I am starting to like what the BC First party is saying. Chris Delaney is the leader pro tem (they haven’t actually chosen one yet). They officially ‘kick-off’ in April but they are basically a ‘shadow party’ now.

It is also the spawn of the devil, tho, since Vander Zalm played a part in it’s formation. He and Delaney were the ones doing the anti-HST work. Still, he is ‘out of the picture’ now, says Delaney and the party is attracting some pretty sane people.

Like, well, me……….maybe………kinda…………I dunno……

I confess to having been attracted to every party at one time or another. I grew up in an NDP household, liked the image of Pierre Trudeau, liked the blunt truth of John Crosby, thought the Reform Party (under Manning) was at least honest and joined the provincial Liberals when Gordon Wilson was the leader (because my brother was one of his ‘back room boys’ and he wanted me to, mostly).

I thought I found my ‘home-boys’ when the Greens came to the table but, despite trying to influence them in every way I could, they insist on doing things their own way. I hate that. Especially when their own way is just so bloody stupid.

So, BCF could be just another huge disappointment. I hope not. They seem to have most things right by my reckoning. And, to be fair, Delaney has incorporated some of my thoughts into their platform. Want my vote? Play to my ego, not my wallet. And he has. And I am leaning their way.

I have to also confess to wondering if it isn’t a fool’s enterprise, this political ‘system’, this pretense at democracy. It doesn’t seem to work. I’ve met a lot of good people trying their best and coming from every political stripe when doing so. And little changes. We are not very good at managing ourselves and even worse at appointing leaders to do it for us.

I’ve seen proven crooks (convicted ones, even) get re-elected and lead parties. I’ve met sleazy bastards, too, who are very charming and garner votes like poop does flies. I have even met decent people with whom I agree on most things but are so damn ineffectual that voting for them is a waste of time. And I have met dedicated, selfless saints who get ‘lost’ in the system or get lost following their own single-issue cause.

The good, the bad and the ugly can’t seem to put Humpty Dumpty right.

But, far and away, the most obvious-to-me flaw in the system is not the people running but the system itself. What the hell is the point of electing an MLA or MP (good, bad or ugly) who is forced by the system or by circumstance to dance lockstep in line with the leader’s personal wishes? How does that translate into ‘representation of the people?’ Isn’t that simply a process of regularly changing the dictator and his or her accompaniment of puppets?

I didn’t vote for Preston Manning (I would, tho. I like the guy). He ran in Alberta. I didn’t vote for Mike Harcourt (different riding). I like Mike, too. I didn’t vote for Wilson, Adrian Carr or any of those who, if they and their puppets won, would be the de facto despot. I have to vote for people who are in my neighbourhood and that circumstance alone has always translated into voting for a back-bencher who, for all measurable results, ends up accomplishing nothing but learning-by-rote the leader’s ‘speaking points’.

No one likes the system but, when the people were asked if they wanted to fix it (proportional representation vs first-past-the-post), they voted NO. How is that possible? The electorate manifests HUGE apathy based on a deep rejection of the system and they voted NO to changing it? That simply makes no sense to me.

And, ultimately, that is my point – politics no longer makes sense to me.

I don’t know whether to run, hide or vote. Or not to vote at all. I don’t know how to fix the broken system. I don’t like any part of what my vote supports. I like very few politicians except the ones I meet (isn’t that, in itself, a bit of a mystifying coincidence?). I am a fan of Alex Morton but advised her not to run (she asked her readers).

I am as confused as I can be over what is the right thing to do when it comes to supporting the system. I can vote yea or nay on any given issue but I can’t seem to find an unassailable position on the system – only that it is broken, can’t seem to be fixed and that we have no replacement.

And yes, that, too, is part of the reason for dropping out.

Snowing. Wet, cold, silent, beautiful slushy mush. Really cold. Just miserable enough to keep us indoors and at the computer. Good ol’ Sal is baking bread while we also bash away on the keyboards making sentences. That’s kinda neat. She’s making Pita bread, actually. It will go with the hummus she is going to make later. Maybe add some version of guacamole. Maybe not. Damn, it doesn’t get much better except when we add a big dollop of wine to the occasion.

It’s funny, really. I used to go to a Greek restaurant and have the same thing and I can assure you that it was nowhere near as good. Mind you, their dolmathes………..mmmm.

Sal and I have never been what you might call ‘foodies’ (if you ever try to seriously use that word in normal conversation, don’t!) She’s a great cook – amongst the best – but she has never suffered pretensions of trying to be more of a ‘chéf’. Sal is a cook. A damned good one but a cook, not a chef. I am an eater, not a gourmet. But you wouldn`t know that distinction by the tasting. God, she`s good! I swear she could draw customers – even this far out!

Sally is typing out a translation for a Japanese friend of ours who sometimes needs some English ‘polishing’ of her work. I am writing this. Maybe later I’ll go out and fix a broken appliance. Maybe not. The fire is nice, the house is comfy. I sometimes think of taking a nap………ya know?

I was planning on going up to the Q-hut today to add another miniscule effort to the never-ending story but it was simply too wet and cold to go out. Sal, of course, was not letting the weather stop her and she was planning on heading out anyway to get the mail. But the mail plane isn’t coming in this weather either. So, we stay put. We can `push it` in some ways to get something done, I suppose, but eating hummus and pita is enough of an accomplishment for me.

When dinner is over, we`ll watch a movie then do some reading. If it has stopped snowing by then, I`ll try posting this. The satellite transmission doesn’t work in heavy rain, snow, fog, thick cloud cover or whenever it doesn’t feels up to it. We don’t care as a rule.

Describing this lifestyle as slow-paced, relaxed and comfortable still makes it sound more stressed than it is. I am even more laid back than that! Think big giant gummy bear. In a housecoat.

I don’t deserve it, I guess, but I take it. I get special status, special service now and then. Well, mostly whenever I ask for it actually. And I do ask but I limit the requests as much as possible.

As you know, we live remote. We live at least four hours from Campbell River (total elapsed time) and use a small boat, a 4×4 and a ferry to get there. No one knows that, of course, unless I tell them. So sometimes I do.

“I need a piece of glass cut, please. 33 inches by 36.5 inches, single pane, normal thickness.”

“No problem, sir. Pick it up Thursday.”

“OK. But I can’t get back in on Thursday. I live remote and only get in every two weeks or so. Could you hold it for two weeks?”

“Oh, hell. Come back in an hour. I’ll cut it myself at lunch instead of putting it in the system. How’s that?”

And that kind of consideration shows up a lot. If the service thinks you live in town, you are put at the end of a slow line. But, if they know that it is a long trek you made, most people try to make it work for you. This is small-town living at it’s best.

But it is not limited, really, to small towns. Even medium-sized Nanaimo companies will alter their ‘usual ways’ if they know that you are ‘up-island’ and just passing through. They know the logistics and try to accommodate the whole of the North Island and the smaller islands most of the time.

Not so Vancouver. Not so Victoria. And, especially not so the health care system. They couldn’t care less. No pretense even.

I am not complaining. Not really. OK, maybe a smidge. But I chose to be here. I can live with some of the inconveniences that brings. And I usually do so without complaining but that is because usually careful planning makes it all work and, when it doesn’t we seem to receive the kindness of strangers most of the time. I write about the complaints of being de-personalized in the big cities and health care only because it is so.

The smaller the town, the more considerate the people are as a general rule. The health care system – even the local one – is a glaring exception. Our doctors/hospitals/clinics don’t even think of changing their routine even if it is easier or works better for them. They don’t want us to get spoiled into thinking they care, I guess.

Or, maybe, they just refuse to think.

A month ago I had to see the doctor. “I am sorry but on that day the doctor does walk-ins only. No appointments. Come in and wait.”

“Well, I can do that for a couple of hours but I live remote and, if he is late, I have to go home in the dark in a small boat in the winter. If I come in early, will I get in before say, 3:00?”

“Sorry. Walk-in is walk-in. No appointments means no appointments.” The conversation was over. So, I didn’t go.

Last week we were in town on the same day of the week and so I went in to the walk-in. I got there about noon and thought I had a good chance to see this God before three. “Sorry, this is walk-in day and your doctor is on appointments only. Dr. Smith is doing the walk-in today. Wanna see Dr. Smith?”

“Well, you denied me last time because it was walk-in and now you are denying me again because it is a different doctor. Do you have a rule book or something? Or is it just a crap-shoot for health care you have going on here?”

That didn’t sit well with her so she put her head down and then dialed a number on the phone. Security, perhaps. Since I needed to talk with my own God, I chose to leave again.

Is it just me or does the expression, ‘HEALTH CARE SYSTEM’ irritate? Shouldn’t it be called the ‘PHARMACEUTICAL DRIVE-THROUGH’ or ‘THE MEDICINE MONOPOLY’?

We are very fortunate. We enjoy special status amongst most of the local and nearby service providers. And decent human-being status just about everywhere else. We are very thankful. Really. I guess it is the exception that proves the rule and, for that, we have to hand the exceptionally poor service award to the health care system in general and my doctor in particular.

I am stunned. Really. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it……….

You see, I read. I read voraciously. Politics, climate change, social trends, history and, on occasion, how-to stuff (sadly, I find the how-to stuff the hardest to understand).

I read non-fiction only because, well, it is more interesting and I leave my fantasy needs to the movies – better special effects (Tom Clancy leaves me cold but the movies his stories inspired are a lot of fun).

And all this reading has been going on for some time now. Most of my life, actually. The latest: Jared Diamond, Tom Friedman, Naomi Klien, Bill McKibben, Malcolm Gladwell are just the latest amongst the many, most of whom I have since forgotten.

Still my favourites: Harry Brown. Robert L. Hunter. Amory Lovin.

If there is a theme to it all, it is a bleak one. Seems we are either doomed or soon to be. Planet is ending, oil is running out, crooks control everything……..you know the line. Think Michael Moore writ large and often.

At the very least it seems, we are as a species, stupider than hell and likely to win the largest Darwin Award in earth’s history sometime very soon. Very depressing, really.

But once you get past the obvious dark side (and find out there is only the dark side), you can at least plan with the dark side in mind. Think of it as bringing your own little flashlight to the end of the dark tunnel.

And yes, I confess that, to some extent, the move to Read is partially in response to the view that we are all going to hell in a handbasket. NOT entirely but a little.

I even know that such a view is irrational in many ways. For instance, the government now propagandizes its own people by fear mongering on just about everything. “Keep them frightened and keep them in line. Plus we can charge more taxes.” We are bombarded by so-called threats from pandemics to economic collapse, from environmental devastation to series of serial killers. Our health care and educational systems are hopelessly flawed. And our food and water supply are either running out or are poisonous in oh so many ways. Woe is us!

The message that sells is, “you are doomed. Vote for me, pay this fee, tax or levy and buy this product and service to protect yourself.” Pathetic, really. But it works.

And, despite knowing that there is this dooms-day, government-backed industry and that fear sells, I respond, if not fearfully, then at least with concern. Like a Pavlovian dog, they have raised my level of concern to the extreme end of Defcon 1 verging on Defcon 2. I am a bit worried about the future to say the very least.

Put another way: maybe Chicken Little was right?

Anyway the point of all that is this: why are not more people leaving the city? Rats leave a sinking ship, everyone flees a burning building, even Sully Sullenberger crossed himself as he attempted to land on the Hudson river. Indeed, the exodus of millions of Africans to Europe is the theme of many recent doomsday trends. It seems we have a survival instinct and we should be showing it.

But I don’t see it here. Not in the GVRD. To my way of thinking, the boomers are retiring and, bombarded by fear mongering (if not real fears) and having less energy and motivation to run with the rats, are utilizing and enjoying the city less and less while fearing it more and more. But they are staying put.

I didn’t.

I became blasé about the urban smorgaasbord soon after having sampled most of it. And the whole urban thing lost the vast bulk of its lustre from the news broadcasts of the day featuring the likes of Willie Pickton, GW Bush, Gordon Campbell and increasing drug gang wars. It was easy to leave.

In fact, I have concluded that the city’s real attraction of more people was for the young to have access to a larger gene pool but I may be off on a tangent, there. Many people are motivated by making money and would argue that it was lucre not lust that attracted them to the metropolis.

Whatever.

Still, no matter how you cut it – money or marriage or both – you either have it by now (if you are a boomer) or you do not. A lonesome, poor 65 year old is not likely to get lucky downtown these days. Shot, maybe.

So why are more people not seeking refuge in the country? Why is there not a run on cottages? Why are people still commuting an hour or two to go nowhere to shop or drink Starbucks coffee? I don’t get it.

Now, to be fair, habit, comfort, familiarity and family and community ties would make a good argument for staying in the burbs. I understand that complacency. But, what with all the messages I have read and the things I see, it feels like that inertia comes with a huge price.

Like a civilization being taken over by a despot, do the people really need to feel the pain before they see the writing on the wall?

Years ago a friend of mine had his house broken into. Lots of damage and theft. He called a security alarm firm. We had not been broken into and so, seeing what that was like for him, I asked the same firm to install a system in our house. “By the way”, I said, “how many people get an alarm system before they are broken into versus those who need the experience first?”

“I can’t recall ever installing an alarm system before someone has been broken into” said the installer.

The point? Of course rural is not for everyone – I understand that – but shouldn’t I be seeing more people looking for cabins to go to? Shouldn’t more boomers – as the most obvious group – be looking to shed the umbilicals of the ‘plugged-in’ society? Do not the increasing controls, regulations, rules, strata councils, commissions, government officials, bylaws, policies-cast-in-stone, robot-voices, security cameras and other manacles-to-living free make you want to head for the hills?

Or, is it just me?

…….I’m changing. I’m different now. I had no idea that I’d change a lot merely by living where and how I do but, of course, venue counts. So does experience. So does choice. It adds up. We are adaptable and adapting even when we don’t see it. We are changing.

Most of the change is good. Way less stress. Virtually no sense of schedule, timetable or even time most of the well, time. I am not alone in this. I said to Sal, yesterday, “It is Saturday, right?” I was pretty sure it was but I don’t always keep track. “No, silly,” she said. It is Friday. All day. Honestly!”

“OK. Thanks!” I said and put it out of my mind. (I argue with Sal now and again but it is a losing proposition. Even when I am right, I am wrong to have argued. Took me years to learn that lesson. And so it was regarding yesterday. I accepted that it was Friday.)

Today a neighbour told us it was Sunday.

If you think I said, “I told you so.”, you’d be wrong. I know when to let something go.

But the point of that little vignette is that neither of us knew the day. Hell, we sometimes ask each other what month it is (well, I do, anyway). We are simply out of the ‘stream’ of things to the extent that we don’t even notice the stream exists. That change of pace was remarkably easy to get used to. I never achieved it while on vacation in my past life but I have sunk into it like a soft sofa while living here.

I am also more relaxed. And not. I exist at a more relaxed state 95% of the time and that is quite strange for me. Good. But very different. No anxiety. No worry. No pressure. It is good, really good. But when it happens that something is stressful, both Sally and I react so much more sensitively than ever before that we feel like dorks.

We have changed. We have been re-sensitized to the continuous assault on our senses that is modern urban life. And I don’t think we can get back the sensory armor that one needs to successfully get through a modern urban day. I think we have changed too much to get that back even if we wanted to.

We don’t.

I used to drive through the city eating a glop-burger while taking notes in my day-timer from the person on my cell phone and listening to the radio at the same time. I can steer with either knee almost well enough to make a right hand turn. I could do all that without a napkin and come out of it clean. It was, in retrospect, an amazing ability to multi-task.

Can’t do it anymore.

I think I am afraid to try.

Today, I get tense waiting for the ferry to unload (should I start my engine now?!). And I am talking about the Quadra ferry! I feel my stress levels increasing as I approach Nanaimo!

Think about that….merging into traffic on the Lions Gate bridge in the rain, at night, talking to Sally on the cell was done with aplomb. Almost unconsciously. A piece of cake. Now, nearing Nanaimo takes all my focus!

I am definitely changing.

I care even less about appearances than I ever did and I was not known for my high standards even when in my 3-piece suit, work-at-the-bank days.

There are plenty of other changes that have come about because of living remote but, far and away, the most significant is non-materialism.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not anti-materialistic. I still want stuff. Need stuff in some cases. But materialism is also a state of mind and a set of circumstances. If you live amongst consumers, you consume. If you don’t, you don’t. It is really that simple. Need, it seems is secondary to exposure.

Everyone out here wants and needs stuff and, ironically, we often talk about the stuff we need. But like alcoholics who still talk about booze even tho they don’t partake anymore, we talk about purchases but rarely make any.

Let me put this another way………..when Sally and I went shopping the other day, we had a list and walked the aisles. We got what we wanted and, if something caught our eye, we impulsively added it to our purchases. I bought a new saw blade when walking to the checkout at Home Depot. The price was good and I could always use a sharp blade. No need, really. Just impulse. Habit and opportunity. Mind set and circumstance. Pure consumerism.

But we are only exposed to that now for three hours or so every two weeks. Temptations are rare occurrences. That means fewer magazines, fewer ‘treats’, fewer everything actually. Fewer impulses = less consumerism. Less consumerism = different behaviours. We change.

This change was not from learning or experience, nor was it an act of will; it is the result of circumstance.

And, in just that small, almost undetectable way, we have been changed yet again merely by living here.

Bryce is pushing 70. A bachelor. He’s been out ‘this way’ for most of his life. Homesteading, mostly. Working part time forever as the custodian of our lone public building. Now retired. He’s a simple man in the way a river or an orchard is simple.

This guy looks like a small, gnarly tree and he makes about the same amount of noise, he speaks so softly and infrequently. Bryce is also quite deaf. The impression one gets is that of a person who is ‘in the background’ even if he is right in front of you.

But such a description – if left at that – is truly unfair. Bryce can do just about anything and he does. Just not on stage. I won’t go into detail about his gorgeous homestead, garden, orchard and boat. I won’t elaborate on the fact that he keeps house, home and boat together with a quiet confidence that is the manifestation of a history of competence in all things. This guy is an independent in every way.

He single-handedly, and with the perseverance of an epistemologist, recorded every living plant on a special part of the island to ensure that the government designated it a park. And they did! He grows his own garden from ‘local seeds’ and ‘plants’ that he shares with the community. If Bryce gives you seeds, they will sprout and flourish.

But that is not why I am writing about him. I am writing today because of his saws.

We are working on the Q-hut to restore it as a community wood working shop. Bryce comes by and contributes every week. Last week he came with a few of his tools. None of them power tools. He had two hand saws like the ones you used to see…..you know, the wooden handle and the long blade that tapers? I looked at them sitting wrapped protectively in old cardboard stuck vertically in his lunch bucket. Truly a lunch bucket, recycled from a five gallon pail.

“Geez, Bryce”, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “how do you get old saws like this sharp? Surely you don’t sharpen them, do you?”

“Eh?” Hard of hearing – yes, but Bryce is no dope. He knows he didn’t hear me so he interpreted my interest in the saw and answered further……..quietly…….

“I have power tools. Two of them. Never plugged them in. Not yet, anyway. Will someday, I suppose. But I built my house and sheds without them. Three boats, too. In fact, I don’t think I have ever used a power tool to build anything. Maybe I have. Can’t remember. Those saws are pretty good. I keep them sharp with a triangular file…………” and then he went on to describe how to ‘set’ the teeth and how to file them…………

“These saws are about thirty years old. Maybe older. Good steel. They serve me well”.

I went back to my job of replacing a window I had broken earlier (thus describing in a phrase my relative level of competence compared to Bryce) and I thought about the saws………….

Here we were building a workshop, planning the benches, dreaming of the power tools we might get. We are, in fact, using power tools with which to build the shop. And Bryce is helping. He always chips in. But the truth is, he could build a boat from scratch with what he brought in his lunch bucket.

And so could the other guys………………..

They don’t need no stinkin’ power tools.

I am starting to think they are just building this shop to help and encourage me.

The ‘everyday’ seems to hold some interest so yesterday may warrant a telling…….it does, kind of, reveal a bit of what life is like for us on a remote (not isolated so much as remote)island.

We got up early for me (around 7:00) and prepared for our trip to town. Sally collected all the garbage and recycling into plastic bags (ironic in itself, don’t you think?) and we dressed in layers (about five for me, a gazillion for Sally). I gathered up the totes and cooler and loaded them on the funicular carriage along with the garbage and a couple of pack sacks and sent the whole schmozzle down to the beach. Sal went around to get the boat and I gathered stuff to the water’s edge. Total weight: about 100 pounds, maybe 125.

Sal took some tools we were loaning and left them for the neighbours on the dock for later pick-up.

She then pulled into the beach and we loaded and went off. 20 minutes later, we were at the community dock on the other island. Met Ken. Said “good morning” and hiked up the trail. It is about a 150 yard hike up a 25 degree slope to the parking lot. Finally done with our empty-but-still-125 pound load which was packed away in the old Pathfinder, we headed off. 45 minutes down the logging road to the recycling centre and over to the movie rental store to return old movies. Then a quick leap to the ferry to await it’s arrival.

20 minutes on the ferry and into Campbell River.

An hour later we ended up at the Japanese food store for some supplies (gyoza, yakisoba and some tuna). We had just come from looking at a boat for sale. Climbed all over it. The owner had left it out for us to check over. That was our first stop after the ferry and set a nice tone for the day.

After Japanese Katie, we headed for breakfast at the Ideal cafe’. It is a greasy spoon diner that caters to loggers and looks like something out of movie set. Probably the best ‘greasy spoon’ cafe I have ever been to. The waitresses all wear tight cheap clothing, rush about, know everyone and do everything at top speed. Food is great. Tea is served in those leaky stainless steel pots that waste everyone’s time and patience and spill water over everything. Classic.

Then it is off to shop. Sal does Save-On and I do the liquor store and hardware. After that we we go to the bank, I check up on used outboard motors, we buy some firebricks to re-line the stove and Sal stocks up on fudge.

She then then goes off to get her hair done with ‘Cat’, I go to the marine store and Staples and we hit another store for dog-food just before we line up for the 4:30 ferry. Sal pours us some tea that we brought in a thermos and then goes along the parking lot talking to people she knows or anyone with a dog.

On our way back, we stop on the other island at the pharmacy and then back to the movie store to get some new rentals. I don’t know why we bother – they have a penchant for Bruce Willis-type movies and really dumb, dumber and dumbest comedies. But we look anyway.

By then it is dusk and we are still at least 45 minutes from the boat, an hour from home and another hour from settling in.

And so we head off. See deer along the road. As it is getting dark, I drive down the steep hill we climbed earlier let Sal out at the trail t the dock. Then I drive over the beach to where Sal will land the boat. I unload from the truck as Sal places, loads and balances the now 300 pounds into her little boat. When it is properly loaded she heads over to the dock to wait for me. I take the truck back up the hill and park.

We head across the channel in the dark but we can hear the dogs barking. They recognize the sound of the motor.

We land on our rocky shore. The tide is out. Can’t see. We unload carefully. It is slippery, uneven, with poor footing and the totes and cooler are full. So is the new plastic garbage can we bought. Plus the firebricks. We move carefully. We get it all up and loaded on the funicular and I set it off up the hill. Sal takes the boat back around to our neighbour’s dock where it is usually berthed.

I unload everything into the house. Start the fire. Sal comes in and starts to put things away. I pour tea and then wine and then Sal puts on the oven for a pre-cooked dinner (cabbage rolls). We have dinner and clean up. It is 8:00 pm.

We do that bi-weekly. Wish it was even less frequent. Still, we see friends, neighbours and the trip keeps us in supplies. We are good for another two weeks.

As I have insinuated and stated already, building is more than hammering and sawing. Sometimes ‘not building’ is just as exhausting. I wrote this up when we were in the process of building stairs up to the cabin site from the boatshed deck. It was summer. The weather was great. And then we started……………..

“We have enough food to feed an army!” I said as I hoisted the second large cooler up the stairs to the deck. Another large box of dry goods and a few more bags of impulse purchases filled the larder to the point of excess and, given our lack of refrigeration, clearly indicated poor planning. We had too much. Or so I thought.

“Sweetie, don’t forget that Sue is coming on Tuesday and Doug said that he’d come by the following weekend. And Emily (our daughter) will be with us for the next few days. I think we’ll be fine”, she said with a smile that made me swoon, shut me up and suggested that I was fussing too much all at the same time. I am a sucker for the endearment, ‘sweetie’. I assumed that she was right. She usually is.

We had packed and prepared for two weeks of working at the site. We had recourse, of course, to the larger store twelve miles away by water or the smaller store (now closed) two miles in the other direction, but we already had more inventory than both stores so I relaxed. We settled down to a relaxed schedule of recreational building (please refer to previous articles for a definition of recreational building and the first aid tips that accompany it).

Early the next morning after breakfast, I dragged out the tools, the generator, the materials and I began the random series of steps I undertake when trying to build something. I never really know exactly where to start so I often start the genset first just to create the right atmosphere. As a consequence of all that noise, I failed to hear the footfalls of my neighbour coming to greet us. Genset shut down, we all sat down to a nice cup of tea and Sally broke out a few cookies and bits of fruit. They left just before noon.

On went the generator and, since I had passed the visiting time planning my next few steps, things got underway. Until Linda passed by and I made the mistake of waving. Linda is a more distant neighbour and tends to interpret a hand waving as an invitation to lunch. Her timing was perfect and we enjoyed her long missed company until she continued on her way an hour or so later. I tentatively lifted a hammer and, checking to make sure that no one was approaching, began to hit things – some of them were nails.

Just as I was getting my hammering sighted in and could claim more nail hits than misses, we were hailed from the shore once again. Neghbours from the North this time. Nice people. Long time, no see. More tea. More cookies. Lots of nice chit chat. Hammer rested with the nails.

Day one was a social success. We were genuinely pleased to see everyone and, despite no progress on the stairs, it was a good day.

Sue came the next day. She’s great. We love her. Haven’t seen her for months. Catching up with all the news was priority number one. Hammer developed slight patina of rust.

Day three: Sue’s coworkers from nearby dropped in. Brought cake. Needed refreshments. Wonderful company. Great guys. Noticed spider web on genset.

Day four: wife’s coworkers drop by in kayak. Nice couple. Hungry. Stayed overnight. Everyone went for nice hike next day. I sprayed WD40 on all tools and looked longingly at the starter cord to the genset before hiking. I figured there was something wrong with me – I kept fantasizing about sawing two-by-fours.

Day five: took daughter to see friend. Returned to camp from friends dock with two more people. Lovely couple. Wanted to work. Sadly, they could not. Did not know which end of the hammer to use. They, too, got hungry. Took them back hours later. Feeling spiritually weak, I offered genset to them ‘cheap!’

Day six: Sue left. Daughter left. Doug arrived. Ferry logistics took most of the day. Neighbours come by bearing gifts. Day gone. Food stocks low. Contemplate garage sale.

Day seven: Doug reveals business vision: “We can sell this! It’s beautiful! You’ll be a millionaire! I can see it now!” I carefully explain that the only thing I would use the millions for is to buy this property and build a cabin. Maybe I’d hire some help. Show him tools and try to explain concept. Does not compute. Day shot.

Day eight: nine visitors so far. Food gone. Booze gone (my fault, mostly). First Aid kit 100% intact. These are bad signs. There are no signs of anything else. No work accomplished. Not even any blood spilled (just a matter of time). Desperation enters the holiday equation. So do two more visitors. We serve toast and wine. Pretend to be Catholic.

Day nine: major gale restricts shopping trip. Too dangerous. Does not deter visitor. Sally said that I was beginning to look dangerous and the visitor left in the middle of the gale for safety reasons. Hunger sets in. We ate a lot of canned rice pudding and washed it down with Vodka. Weird.

Day ten: went shopping. No hammering. No nailing. Just shopping. Living remote means: shopping is a day-long chore. Returned home in time to admire my tools.

Day eleven: “We have to get away.” said my wife. “If we don’t, someone will come to visit!” I agreed. “What do you want to do?” “Let’s go kayaking. We can visit Ralph and Laurie!”

The insanity of it didn’t hit me until we were launched. I contemplated throwing myself on my paddle but the blade was plastic. I hoped that Ralph was in the middle of building or, at the very least, dead. It was my only hope. No such luck. We visited.

Day twelve: No visitors. Unless you count the gale, the rain and accompanying 50 mph winds.

Day thirteen: had a good day. No visitors……..until 6:00 pm. A guy rows by and I forget myself, “Hi!” I said. Then I shut up. I averted my eyes and quickly looked away. But it was too late. Damn. He turned to the shore. “Oh my God! I cannot entertain anymore. I’ll have to shoot him. I have no choice. No one will blame me…..”

“I’m John”, he said holding up a plaster cast of a very large foot. “I am a Sasquatch hunter and I heard that there were some sightings in your neck of the woods. Can you tell me anything?”

“Yes, John, I can. Come on up and have some tea. A Yeti visited us just the other day………..”

Haven’t been to town for a couple of weeks and so we are a bit overdue.  Supplies running out.  Milk, fresh veggies, that sort of thing. 

“What are we gonna have for dinner?  I’m down to re-runs and chicken.”

“I’d sure like some of that calm chowder you make.  Wanna get clams?”

So, off we went yesterday down to the little lagoon right behind our house.  It is a steep climb down about 75 feet at a 40 degree angle and we use strung ropes to help us get up and down.  The lagoon dries when the tide is about half way out but, at this time of the year, half way is about as far as it goes.  Our window for harvesting started at 3:00 and ended at 4:30.

The wind was blowing overhead at about 30 and the wind turbine whined in the near distance during the whole time.  It was the sound of money in the bank and the bank was our batteries.  They didn’t top up but they were sufficiently raised to allow for the day to be illuminated and run electrically without having to use the genset.  That’s several hours of  two computers, almost a full day (winter light) with some lights, all the little ‘chargers’ of small devices and, of course, the water pump, the DVD player and a few small fans. 

We went down with two five gallon buckets and a clam rake.  Two dogs carrying a toy each optimistically joined us.  Usually the lagoon means ‘play and swim and fetch’ time for them but today they were ignored.  Well, as much as two dogs with throw-toys can be ignored.  I dug.  Sally picked.  And we threw the odd thing for them.  And within a half hour we had enough clams to make a very hearty and voluminous batch of clam chowder.  It would be enough for three meals.

But the sea had kindly offered up another gift – this time of kelp.  There was a loose carpet of sea weed strewn about and so we scooped up a few more bucketfuls of that for the garden before breaking for tea.  We heaved ourselves up the hill picking our way carefully and using the ropes for assistance while carrying heavy buckets and hand tools.  You know, like Sherpas only with much more grunting and heavy breathing.   

When we got to the house, the raven was waiting for his usual afternoon treat and we obliged him.  Lately, we have taken to feeding him by hand.  It is not easy to approach a wild raven but, over the past few weeks, we can get close enough that he takes items from the palm of my hand.  It is pretty neat.

Sal made tea and we sat in the sun watching the clouds shoot by and the odd boat shoot by faster.

“Why tell me this?”

Dunno.  Pretty ordinary day out here in paradise but I thought you’d like to hear about it.

Thank God for the commonplace.