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
MY journey into the intriguing world of pickleball continues after four helpful and enjoyable lessons by Adรจle, 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
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
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!
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 cafรฉ 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 cafรฉ 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 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
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!
๐ ๐
Widowed Mammals in Aquaville
A Fairy Tale written by
Antoinetta DeWit
๐ ๐
ONCE upon a time in the hamlet of Aquaville, along the calm, clear, crystalline waters nearby, there were two widowed mammals in a pod of about twenty multigenerational family members.
Suddenly Muffin and Puffin jumped up together and descended with one huge splash, as Tulip, a bystander, stood at a distance and watched. She had often heard a lot of gargling and goo-gooing sounds coming from these two anomalies in the past, but this coming out behaviour along with the recently witnessed stroking and nudging, and smacking of fins on the glassy surface, was particularly novel and intriguing.
All of the other land based and aqua-mammals gathered together to watch a blooming, late in life, relationship develop right in front of them: touching, stroking, feeling, embracing, whispering, rolling round and round and, even motions that made the two seem like one.
Tulip, an autistic human mammal, has known Muffin and Puffin for quite some time, and has watched them grow from mothers to grandmothers and from caretakers to letting go of spouses and siblings. They have lived much happiness and endured much sadness. They have evolved through monogamy and polygamy, childbirth, still births and miscarriages. They have struggled most of their required lives doing what is expected of them, and have now finally broken free in favour of self reliance, self comfort and taking advantage of this opportunity to make their statement.
Watching them in a distance from their regular pod, in the sometimes unforgiving waters, their behaviour speaks to the power of will, optimism, pride and determination. They swim away a short distance from the mainstream pod to almost completely break free, but not completely breaking ties.
Muffin and Puffin’s lives have evolved significantly over time and they are now constant companions who guard each other, protect each other and speak for each other, hoping the others will notice, listen in and celebrate their new found happiness.
“Why don’t they just completely leave and live their shared dream of being together happily ever after privately without an audience?”, Tulip wonders.
At first the witnessed behaviour is novel and intriguing, but over time it becomes annoying and even obnoxious, creating judgements that nobody would like to hear. Tulip’s autistic mind brings her back to Darwin’s theory and some of Doctor David Suzuki documentaries about mammals. They are profoundly groupies; they rely on each other; guide each other; help each other and protect each other. They thrive on attention and depend on togetherness through easy times and tough ones. Two stunning revelations are that they love an audience and they do, as humans know, sometimes need distance to bring a point across.
Tulip looks around and takes a step back. She sees some of the other mammals on the land and in the water, huddle together as observers. Others are a bit closer to the scene in front of them, some whispering, some giggling. A few are blind or deaf or indifferent.
All of the easily witnessed behaviours between the widowed mammals are commonplace in both genres of mammal worlds: demonstrative aerobatic affection, frequent body rubs, pecks and gentle touches, squeaks, squeals and lots of happy bubbles … lots and lots of happy bubbles. The correlation is stunning.
Human mammals would simply ask: Take it to another cove!
Tulip turns her body and walks to an other vantage point, for a different perspective. Some of the people around her join up and even small groups of aqua mammals do the same.
Muffin and Puffin suddenly stop co-tangling, look around and at each other, and finally realize they are alone but not completely alone, and that the statement they have been making is now clear to all. They have had a long and productive life, doing what the world expected and did it very well. This is now their new happy time straying from the norm, but never far away. They don’t want to be far away nor do they want to be isolated; now is the time to close the straining gap.
Out of respect, and realizing their overt atypical behaviour in a public setting may have contorted the feelings of those close by, they both dunk deeply into the deep blue waters and prepare an incredible celebration for themselves and everyone watching. The show is both an apology and a jubilation; an expression of love and understanding. Their special performance is a declaration — a commitment to respecting and honouring social norms and basic social expectations when in common spaces.
Tulip turns to the audience and shouts:
“As the song says:
๐ถ JUMP!, Let’s go ahead and jump! ๐ถ
as together we celebrate an all around victory!”
And so it was, in the beautiful and special community of Aquaville, two grieving widow mammals yearning to get the most out of the lifespan that is left, open their eyes, ears and hearts, as the once serene and glistening waters survive enraging waves. The pod of multi-generational mammals remain together stronger than ever, as do all that noticed, creating harmony and peace between all on that day and happily ever after.
๐ THE END ๐
THE BATTLE OF THE BULBS
I was talking with a gardener the other day and mentioned the once beautiful sight of a beautiful tulip and equally beautiful hyacinth growing in the same garden bed. I have often seen tulips on their own and hyacinths on their own, but never together. He said:
“I’d never put them together. There is something mysterious about their bulbs. Much like certain people: I love them in isolation but they just don’t belong together.”
As it turned out, he was right. A beauty that was once there, is no more. The lone hyacinth shrivelled and died, while the tulips lived on for many weeks to come.
Lesson learned. I feel a story coming on …
Once upon a time in a garden like the one in Eden, there lived a tulip and a hyacinth in the same hood. They were like neighbours in a neighbourhood where everyone was filled with awe and envy when times were good, and sadness and dismay when things weren’t.
Tulip is strong and sturdy; resilient; confident; independent and like most bulbed plants, she resurrects year after year and thrives best around her kind.
Hyacinth, when ready, stands tall and firm. She keeps her petals close to her chest and seems to fan out ever so slightly, but forever protectively, occasionally. She has mastered poise and posture and that is what makes her so appealing to the others in the garden. But, behind that poise and posture, there is a reality that nobody can see from the outside. There is a weak gene within her reproducing bulb that shortens her lifespan when embedded with those who are not her kind. She is not a fighter, dies off prematurely, and vows to do better next year — but, her sad cycle continues.
One dreary day Hyacinth asked Tulip: “What is your secret?”
“Lead don’t follow.”
The response was short and blunt, and caused Hyacinth to take a step back to figure it out. Every year she sets out to search for a comfortable bed. She would look and look for all kinds of options relating to locations, feed, moisture, wind, sun, and hormones. She tried to bond with the like-minded and those shunned by all other flora. She befriended the dwarfs and the giants; the colourful and drab. She was known and noticed by many, but embraced by few. Her life had been a very sad tale.
“What do you mean by that?”, she asks Tulip.
“I have been watching you struggle once again this season and every year your life ends in peril prematurely. Try something different next year. Move to another garden with your kind. Live by their example.
You may look well with others flora, but you don’t fit in well with them. You may come across as confident, but the end result proves you are very lost and scared. You are afraid of something when you are around others, yet you are desperate to be around them, desperate to be seen, wanted and loved. The path you have been following leaves you alone, very alone; depressed, sad and forlorn.
Find fresh soil, good drainage, a spot with natural sunlight and a bit of daily shade. Instead of shrinking in sadness, face your memories and motives, stick with your kind and then start growing. Like in the human world, new borns and orphans aren’t farmed out until they are ready to go. You jumped ahead too quickly. Listen to your bulb.”
As Hyacinth reaches another end to her annual cycle, she feels struck by a ray of much needed wisdom from an arm’s length tulip who believes in her potential to do better. She will never again embed herself into a garden plot designated to others or for others.
As so it was, in that garden much like Eden’s, Hyacinth lays herself to rest embracing the beat of her bulb, rather than the bulbs of others, and it's that rhythm that will lead the way to a life she has always yearned for, but never quite reached.
THE END
CAN YOU SEE ME NOW?
Once upon a time on the unceded traditional territory of the Kwantlen First Nation, Tulip slips into a dream. The banner reads: gas prices soar to five dollars a litre. Her sleepy eyes open widely and her jaw drops, as a sudden blanket of dark fog surrounds her.
She imagines a plan B to complete her to-do list for the day without the use of her car. She plots out a cycling route using only cycling paths and multi-use paths that millions of taxpayers’ dollars have supported for communities around the territory. There are four errands on the list.
Just plotting out the route turns into a mammoth task because the infrastructure for cycling is piecemeal, convoluted, and illogical, with numerous extra lefts and rights, switchbacks and backtracking. Finally the plan is in place and off she goes feeling excited and optimistic.
Those feelings don’t last long.
Once on the go, obstructions set in almost immediately. From parked cars, delivery trucks, power poles, garbage and recycling bins, broken glass, bolts and debris, loose gravel and dead animals, the trip is very eventful.
Three hours in and only 2 out of four errands are accomplished. She rechecks her route map, her watch and her compass, and starts to wonder how a life without a car could possibly ever happen. She is hungry; her frustration level is high; her blood pressure is above normal and all the meandering routes have caused her to lose her sense of direction. She tosses and turns, and tries to tune it out, but the dream continues.
It brings her to an unobstructed cycling structure on a raised platform high above the power poles, meandering through the landmass below. It is beautifully endowed with First Nations art, framed with fir side panels and cedar shake roofing.
At the end of this part of her dream, she looks down through the fog at the politicians and developers below, raises her arms and proudly sings: “Can you see me now?”
She hears nothing and cannot see the faces.
Tulip jumps out of the sub-dream, smiling, and resolves to take action. She is no stupid bulb. She is strong, resilient and determined. She has risen from the dead a few times, and often brought light to the troubled lives of many.
The next scene is the gathering of a lot of local like-minded cyclists, like a pack of wolves ready to listen to the guiding eagle hungry to devour a good fish. Some would call it an interest group but for Tulip it is to be a pressure group. The time for interest has come and gone, and gone nowhere, and now’s the time for action, real action, loud action, determined action, to feed the fish, that will feed the eagle, that will guide the wolves together to live happily ever after, as all good communities do under even the most challenging of circumstances.
Tulip pulls out her conceptual drawings and video presentation. Following the Kwantlen edict of one Nation, one family, and as believers in leadership with vision, her tireless spirit springs to life. She presses the PLAY button and the Kwantlen SkyNation Cycling Track presentation begins.
The group sees Tulip stopping short of hitting the next power pole, illuminated like a rowing paddle, on the multi-use pathway. From the sudden shock, she feels a spirit’s hand reach out to her handlebars and raises her and her bicycle up the transformed pole to a beautifully endowed secret platform, high above the morning fog.
She opens her eyes and sees an Inukshuk beside her pointing south. The platform is five metres wide, enveloped in fir fencing on either side, and roofed with red cedar shingles, just like in the other dream. This time she also sees a clock and a compass held up by a golden eagle’s beak. To her left is a charcoal drawing of a pack of wolves encircling a route map of the risen pathway and another pack is standing around a map of the various amenities located at and around ground level.
As Tulip continues to drift further into her dream, she mounts her bicycle, heading south as directed, and sets off on an amazing obstruction-free cycling adventure. The impeccable views to the left and to the right are breathtaking. The sides of the meandering pathway are donned with beautiful local First Nations artwork from murals to sculptures, carvings, jewelry, fashion designs, paintings, drawings, baskets, hats, talking sticks, feathers and so much more.
Each entrance/exit station along the way includes a First Nation poet, singer, dancer or storyteller, in person or virtually. The word “WOW” springs constantly from her forehead, as she slowly continues on in awe.
On she goes from her hometown of Maple Ridge, south to Pitt Meadows, over the mighty Fraser River, on to New Westminster, veering west to Delta and Richmond. From there, she heads east towards Surrey, Langley and Fort Langley and then north to Stave Lake where she stands still, listens to the sound of nature and watches the eagles high above welcoming her to the northern point of the Kwantlen SkyNation track. She feels like she has just had the adventure of a lifetime and woken up in heaven.
In that moment, Tulip feels the courage and strength of the eagle. She resolves to put an extra spring in her step much like a jumping salmon about to head upstream to spawn and bring new life to the waters. She sees both the sun and the moon aligned in the clear blue sky, and returns to the starting point of her journey once again.
Now the wolves have encircled the crowd below. They are watching over the gathered family of politicians, planners and builders, as well as skeptics and optimists, all still hidden under that dense fog.
Tulip stands high above on the magnificent elevated cycling track, as the fog slowly lifts and the sun shines brightly on everyone.
“Can you see me now?”, she asks.
The loud echoing reply from the once muted crowd awakens her from her dream, as she sits up straight in her cozy bed and wonders what just happened.
She writes down her story and prepares to use it in renewed efforts for reconciliation between cyclists and motorists; cyclists and pedestrians; cyclists and city planners; as well as cyclists and politicians. The track would also forever be a lasting legacy symbolizing one small embracing effort of reconciliation with Kwantlen First Nation peoples.
And so it was, in the land of strife and stubbornness, and a lack of willingness to take bold new steps forward in an environmentally damaged world, a farfetched dream greased the squeaky bicycle wheels and put them up against the once dominant automobile and the pressures of developers.
And, above all, the inclusion of the Kwantlen people in the discussions and final planning, brings the viable project to an even greater level, as the whole of civilization works together, inclusively, from this day forward, to make the region a prototype of excellence in safe cycling travel and lasting reconciliation between all, for ever and ever.
The End
Postscript:
To my cycling friends reading this story, let’s keep the dream alive and look forward to better, safer cycling days ahead.
As unrealistic a dreamed up solution might be the first time hearing about it, the Trans Canada railway was a pipe dream once too, and look at what happened with it! And, what about sending a human to the moon? In the end, didn’t the tortoise beat the hare?
