; it is a Cycle The Dike in Pitt Meadows event to raise awareness about environmental stewardship.

As I cross over the Golden Ears Way overpass, I stop to take in the construction project that has been going on for a few years, challenged by supporters and controversy, but finally moving closer to a completion date. It is the first ever Maple Ridge/Pitt Meadows sewerage pumping facility sending waste across the Fraser River to a treatment plant in Langley — our local environmental marvel that may well become the example for other communities to follow. 

I would not refer to it as a tourist attraction but I also admit that I have been at that spot hundreds of times and never once stopped to have a closer look until today. It is massive and covers a lot of landmass on both sides of the overpass and then some. It is definitely a statement on environmental stewardship — at least that’s what the people hope.

I continue my journey westward and approach a fourth round-about at the entrance to Osprey Village near the shores of the Fraser River in Pitt Meadows. I am sure I have been here hundreds of times over the years, but only as a passage way to the quaint village itself. This time I stop before entering the circle, wave for the traffic to continue, as I dismount my bicycle, park it on the dead-end sidewalk, and stand there in awe. 

I take out my camera for a panorama shot of what is within the circle and then carefully cross over to stand there within — I see a myriad (abundance of) flora of all shapes and sizes; I also see a plethora of colours and smell fresh scents; benches and walkways are aplenty. 

The City gardener, overseeing the garden while I was there, tells me that roundabouts are considered to be an environmentally friendly way of dealing with traffic and some are now designed to collect rainwater runoff to water the decorative flora. This place is a true horticultural masterpiece; a success story worthy of a high level environmental or community award.  

I continue on my journey to find other never before acknowledged environmentally significant spots. 

As I cycle through a long row of trees in a forested area along side the Fraser River, heading west and away from Osprey Village, I spot what I call old growth trees … lots of old growth trees, nicely hidden from traffic and protected from logging licensees. 

The pathways are wide, giving enough space for people, pets and bicycles. Broken tree branches and dead trees have settled as they prepare to breakdown to add richness to the earth beneath them. Some parts of the broken trees have been turned into seats or benches; some pieces are big enough to display dedications or carvings by local artists.

Once outside of the shaded pathway, between the Fraser River and a dyke, I see a basic cement structure on both sides of the dyke way —  I have seen it many times, as it is impossible to miss; but, I have never given it any thought. I stop a passerby and ask her what this structure is exactly. She looks at me and says: “I really don’t know. I think it has something to do with flood control.”

I think about her answer and realize it could be true. All around the Pitt Meadows community there are ditches, big ditches. I have seen them almost dry and almost too full for comfort. I always thought they were meant to provide irrigation. It turns out they are, but they are also meant to ease pressure on the river during high flood periods. 

The cement blob I am standing in front of at this moment in time is located at what becomes a Slew or Slough (photos below) — a grimy swampy area between the river and the ditch way that eventually branches out to serve the many irrigational needs throughout the community. This manmade and man-controlled cement structure diverts water from one source, controlled by floodgates, to respond to a need elsewhere.

My enlightening cycling adventure, filled with often ignored phenomenon, helps me understand why the Watershed Watch Salmon Society paired with my cycling club to encourage cycling along this eco-sensitive route. Its goals are to raise awareness of our local important and significant waterways, and to defend and restore our wild salmon stocks and their habitats. That success depends on the human race. We all have a part to play.

So, what did I learn today? Our being astute and aware about the importance of our waterways, how we treat them and manage them, is key to the success of organizations like the Watershed Watch Salmon Society and others who share in those noble environmental goals and objectives.

This is definitely a day to remember. 

Babble On

 Babble On

Hyacinth, Myrtle and Muffin, a trio of babbling babes in the local QiYoga club, continue to raise the ire and eyebrows of everyone in the class. They are three widowed, midget mammals with sad, lonely lives, isolated and alone, oblivious to the negativity spewing their way from genuine class participants.

As the others feel the power of the connection between the heart, mind, soul and earth, and successfully release the tension and stress of their everyday lives, Hyacinth, Myrtle and Muffin remain completely disconnected from the goals and objectives of QiYoga, completely disconnected from the camaraderie around them, and completely disconnected from who they really are.

Yet, the rest of the class soldiers on and ponders over the trio’s constant need to present an air of arrogance and imagined superiority, all the while being ostracized and dismissed as sad, lonely women yearning for attention, any attention, to fill their innate lonely lives. 

Sadness dominates the room as the three chit chat and whisper, joke and laugh, make funny faces and occasionally caress each other’s arms as though accidental during the arm stretching exercises of the moment. Once an accident, okay; twice or more, not so much!

Occasionally one or more of them look around and catch the eyes of onlookers, attempt to draw them in, only to be asked to turn around and pay attention to the instructor. Such encounters create a quick angry exchange, followed by another babble session between the three of them that goes on ad nauseam, creating more ire and spews more negativity in their direction. Yet it is their very presence that enhances the goals of QiYoga, leading participants to feel and acknowledge the bad around them, to take it in, but to breathe it out and away from the body, heart, mind and soul. That transformation strengthens their mental health, personal vitality and inner wisdom.

Through the power of QiYoga, genuine participants smile at each other after class and go home feeling relaxed and calm, happy to be alive and living with an inner peace that they feel and embrace with pride and confidence.

Meanwhile, Hyacinth, Myrtle and Muffin continue to babble on with each other up to the moment they leave the complex, and to themselves as they drive the lonely ride home — their place of emptiness and isolation, until the next class. They’ve missed the QiYoga boat …it continues to sail on without them, but there is always hope for them to steer the rudder into the right direction.

Right now, however, it is indeed a sad, dark portrait, one that Spanish Impressionist El Greco would have easily painted, and which would also easily be the subject of many “Why so art thou?”, dissertations for PhD psychology candidates.

Meanwhile, the rest of the participants have their hearts centered, breathing in to high mountain pose, breathing out to the ultimate feeling of relaxation, grateful for the power of Qi, leaving them in a zen zone that celebrates, embraces, values and prefers the medicinal impact of breathing and stretching, over the flapping of the tongue!