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There is a word in Cantonese that means, well, something like serendipity….but more personal and somehow less of an accident.  Capricious but more friendly and relationship based.  Kinda.  There is no word in English that adequately says the same thing.  Or so we are told by the students we have visiting. 

We learned that while poring over pouring the various Chinese teas we served in their first afternoon with us.  One of the teas was so named.  Untranslatable.  But it came up in conversation anyway. 

We have four female early twenty-something students who collectively weigh almost what I do and haven’t a clue as to what they are experiencing out here.  The forest was a surprise.  The trees were a surprise.  The boat was a surprise.  They are in a state of gobsmack. 

And, because of that state of awe, they are a lot of fun.

It seems we are almost serendipitously bonding as friends.  And, it seems, there is a word and a symbol for that.

Today they went kayaking for the first time.  In water that was clean (seen for the first time) and saw wildlife in the ocean (for the first time) after sleeping in til 11:00 AM (which I am almost positive was the first time) and after watching the night sky complete with a canopy full of stars (never seen before due to the excess ambient lightscape of Hong Kong) while being accompanied by two dogs (each of which weighed as much as the kids).  Two slept in the boathouse.  Two slept in a tent on the new back deck.

Day one: They were enthralled.  And then they slept like the dead.

We have a ham radio tower on which is perched our poorly performing wind turbine.  The tower is 45 feet high and Sally was the one who first climbed it to place the turbine atop. The girls were amazed to hear that Sally had done that.  So Sally said, “Wanna go up?  We’ll send you up.  You can do it!”

The girls eyes almost popped out of their heads but they are game little chicks and they all said ‘yes’.  Theoretically and legally they are consenting adults.  So Sal rigged a block at the top for a safety line and we harnessed them in and let them climb.  You could see their little legs and arms shaking.  “Y’alright?” we called.  “I am fine”, each one said.  And they all climbed to the top, had their pictures taken (natch) and came down to cheers.  It is like an Asian Outward Bound-thing out here.  And they are loving it.

We are giving them an experience.  Probably of no relevance to anyone.  Don’t ask me to explain this.  I can’t.  It’s weird.  But we think it is a good thing.  There may even be a word for it.  I have no idea. 

Maybe in Cantonese?

Saw a wolf yesterday.  Cool.  And he saw me.  We were just ten feet apart.

But I was in my car…..

I was on the other island driving over to the regional airport to pick up guests arriving on the 2:00 flight.  I was off the logging road but just a mile or so onto the pavement on the road heading for the ferry.  No houses for miles.  No side roads, either.  I came around a corner and there was what seemed like a big dog loping down the middle of the road.  I slowed a bit.  He moved to the side but kept moving.  Didn’t turn to look, just kept loping.

As I got closer I recall thinking, “Whoa, he’s a big one!”  I was thinking that this old boy was lost or at least ranging pretty far from home.  And I may have been right…..

But he wasn’t old.  Not at all.  Big, black with golden highlights in his ruff, he sported the long legs and big feet of a significantly wolf-looking dog.  I’d guess he was pushing 200 pounds.  Definitely over 175.

I drew abreast, slowly moving.  He slowed.  We looked at each other.  No fear.  No surprise.  No concerns whatsover.  I am talking about him.  I was quite glad I was in the car.  It was not a wolf-like dog, it was a fully mature, strong, healthy wolf walking on the road like he owned it.  And, for all intents and purposes, he did!

As we were moving at the same pace – which I am sure seemed weird to him –  he made a decision and stopped.  I took it as a hint for me to ‘Keep moving, buddy!  Keep your eyes on the road!’  So, I did.  But I saw him in the rearview mirror head across the road and up into the forest after I had passed.  I guess he figured he had already exposed himself too much.  He was gone in a flash.

It was noon-ish.  It was a paved road (albeit a pretty remote one) and he was out in the open covering territory efficiently.  He was very much in control.  This was not a scurrying animal.  This was a guy who thought he owned the road!

Very neat.

So, there you are in a cabin in the woods.  It is late and you are just about to fall asleep.  You hear a noise and perk up!  It is a scratching, gnawing, skitchety noise coming from inside the wall and after listening closely for a few minutes, you know what it is.  It’s a mouse!!

And all Hell breaks loose! People scramble from their beds clutching modesty around them and start to panic.  “Mice!!  Head for the big house!  Aaaarggghhh!”

And then there is the stampede up the steps to the house where the front door opens with rapid screaming of the details of the vermin invasion.  The shocking, calamitous news is quickly transmitted to the sleepy, comfortable, warm, older folks who – probably because they have no grasp of the dangers involved – just don’t seem to get what all the fuss is about.

Now, bear in mind that this is the country and there are, in fact, a few mice around. Now and then. They are ‘country mice’ or field mice.  The kind of mice Disney auditions for their movies.  Maybe one, maybe a family lodge in a wall.  Sometimes.  Your average country mouse is two inches long, furtive, out-of-sight and easily frightened.

But not as easily as some of the guests!

We’ll deal with the mice today.  No big deal.  They don’t put up much of a fight.  A little intimidation goes a long way.  Poison closes any lingering resistance rather neatly.  We will be little-mouse free in a day or two.  The big chicken-mice will still be frightened but after a bit of Post Traumatic Stress counselling, they’ll be fine.

Nature is raw.  Dangerous.  Brutal.  And savage in the extreme at times.  Well, disturbing at the very least.  And people have to do what people have to do.  Even if that means running to mom.  Shrieking and hiding from mice is a natural response and nothing to be ashamed of.  There is nothing wrong with that.  No one should feel embarrassed.

But you might want to cut down on the cheese intake a bit.  Or pack some heat.  There is no negotiating with mice.  Face it, dudes, this is the wilderness. 

Three walls up.  Lookin’ good!  But I am downing tools for the next three weeks.  Probably…mostly….maybe.

Daughter and her bethroed are here.  We are all getting ready for an influx of more summer guests.  Some from China.  Some from BC.  Some from Ontario and Quebec.  Makin’ food.  Temporary beds.  Tents.  It is like Able company on a mission, here.  Logistics up the ying yang.  Calendar booked for the foreseeable future.

“Geez, Dave, do you like that kind of thing?”

No.  Not really.  But waddya gonna do?  People plan to travel in the better weather and that time is now.  And some are coming here.  A lot of the people around here are surprised at their seasonal popularity but it is quite reasonable, really.  Just the traveling-in-the-daylight makes it all so much easier.  And it is a beautiful part of the world.  We will be inundated.

Fortunately, I like the people.  It is the logistical madness that daunts my enthusiasm.

You see, life out here still has to carry on as well.  We have some civic duties to perform, house and garden to keep up, projects at the half-done stage and, of course, all the things that you don’t even think about that seem to pop up every day.

(I keep thinking of maybe slipping away and taking a holiday.  Maybe.)

Sal wouldn’t authorize that!  As it is, she is worked off her feet.  My jobs are mostly to fill in where she needs me.  And the more people there are the more she needs me.  I am usually pretty busy catching the second half of the chore she just started so that a guest can be attended to.  Or fetching something because it easier to get it than describe how to get it.  Or do it because it easier to do than explain.  That kind of thing.

I have never really had a conventional lifestyle.  Everything has been a bit off the grid in a cultural, home, family-life kind of way.  Even work, when I think about it.  But the cul de sac was pretty conventional and this place in the summer is kinda ‘Norman Rockwell-ish’, too.  We don’t do inner-tubes behind boats on the lake but there is a lot of stuff that would seem familiar to the camping, summertime crowd.  We do summer in a manner that Norm Rockwell would not only approve but likely sketch and maybe paint.  We look normal in the summer.

It’s weird.

But, I have to close now.  Sal is calling.  Needs help with something.  And she knows where I am!      

It used to be that once we had started a job, we would work like hell to finish it.  It seemed like a good work ethic.  As we got older and stupider, of course, we would have to work longer and longer to get the job done because we were getting slower and slower in the doing.  But that is what we’d do – we’d work longer.

And that was just when we lived in the cul de sac.

Of course, all hell broke loose in the labour sector when we started this off-the-grid living project.  We had to learn how to do construction and at such a late age.  And we jumped in at the deep end.  Ooooh….that meant working even harder and longer!

When we began a-building we would ‘get at it’ and go like mad til we couldn’t go any longer.  I remember many evenings falling asleep after dinner at 7:30pm.  Again, that seemed like a good work ethic and the way to get all the jobs done.  But that grew old.  And it grew older than I was growing old and I was approaching ‘old’ pretty quickly.  We started to build this place when I was 55 and I am still at it ten years later.

After the first year, I was pretty much ‘toast’ and Sal remarked that I was just wandering around near the end of that first season in a daze.

“I would just point you in the direction of the next job and tell you what it was and you would just go do it until I stopped you for a glass of water or something.  It was like you were on some kind of dumb auto-pilot or something.”

And so, slowly but surely, we learned how to work differently.  We had to.  Now we work til we are tired and then we quit.  It makes no difference if the job is done, half done or not yet even much started.  The time of day is not a factor.  I start when I want and I quit when I want. 

“I’ll get to it when I get to it.” 

At first there was a little lost pride, a smidge less macho on display.  I was not doing the manly thing so much as the reasonable (read: comfortable) thing.  But that feeling was mostly due to the ol’ Energizer Bunny (aka, Sally).  She still went at things like a dynamo even tho I had slowed to a crawl.  She simply set the bar too high for me to match.  So, I would stop and rest before she did.  I would quit for the day while she carried on.  I would pour wine and sit on the deck and watch her while she ‘finished up’.

Surprisingly, the guilt over that quickly evaporated.  If there ever was any…?

This year, the ol’ Bunny is following suit.  Now, when I want to quit, we both head for the chairs.  I am still first to sit, tho.  Sal still has a streak of ‘finish what you start’ but even that now has limits.  She’ll finish up if finishing up is an extra ten or fifteen minutes.  If it is half an hour or more, it is a job for tomorrow.

Strangely, this pacing is a skill of sorts.  We have neighbours who still go at it til they drop and they are the same age as us.  They push and they push and they do get more done.  On any one day.  And it is good.  I kind of envy their reserves of energy.  But, really?  Not a helluva lot more gets done overall  It is not like I am building a shed and they are building high rises.  And none of us are making wages or working to a schedule!  We are still similar in our outputs – I am just a bit slower.  Takes a few extra days.  OK, weeks.

In the giant scheme of things, does it matter?

Blasphemy.  That kind of thinking (putting it off) was blasphemy when we were younger.  Now I see it as wisdom.  Like stopping to smell the roses?

I guess we are just getting smarter then, eh?

I was gonna build the studio walls of 2x4s but local millers don’t do 2×4.  They are of the 2×6 school of construction and, for the most part I agree with that.  But, you know, a 16′ wall for a shed to house tools in a temperate climate could easily be done from 2x4s.  Plus it is so much lighter and easier to work with.  Especially on a small space like a suspended deck.  They make those Home Depot 2×4’s out of recycled Styrofoam and woodchips, I think.  They are so light.  Feels like you can spin a HD stud like a baton.

I kinda wanted 2 x 4’s.

But I didn’t fuss.  Some of the local guys are pretty skint and need to sell lumber and, to be fair, their stuff is so much better than standard product at building yards.  Your basic dimensional lumber at any yard is junk compared to the worst of the local product which would be your spruce or Hemlock.  Even the Hemlock is far superior to anything mass marketed.  A locally made fir 2×6 is often so strong and dense you can’t screw a deck screw through it using an 18Volt Milwaukee drill. And forget trying to nail through it with cheap Chinese-made nails.  They’ll fold up on ya.

More than once I have resorted to pre-drilling a nail hole.

But, like I said, foam-boards were not bought and local lumber was.  So, to lighten things I was gonna go to 2 foot centres on the walls.  I’ve built everything so far to 16″ centres but, like I said, this is a workshop.  For tools.  Two foot centres with local fir studs is still stronger by far than store-bought foamboards on 16″ centres.

But….. the best laid plans of doofuses, eh?    

Truth be told, I don’t work from plans.  Should.  But don’t.  I kinda like to wing it, ya know?  That is one of the reasons Sal wants to call it a studio.  Somehow ‘wingin’ it’ fits with the artistic temperament of an artist and a studio rather than the precision of a skilled builder and his workshop.  She has a point.

But, really, what kind of doofus needs a plan to build a 16 foot wall?

Well, now….that’d be me….. 

You see, I bought 3 x 5 windows.  And 3 x 5 windows in the middle of a 16 foot wall naturally align with 16″ centres for the studs and, should you try to lighten up with 24″ centres, you end up adding ‘cripples’ and spacers and extra blocking to make it work.  Ironically, using 24″centres requires almost as much wood and a helluva lot more cutting.  Better to go with conventional 16″ centres.  So, I built the little shed wall and it is like an US-engineered wall for holding the Mexicans at bay!  It weighs a ton!

The Wall

‘Course then you clad it.  Almost four sheets of 1/2″ ply.  And then paper and siding and interior finishing later on and I doubt that an AK47 could get through that wall in most places.

And I have three more to build.

The point is that this shed will endure.  If not from good engineering or skill, then from pure bloody mass!  I am building the linebacker of sheds.

Perhaps a little planning might come in handy sometime.  Someday.  I dunno………….feels so restricting, ya know?  I am an artiste, after all.  Still, making a bunker instead of a shed is the result in this case.  So, I am gonna have to re-think this artistic approach some.  I guess.  But I am into it now.  Fort Studio is underway.

Oddly, we are somewhat reliant on BC Ferries.  Given that BCF does not service our island and we are independent, relatively speaking, it is an odd thing to realize.  But the reality is that traveling to the next island by car to catch the ferry to town is quicker, cheaper, safer and more efficient than going all the way around that next door island to get to town by way of our own boat.

We don’t need ém so much as want ém. 

The ferry has a number of drawbacks, to be sure.  In the summer, there is often a two sailing wait and that can get a bit tiresome.  The fares go up.  And up.  And up.  That, too, is pretty irritating given that the vessel is really very old (built in the early sixties), quite rusty and inadequately sized.  And the trip is pretty short – only about fifteen minutes (I think we pay the most in the BCF system on a per minute or per mile basis). They work that puppy like the dickens, too, getting in a full round trip every hour.  But it is still cheaper than going in by boat.  It is still faster, too.  And I can’t take my car in my own boat!

And you can’t fault the service.  Well, I can.  I am a constant critic of BCF’s main routes and I am sure I could find fault with a lot of things (trust me) but the crew of the ferry next door is really quite remarkable.  They make up for everything that might otherwise prompt a complaint. They really try to do a good job and they are considerate of the traveling public at a personal level.  They are even friendly!

The ticket ladies often have dog treats for anyone with a dog!

That has a lot to do with the fact that the crew live on the island they serve.  They know everyone and everyone knows them.  The most common gesture of a crewperson on our ferry is not the waving of traffic into lanes.  It is the smile and the wave and the nod of the head to greet neighbours.  It is kinda neat.  Small town stuff. 

Even Sal and I are now getting some waves and nods.  After almost ten years here, we are starting to become part of the ‘frequent-floater community’.

I always seem to like the crew even tho the members do change somewhat.  Now and then.  Even the captains.  But, somehow, they all manage to keep the island spirit and the complement of staff seem to deliver the same competent service in a uniquely friendly manner regardless of who is on deck or on the helm.  Year after year.

Seriously, dude…the larger fleet could take a few lessons from our guys.

I mention all this because the current politics around the ferries is that the corporation is trying to focus on making money and they have had that focus for at least a decade.  Without any success, I might add.  They went that route at the urging of our business oriented political party (the Liberals).

Well, the ferry system has lost gobs of money in the last ten years despite hiking fares more than 100% and, of course, their fiscal incompetence is only indicative of the larger government’s long running debacle applying their special form of business inadequacy to build the public debt.  These goofs have set the province back a huge step economically.  And they have not been good for BCF.

The voice of protest (regarding BCF) for all this is coming from the public that wants the ferry system treated as an integral part of the larger ministry of transportation.  Like in the old days.  When it worked.

The public doesn’t pay tolls for bridges.  They don’t pay tolls for tunnels or roads.  And gazillions are spent trying to make individuals move like herds on mass transit in the cities.  The system with which we move things around is a hugely subsidized one and so why isolate one integral part – the ferries – and make them ‘pay their own way’?

This argument is especially promulgated by the those 40% or so of the population that actually depend on ferries.

This is the stuff of high emotion.  On both sides.  This is the stuff that splits people.  This is the only stuff, it seems, that gets citizens involved in the political process – an attack on their pocket book.  Community halls are always filled with this kind of stuff.

And yet, it is not poisoning the experience of taking the ferry.  Not up here, anyway.  No one blames the crew.  Hell, we all know the crew.  We all like the crew.  And they seem to like us.  And so we pay the rates and watch the rust grow and see the madness in the system and yet still smile and wave to our friends and neighbours on the day shift.

Seriously, dude…the larger fleet (and government) could take a few lessons from our guys. 

…..well, it is for us, anyway.  We are enjoying life and this time of year.  A lot!  It is gorgeous.  Even tho the province has been going through somewhat of a heat wave, our particular location is breezy and lovely.  It couldn’t be better.

We are very lucky.

It wasn’t always thus.  Life has thrown us curveballs now and again and we are – like most people, I guess –  somewhat worn smooth by the wear and tear of the old daily grind.  To some extent.  Not all my sixty-five years were bliss.  But, honestly, with very few minor exceptions, the bulk of the last ten years has been as good as it gets.  In truth, my life after being a teen has all been good or on the way to getting better.  I was very fortunate and I am now very happy.

Go figure.

I am still surprised.

And the funny thing is that so much of what was truly great in my life was not because of any brilliance or hard work on my part.  Or anyone else’s.  It was not due to planning or even really conscious effort.  The vast majority of that which is the best that life has given was, seemingly, just plain dumb luck.  There has to be a lesson in there somewhere…………..

And, if that is the lesson, my teacher is Sally.  As my wife always puts it:  “Attitude is everything!”

That is the real lesson.

I guess that is what I am saying.  It is summertime and we have really good attitudes. 

Oh My Gawd!!  It is so embarrassing.  I am literally ashamed.  Gawd!!

For those of you who do not live in BC the following may seem a bit odd but it is so weird, I have to mention it.  I am talking about a recent minor arrest made into an epic media stunt.

I am ashamed of our government.  I am so ashamed of our government.  I am ashamed of our police forces.  And I am even a little ashamed of our local terrorists, too.

I am ashamed for all their picayune, mini, nano-mind set, pettiness and melodrama.  If it weren’t so embarrassing, it would make for good fodder for a Disney comedy.  What a farce!  What a joke!  What poppycock!

It is not even a tempest in a crock pot.

Two nut bars in the Valley are idiot-followers of Al-Queda and all things explosive and insane.  One of them appropriately named, Nuttal, wouldn’t ya know? These two loons gathered up some pressure cookers and, after studying up on the internet, made a few ‘nail-bombs’.  And I guess they planned to put them on the grounds of the legislature and hurt some people.  So far, pretty nutty by any standards.

I would hope that the part-time security guard there would have dealt with it.

But, No!  This was fodder for prime time.  At this stage I am just ashamed for the would-be terrorists.  I mean, really?!  Pressure cookers and nails?  Couldn’t any basic terrorist do better than that?  Where are your boxcutters, your Anthrax powders?  Haven’t you doofuses learned of Marsec?

Anyway, these mini-brains got the billing of terrorists but they were not very scary.  I doubt very much that any one of the security force couldn’t have ‘taken them down’ at any time.  Maybe the legislature Commissionaire could have done it?

But, instead, they were followed.  For months.  We (the taxpayer) spent millions.  We used up precious resources.  Like Inspector Clouseau used resources.  But it turns out they were not part of any major plots.  They were not part of any organization.  The bombs weren’t gonna explode.  They were just losers.  Complete idiots.

The Fraser Valley is full of ’em.

They were originally found out by CSIS who in turn contacted police, government security and all the Henny Penny’s in braids and epaulets who just love all this crap.

“Quick!  Get out the helicopter!  Notify SWAT!  Notify the media!  Get on your riot gear and jump on someone’s back!”

So, since February, it seems, cloaks and daggers were at work.  I guess they followed these two goofs like shadows awaiting the right time……but the right time for what? 

Well, it was too good an opportunity to squander by simply arresting them, wasn’t it?  So the police called the Premier.  And, after a nice confab, then they were arrested.  And they were arrested on the Canada Day long Weekend.

Good timing!

And our premier went to the media extolling the virtues, skills and bravery, the dedication and professionalism and……...on and on and on………about how our police and security forces who have once again protected us against terror.  She made it clear that “We will not allow this kind of threat to deter or frighten us, that we would stand resolute and strong against such terrorism and that Democracy and our values were safe!”

She did a lot on Democracy (for an unelected premier) and our values as Canadians.  She was really, really brave.

And that is the embarrassing part.  It was just a couple of kooks.  Nuts.  Goofballs.  But it was milked for propaganda purposes.  Like we are all idiots.

Two nutbars in the Valley are being used to sell us on our brave Premier and our brave fighting forces.  And our benevolent government.  Thank God for these brave souls!

But, fear not, good citizens, Christy and the Epaulets will save us.

It is truly embarrasing.

Last night a restaurant was born and it was an immaculate conception.  Chez Bunkhouse opened to rave reviews.

When I use the word ‘rave’ around here it is usually used in the context of character assassination.  Not this time.  This time ‘rave’ is used as in a celebration.  Of the mind-blowing kind.

Readers may know that we (the community) have a few communal buildings.  We have the bunkhouse and the Q-hut and a few ancillary locations that aren’t so much ‘ours’ as occupied by us (the community) on a pretty-much exclusive basis.  The Post Office, for instance, is a small, floating Federal shack on the public Federal wharf but, in reality, it is a hangout for the locals for the days when the mail plane arrives.  The bunkhouse and the Q-hut are more ‘ours’ but we tend to spread around a bit depending on the activity.

Last night the magnet was the bunkhouse. The bunkhouse is a small building that might be 1000 square feet if every nook and cranny was counted in.  It consists of a main floor in which a newly renovated and expanded kitchen shares the space with a larger room and the entry way.  Upstairs there is a small loft of sorts.  It is small but it was big enough to accommodate over thirty people and entertain them royally for four or so hours.  It became on this occasion with not just a little effort, the ultra chic, newest (and only) restaurant ‘Chez Bunkhouse’ complete with hostess, chefs and ambiance.  Haute cuisine in the forest.

Honest to God, last night Chez Bunkhouse put most of the finest eateries in most big cities to shame and it was the opening night!

A while ago a few of the local women (lamenting the dearth of good restaurants in the area) decided to do something about it. And they did.  And they did good.

Forgive me for cheating but I will quote my own (edited to preserve the anonymity promise) review written for the local paper: