The Squamidian Report – Oct. 1 / 05

 

Also in this issue:

North Nova News

A Note From Ewan

The Ontarion

 

Hi All,

 

Ho-key-toot, its October already. How did that happen so fast? October is one of those months that can be fantastic no matter where you live. But one of the things I don’t miss about October back in Kitchener is Octoberfest and all those annoying October-festers. We used to just stay home and wait out the storm when we lived there. But aside from that, there was (and still is) the coloured leaves, harvested farm produce and the rural countryside getting ready to hibernate for the winter. Always a wonderful experience. Of course, October is followed by November, which is probably the worst month of the year, no matter where you live. We are also into the time of year where when it rains, it RAINS. On Thursday we had half a foot of the stuff, over on the Island they had over a foot. Sure makes the creeks and rivers run high for a day or so.

 

We don’t have many hardwood varieties of deciduous trees on the west coast, mostly softwoods like alder, dogwood and soft maples. So we don’t get the vibrant colours in high doses that other areas do get. We get the yellows and golds. However, there are a lot of decorative shrubs and low growing plants that do turn the bright reds and oranges so there is still a lot to see when the leaves change. Also, the mosses and lichens on the rock faces tend to become colourful in the fall so there you go.

 

You know, I’ve never liked being rushed at any time, including the mornings. So I tend to start my day earlier than necessary. I get up about 5:30 so that there is ample time to put some feed out for my squawky little Stellar Jay friends and now that it is staying dark a bit later each morning, do a bit of star gazing. We can’t put bird food in the bird feeders during the Fall as it could attract bears so I just spread out a couple of hands full each morning on the deck railing. I’ve got lots of time to make a lunch and have breakfast and read the comic section of the Vancouver Sun newspaper. Our local paper, the Chief, comes out weekly on Fridays and doesn’t even have a comic section.

 

I head out for work down in Britannia Beech and generally blow right on past the local Horton’s. No point in stopping for a coffee there when service is so bad that the drive through is backed up right out onto the road and around the corner and if there are more than two people waiting at the counter you might as well just forget it altogether. So I drive to Britannia and pick up a small coffee at the little booth thing there. I’m so early for work that it is still not quite light out. I find a nice quiet place to park, listen to the morning news on the truck radio and watch the sun light the peaks on the far side of Howe Sound, watch the still waters of the Sound or watch the morning shadows work their way down off of the South side of Goat Ridge. By the time the boss gets to the construction trailer I’m about as mellowed out and relaxed as can be. I watch with amusement as many of the younger guys come roaring into work still wiping the sleep from their eyes.

 

The drive home at the end of the workday is just long enough to un-wind during. If Sue is going to be home I start supper, if she is out on the road for the week, I’ve got the evening to myself. Doesn’t take much time or energy to open a can of beans or throw some wieners on the BBQ.

 

On the weekends things are a bit different. For starters, I try to sleep in till about 7 but that seldom works out. Those squawky Jays have not got a whole lot of patience and want their duly expected bird food. So they bounce loudly all over the roof and look in the windows watching for any sign of movement. Once they figure they have my attention the set up a loud squawk-fest until the peanuts and seeds are out there. Then they settle into total bedlam until it’s all gone. One thing they do that is very weird is one might hurriedly pick up a peanut and fly off, then decide that nut is not big enough. So it does not want that one but instead of just dropping it, the silly bird will bring it back, put it back down and then grab for a bigger one. Amazing how a birdbrain works.

 

And as for Horton’s on a weekend morning, we’ve pretty well given up on them then as well. Added to the usual local traffic there is the Whistler bound traffic to make things even worse. Makes the Stellar Jay bird food bedlam seem down right civil.

 

d

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North Nova News

 

It’s hard to believe summer has passed us by.  It was a busy one too.  I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to Kitchener in June with all the anniversary and reunion events.  It’s good to reconnect once in awhile with family and friends.  In August we did some more reconnecting with family.  Our niece, Michelle, her 1year old daughter and her father, Gilbert from Switzerland came for a 3 week visit after a long absence.  Michelle is my sister Dianne’s daughter.  Dianne passed away from cancer when Michelle was 8 years old and from that time on until Michelle was 16, she spent her summer holidays every year with us.  We loved having her here, kind of like having a part-time daughter.  Things changed with Michelle going out on her own at a young age, not being able to afford to come for visits, we missed her very much.  Now 9 years later she has married and has a beautiful baby.  You can imagine how excited I was to hear they were coming for a visit. I threw myself into baby proofing our home.  Somehow I was able to borrow a crib, high chair, car seat and playpen.  People were starting to wonder about Peter and I as we gathered this stuff from friends and co-workers.  Expecting a baby at their age????   We were expecting a baby but only for 3 weeks!   They finally arrived on Aug. 20th after a 5 hour delay with planes and connections looking very weary and relieved to be here.  Emilie was right out of it sleeping in her stroller when they came through the doors at the arrivals.  It was midnight and it was so good to see them.

Two days later another reunion was about to happen.  My sister Dianne at the age of 17 had a child that she gave up for adoption in 1972.  Last spring she contacted my father, Howard, as she was looking for her birth family. She was disappointed at first to learn that her mother had passed away but excited to think she was actually talking to her grandfather.  She had been given information from the adoption agency but most of it was blocked out.  All she knew was her birth mothers name, the parent’s names and the last known address that was in Calgary.  So the search began on the internet.  My father had written some articles which were on The Squamidian and on the website Jackie created.  She also found Doug’s website and a lot of Brubacher’s names, some in B.C. and more in Kitchener, Ontario.  She put everything together and found my Dad, her grandfather.  When Dad informed me he had a new granddaughter I immediately informed Michelle in Switzerland she had a half sister and that is how we came to know Heather.  My sister, Michelle (from B.C.) and I also introduced ourselves to her by email.  She wrote back telling us she lives in Thorsby, Alberta was adopted by a wonderful family and has no regrets but wanted to know more about her new family.  My niece Michelle in Switzerland was ecstatic and made the arrangements for Heather and her three boys to visit us in Nova Scotia at the same time as theirs.  When Heather and the boys arrived aged 8, 9 and 11 we knew we were all family.  She not only looks like my sister but has her zest for life, full of energy and adventure.  We spent the first few hours looking at pictures and all her adoption papers.  I got to read in Dianne’s own handwriting her reasons for giving up her child.  It was heart wrenching.  We spent their week long visit talking, going to the beach, sailing, white water rafting, theme parking, barbecuing and taking lots of pictures.  It went all too fast and it was hard to say good-bye.  I know we will all keep in touch and try to see them again soon.  Her boys loved Nova Scotia and decided when they were old enough they would move here. 

 

The next two weeks of Michelle and Emilie’s visit went too fast.  We spent many nights after Emilie went to bed talking.  It was so nice being together again and this time Michelle was an adult and a mother so I had lots of catching up to do.  Everyday the baby was here was a bonus.  She was so good, smiled at everyone and enjoyed her surroundings.  I miss her a lot. I think a trip to Switzerland is in order in the near future.  I haven’t met Michelle’s husband, Francesco yet.  Michelle is also a lot like my sister Dianne.  I think I realized it more this time.  She wanted to go on a hike and needed something to carry Emilie in.  She asked for some material and the next thing I knew it was made.  She also started working on a patchwork quilt cutting squares out of any material we could find.  She’s very inventive and creative just like her Mom. 

 

Well thank you for listening, until next time,

 

Sus

 

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A Note From Ewan

 

Hello all,

First of all, I'm sorry to have been a stranger to so many of you over the summer. Didn't mean to give you the silent treatment! Every summer is fun, and every summer is very busy. This one was just longer and warmer than usual. A great one though! I didn't even get time to read the Squamidian. I lost track of it back in June. In August I caught up to the great immigration debate before I had to stop again. It was a lack of time, not interest! As things slow down a bit I'll get caught up.

To make matters worse, my old e-mail account just plain died a while ago. I have so many accounts that it confuses people. So, for those of you that don't have my "personal" e-mail account, you can reach me at ewancameron@canoemail.com . This is where all my Squamidian mail will go. It's all part of my plan to  develop a life outside of work. It's working.

There's something else that's important, I should apologize to my friends and relatives on the west  coast. I said I'd go out this summer but never made it. I feel like a real traitor because I  visited Montréal instead! My plan was to get my G2, fly to BC, rent a car and head off in to the  mountains just as the ink dried on my driver's license. Deep down I knew that immediately driving on  the Sea to Sky highway would be a bit foolish with so little experience, but it gave me a goal. I  meant to get it about six months earlier though. I know, I know, I should have had it about 15  YEARS earlier, but better late than never. So I've been driving around Ontario for now. Maybe next  summer! I'd kind of like to drive in Scotland on the wrong side of the road too. We'll see.

Obviously far too much happened over the summer for one e-mail. It was quite different for me than  any other. If I try to tell all it would read like a grocery list of stuff I did and that's no fun.  So I'll tell you about one adventure.

During the summer I went to the X (C.N.E. in Toronto) for the first time in a while. I hadn't been  on any rides for many years. Sometimes people die at the X, but the odds were in my favour. Somehow  I rode on the old Tilt-a-Whirl with my arm outside. All the rides are smaller than when I was 11. I  was between her and the metal outside and got a little crunched. But I expected that and it was fun  anyway. The rest of the fair was good fun, but the next day I noticed my side was a little tender.  A week later a sneeze would stop me cold from the pain. The doctor said that I had a "contusion",  which is just a bruise, which is no big deal. A rib bruised on the inside hurts a little, and it  takes a long time to heal, but didn't cause me too much trouble. After a few more days I could  hardly notice it (even when I sneezed). It embarrasses me to have been injured on a kids ride, so  lame!

The thing that worried me a bit was that I was less than two weeks away from heading in to  Killarney Provincial Park for the annual canoe trip. The paddling isn't too bad, but the portaging  usually kicks my butt at the best of times. I made sure to go easy on it.

The other complication to the trip was a day's delay for my friend's wedding. Jamie (my brother)  was the best man, and I was the MC. I even got a mug that says Master of Ceremonies! I flubbed  pronouncing "Vladimir Mlotschek" because I was nervous at first, but after that it was smooth. The  funny thing was that the dancing etc. made my side hurt more than the trip would! But I didn't  drink too much, and the next day we were headed up to Killarney.

The day after that we headed in to the woods for a week (or almost a week). I knew it wouldn't be  enough, but I wasn't sure how much I had in me to give this time. The gym was one of the casualties  of the summer schedule, as usual. But we all pulled through a full day of canoeing and portaging,  canoeing and portaging. It was much shorter than last year, so we handled it well. Norway Lake is  an ideal destination, surrounded by mountains, trails and other lakes. Okay, these aren't the  really epic scale ones like they grow in Squamish, but they are mountains.

I was itching to get the most of our first day in the park. Mark, my Dad and I climbed a high  nearby peak, with a great view. I wanted more, but they reminded me that we still have to get some  stuff done when we get back. We gathered wood and Mark swam back to camp across the small bay. The  next day it rained in the morning and we handled it well. I got bored of drinking and cards around  our shelter so we went off and discovered a small waterfall near camp. Lots of wondrous 3D weather  to admire, reminded me of Doug. By the afternoon it was sunny and we took pictures. I swam again  that day.

The next day I woke up with a need to find some fun. I had at least three day trips planned out,  and I knew I'd do one of them regardless of who came along. I had an idea about a "split trip."  This is where one or two people canoe along narrow lake that parallels a hiking trail through the  mountains. One or two people walk the trail, and meet up at the far end. There they switch off and  take the opposite way back. It's simplicity on the map.

Dad was the only taker, but we decided to go anyway. After a huge breakfast/brunch we canoed and  portaged to Kakakise Lake. We crossed the sweetest smelling woods I have ever breathed. He said it  was beach nut. Dad headed up the trail and I started off in the canoe. A slight wind and an empty  canoe meant that I had to stop to pick up some ballast. Later I heard a small waterfall, so I  stopped to check that out too. I knew the hike was longer, so I had time. I was a bit worried  because I was low on water. Usually we boil plenty in the evening, so that we have lots of cool  drinking water in the morning. Some how we blew it the night before. But I had some, and this  wasn't a huge trip. The sun sure was bright though.

I eventually found the portage at the far end. While I was taking the canoe out of the water I  noticed that I only had one paddle. Didn't we have two? Must have. What did I do with the other  one? We don't have a spare. I was starting to realize that my focus was all off that day, and that  I was maybe a bit too relaxed to be out that far. Better smarten up a bit.

After a while some hikers went by, from the same direction as Dad would come. They hadn't seen him.  A little while later I was wondering how long it would take me to hike back, and if I should just  canoe back with Dad. No way! The next hikers that went by seemed to know who I was and who I was  waiting for. Dad followed a couple minutes later.

He looked a little rough, very tired. Normally he can hike for 30k and then go dancing. He starts  giving me all these warnings about how it's a very challenging trail, and poorly marked at this  end. He's giving me warnings about how long it will take, technical details, asking about my  equipment etc., and I have to tell him that I forgot where I left a paddle. There were only three  places it could be (I hoped). I took him seriously when he asked me if I had a light and gave me  his. It was maybe 4:30 pm.

So off I went in to the mountains, with about 3/4 of a litre of water. I also had a fresh juicy  apple. I took stock again and deliberately left the raincoat behind. Snacks (no where near hungry  though), cold weather stuff (it wouldn't get cool for quite a while), map, compass, big SLR camera,  film, a few little extra things. The last thing I remember Dad saying was that I didn't have time  to lose the trail. Wave good bye, see you soon! Ten minutes in to a three to four hour hike I  couldn't find the "trail."

I could see the lake. Maybe I could call him back. That would stink! I went back and found the  trail again. I followed it very carefully and it just seemed to peter out. That made me really mad.  After a few minutes I realized that I lacked the time, energy and water to be mad for very long.  Why am I here?! Why would I head in to this stupid situation with anything less than 2 litres? Why  is the trail not marked? Why isn't it 2 hours earlier? Why am I alone here? I know better.

This wasn't that bad because the dramatic land marks make it pretty hard to get lost. I wasn't  lost, just can't find the trail. I took out my compass and map, and moved from rock outcropping to  rock outcropping, heading in the rightish direction, peeling my eyes for a marker. That was  physically tough and very frustrating. Eventually I found the trail and continued. No time to lose  it again. I started thinking a lot about how I avoided staying on the path when I was younger, now  it seemed like all I wanted! I kept urging myself forward and trying to be logical.

I noticed that my legs felt a little like bags of cement. Dancing, sitting in the car for 5 or 6  hours, portaging and climbing a mountain was more than my usual job of sitting at my desk for 12 or  14 hours. Just keep going. As I was going up the first, largest and most poorly marked ridge, I  thought about those hobbits. They went on that long impossible walk, and it made me smile. The  trail was steeper as I emerged from the woods. I looked up and saw two huge slabs of rock, with  broken boulders in between for a path. It really was like those Lord of the Rings movies, and it  wasn't funny!

Normally terrain like this would inspire me, it was the most incredibly beautiful hiking trail  I've ever been on (with the exception of Glen Nevis in Scotland). But I couldn't stop to take it  all in for long. I made it up to the top, but lost the trail again exiting the giant slabs. On my  own again. I looked at the sun and thought about what it would be like up there at night.  Beautiful. Cold. Safe enough, if I had the sense to stay put. Walking around in the dark there  would be beyond stupid. I had to get back. I began to totally disregard the small scratches from  pushing through the bush.

As I crested the peak I took in one of the most amazing views that I've ever seen. The sun not  setting yet, beaming down on Killarney Lake, with other lakes dotting the distance. Georgian Bay  was still behind me, far but huge. I decided I had time for ONE picture while I had a drink.

I kept going and realized that I was heading down the far side, which was wrong and obviously  dangerous. I back tracked again, and again took out the compass. Eventually I found a clearing with  a cairn. Those are the small piles of stones used to mark the trail where there is nothing else.  But it only had one cairn. There was no trail. It was as if people, not unlike me, just built it  there as a sign to those who would come after them. You are not alone.

The worst thing was thinking about how people would worry if I didn't make it back before dark. But  I knew I'd be all right, and there was a sort of unspoken communication between Dad and I. We knew  the other would just make the best of it, act logically, not panic. I knew he wouldn't stumble in  to the mountains to find me after dark. That would be the only way to really run in to trouble. I  thought about my bruise. I thought about the paddle.

Eventually I found the trail again, and that really made me happy. Sometimes I would verbally  chastise a trail marker for being too hard to spot, or thank one for being right where I needed it.  After more climbing and hiking I began the descent from the first ridge. Only four more! But they  were smaller, and likely better marked. The valley was cool, and the trail was obvious. After the  next ridge I was confident that I'd make it in time. I saved the apple and the last of the water  for the final peak. As I crested it I looked down on Norway Lake like it was my own old best  friend. The last markers were a lot harder to spot because of the fading light. Once in the valley  I called out and Dad answered. He was chilling out, waiting with the dog.

I have a new respect for that old dog, it did the whole hike and didn't need a compass! No paddle  found though, so we returned to camp under my power alone. I was thankful to be back, but a bit  disappointed in myself too. Two hours earlier I would have loved to get out of the whole situation,  swearing that I'd never do something that dumb again. Already I was planning to do it again,  properly.

All day I had looked forward to jumping in to the lake from the rock ledge by camp, it was so hot.  But by the time we finished paddling back it was almost dark and I was putting on another layer.  The others had already started dinner. Every meal is a feast when we camp. With lots of water and  food, all my strength came back. That night the fire and company of the camp really felt like home.

The next day I woke up with my adventure lust cured. We retrieved the paddle (it was on the shore  by the waterfall). My mind was tuned up. This was the last day before we headed back. I had toyed  with the idea of heading up Silver Peak off trail. But I decided to do something that I hadn't  found time for yet that trip. I tied a hammock up between two trees, in a lovely little spot near  camp, and just watched all the elements brush up against each other for a while. Wiser.

I'm off to Fern Glen Inn this weekend. The crisp air and autumn colours will be great. We'll have  some real fun. I will not go beyond myself again for a while.

Ewan

 

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THE ONTARION REPORT

 

Hello everyone!

 

While out on the motorcycles the other day, Adam and I were over in the north ward. Of course this is the area I grew up in. We were on Lancaster St and took a turn up Union St. This street leads in a westerly direction and passes through the Breithaupt’s bush and exits onto Margaret Avenue. As youngsters we used to play in the depths of Breithaupt’s  bush. There were and still are walking trails through the bush. In the middle of the most southerly part of the bush there is a bowl shaped gully. This gully is the spot where a couple of public school chums and I set up our “Fort”. We had a huge log lying on its side and used it as the main seating unit for our meetings. The main use for the “Fort” was to give us a place of our own. We could hide there in the 4’ brush that made up the walls of our sanctuary. As long as we kept low and quiet, we could watch and listen as people walked by on the pathway. It made us want to be spies or secret agents when we grew up. It was very cool to hide there and have people pass by and not know we were there.

 

There was one main problem with the fort, we had no washroom facilities. Of course taking a pee in the bushes was no problem but if you had to do any more than that you were in trouble. My buddy Bernie brought a roll of toilet paper and stashed it in a hole under the log. He had had to use a hand full of leaves in the bushes the day before and didn’t find that to be a pleasant experience. He figured he had the problem solved with the stashed roll of TP. However, the next time he needed the paper he found it had gotten soaked by the rain from the previous night’s storm. The rest of that summer, we made sure to carry the roll to and from the fort each time.

 

As time went by and the city developed more and more parkland in the suburbs they finally decided to build a community centre and pool complex in the field next to the bush. They had installed ball diamonds and soccer fields that summer. The following summer the first building to be constructed was a set of washrooms on the edge of the bush. It seemed to us that they caught wind of our need to have a place to “go” while hanging out at our fort and built the washrooms just for our use. How nice of the city! We certainly made use of the facilities and it was a lot nicer than doing your business in the bushes. However, we did have a problem with a couple of other neighbourhood kids raiding our fort and wrecking our stuff. We had orange crates to use as furniture in the fort and for some reason these kids liked to smash whatever we left behind. I remember Bernie and I had made a couple of sling shots and knowing the we’d get shit if we took them home, we left them under the log at the fort. We used them to shoot stones at squirrels and birds. It was great fun and of course we couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with them so the wildlife was safe. One summer day we headed for the fort after spending a couple of hours flying our home made kites in the field. Upon our arrival, we discovered someone had smashed the third set of furniture and stolen our sling shots.

 

This was the last straw and we knew we had to do something drastic to stop the raids. There was one main trail leading into the fort and most of the kids that knew we had the fort used this entrance when they visited. Bernie decided to lay a trap for the culprits. Instead of visiting the new washrooms, he deposited the results of his Kraft Dinner lunch in the middle of the pathway about 10’ from the fort. He took a few dried leaves and covered the mess. He said anyone that didn’t belong in the fort deserved what they got if they stepped in the trap. It took a few days but we eventually heard through the grape vine that one of the kids we suspected of damaging our fort had not only stepped in the trap but slipped and landed on his rear smack dab in the load of poo!  How perfect was that? Bernie had succeeded in teaching the thugs a lesson. The rest of the summer was trouble free at the fort thanks to his creativity. Aaaaaah the memories that a quick ride through the old neighbourhood can bring back. There are 8,000,000 stories in the old north ward ….. this has been one of them!

 

Thank you all for tuning in and I look forward to talking to you all again next week in “The Ontarion Report”.

 

Bye for now… GREG.

 

PS: Something To Think About>

There is always room at the top.

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The Family and the Squamidian sites:

http://members.shaw.ca/doug_b/ and http://www.thedougsite.ca

Have a good one..

the doug

 

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