Phoebe’s gone.  Off to Nepal by way of London.

Because she is going on a ‘trek’, we invited Judith, Rob and Laurie for a send-off dinner for her.  Rob and Laurie are world class mountaineers and they gave Phoebe tips on Sherpas, hiking gear, hostels and other things Katmandu.  Normally, I would listen attentively to that sort of thing so that I could have the information for future use.  But I did not listen so closely this time.  I am unlikely to go hiking in Nepal anytime in the foreseeable future.  At least I hope not.  A sure sign of getting older – striking things off the Lifetime to-do list without having done them.

We got dirt thanks to Phoebe.  I finished the deck extension.  The turbine is whining productively at last.  We are gearing up for the next visitors.  Eight for Thanksgiving.  Maybe 9.  Fall is upon us and there are still things on the Seasonal to-do list that I actually still intend to get done.  We’ll see.   

I have started the wheels in motion for the funicular extension.  Still have another few support legs to make (cement tubes, steel and pipes fastened to the rocks).  It should be operational before I go trekking in Nepal.  But there is a short trip south planned for in between and a ‘big shop’ to undertake.  October will be busy.

This is, without doubt, the best time of the year for me.  The air is cold, clear and the wind blows and blows.  I love it.  But there is also lots of sun.  It is bright, blustery and bracing.  It does not get any better.

Work is harder, tho.  For some reason, the wind blowing breaks into my concentration.  I have to focus harder to get things done.  I am more easily distracted.  I find myself stopping and looking out at the sea, then working a bit and stopping again to look at the trees and so it goes……..each day is more easily interrupted by the restlessness of it all.  I guess October is busy for everyone and everything.

Mouse #3.  This guy fell into the deep outdoor sink and couldn’t get out.  Sally discovered him.  Both parties visibly upset by the encounter.  Sal ran off shrieking and the mouse tried digging down through the porcelain without success.  Mousehunter Dave had to come to save the day.  Donning heavy gloves I snatched the little blighter expecting him to be less than an ounce or two of submissiveness.  WRONG!  This guy was formidable, ferocious and Hell bent for freedom.  As much as is possible with the mouse in your hand, we squared off.  A brief but titanic struggle ensued.  It ended by my releasing said mouse some 100 yards from the house.  The last ten yards by Air Dave.  In the direction of Jake, the neighbour’s cat.

We showed him! 

Phoebe dug, I cut planks and Sally decked.  The day went well.  Well enough to invite a couple of neighbours over for happy hour.  And then Roger asked, “What does everyone think of the court ruling that seemingly makes brothels legal?”

A discussion then ensued.  At times, it was animated.  At other times, it was heated.  It even got a bit personal now and then………..quite entertaining and definitely reminiscent of our dinner party days in the cul de sac.  Good stuff.

But I mention it because it is now somewhat rare to have a three-round, bantam weight debate served up hot and with wine and cheese like the old days.  To be honest, I was a bit rusty.  Where before, I would instinctively seek out the ‘buttons of my opponent’ so that they could be pushed a bit during the discussion, now I was inclined to sit back and reflect on how ‘the more things change, the more they remain the same.’

You know, the old man’s position.

I found it especially galling when I made a point and it was rebutted by “Well, that may have been true back in the day but nowadays things have changed!”  There is no legitimate rebuttal for that.  You lose because your point of view is ‘old’.  Of course you can fall back on that old privilege of age, “Hey! Deep down we are all the same and we repeat history in different eras but repeat it we still do.  So, don’t play the age card on me!”  

Doesn’t work.  

The real revelation, of course, was how the point of view varied along gender lines.  Even if one made a good point and it struck home, the response was usually, “Well, that may be true in many ways but I still think that it is not true in the majority of the cases.” So, even points well made and graciously accepted were quickly shed like water from a duck.

The whole episode reminded me of city life much more than I realized at the time.  We talked a lot like that in the city.  And we were good at it.  Quick on our feet, acidic of tongue.  In fact, I talked for a living, really.  In the city, you don’t make things like decks and bread and garden boxes for a living.  You talk on the phone, push paper and file it away.  It is real, of course, but it is less physically real. 

I distinctly remember when we lived in False Creek and, while sitting in the cockpit of our boat, we noted that ‘as far as the eye could see, no one made anything.  They just shuffled paper or worked on computers. Or talked.’ 

I remember equally well while we were building the house, Sally turning to me with a look of fatigue and saying, “I can’t believe you have to build a house one nail at a time!”

That, in a nutshell, is the essence of the difference for us.  One was mind-living in a city-scape, this one is a physical living in a land and seascape.  One is tactile, the other intellectual. 

And the difference is profound. 

Well, we finally managed to work our woofer like a dog.  Unfortunately our primary experience is with Portugese water dogs so Phoebe went paddling.  And, when she got back, we fed her.  I felt an impulse to scratch her behind the ears but, luckily, Megan butted in and I regained some propriety before making a fool of myself.  Wouldn’t want to be seen as a fool by anyone, now would I? 

Sally, Jorge, John and Phoebe took the kayaks yesterday and went paddle-about around Surge Narrows.  The tides and currents at this time of year are moderate and so they could explore the nooks and crannies of the islets that form the constriction that is the pass.  They could see what can’t normally be seen.  Mostly just more rocks and Xmas trees, of course, but at one point they came upon a small, dry rock with a couple of dozen seals lolling about.  Seeing seals from a few feet away in a practically-water-level kayak is a neat experience and especially one for a young woman from London/Melbourne.

They caught a glimpse of a sea lion in the distance and, naturally, there were eagles and other winged denizens of the area to witness in their environment.  The ‘paddle’ was about ten miles long and took a few hours.  All good.  

While they were away, I worked on a small deck extension to make hanging the clothes on the clothesline easier.  Yes, that’s right – we hang clothes on a line.  The line wends its way through the trees so finding bark and twigs in my sock drawer is the norm.  Paw prints on the sheets tend to mystify me, tho.  Just how does a dog get a muddy print on a sheet hanging six feet off the ground?  More mystifying is the fact that the first time I noticed this, there were a series of prints as if the dogs had walked all over the sheets.

“Sally, how did the dog print pattern come to grace our sheets?” “Never mind.  A little dirt will do you no harm!” “But, really, a little dirt kind of defeats the purpose of washing them in the first place, doesn’t it?” “No. This is just a little clean dirt.  We wash the sheets to get rid of the dirty dirt.”

Seems the dogs generate clean dirt and we, in our sleep, make dirty dirt.  If only it were so.   There is so much to domestic work that I don’t really understand.

At one point in the day I was in my executive corner office writing (actually a corner of the bedroom with a small table on which the computer sits).  I looked out the window and there, strutting it’s stuff, was a huge, speckled, female pheasant.  This bird was the size of a large chicken.  It slowly worked it’s way around the flower bed and meandered back up into the forest.  It was gorgeous.  I’ve seen grouse from the window and all the other animals you’d expect but how a big ol’ pheasant manages to live undetected on this peninsula is a mystery.  Maybe she was just passing through.

It is back to dirt scrounging after breakfast for Phoebe and back to deck making for me.  Sally will bake some bread and then come to screw on the deck.  (For PC reasons, please place the emphasis on the words in that last sentence to indicate her fastening planks with the screw gun.) 

And so it goes………

Today we gather dirt.  The reason we invited a woofer to the cabin this year is that dirt gathering is such drudge work and it is made so much better by having a little help.  There is, of course, a second reason: we have enjoyed all the young woofers to date so it is not all exploitation but dirt work is definitely an ‘earn-your-keep’ type chore.  My definition of a ‘little help’ is to say, “Go get dirt.  Dinner at 5:00.  See you later” but Sally won’t go for that so we’ll all be digging dirt unless I can find a more suitable chore that allows me to stand up. 

Dirt gathering is hard mostly because there isn’t much to gather.  Our ‘property’ is rock, actually.  We are situated on a peninsula of granite thrusting into Hoskyn Channel and, over the eons, it has attracted enough dust and such that moss eventually grew.  As the moss grew and subsequently died, enough compost-cum-dirt developed to foster Salal (shrubs) and the process continued until eventually we got trees.  But despite such herculean-but-natural efforts over thousands of year, the soil is still shallow and riven with root systems.  Digging on our site is like taking a fork to roofing felt.  So, we value any dirt we can get.

Yesterday the women ‘hard-scrabbled’ enough dirt to fill three wheelbarrows.  They were at it for four hours and the yield was about 1/6 what we have to get.  I find that discouraging and so I go do other things.  So long as the other things are deemed necessary and important, I am relatively free.  Today I will build the box into which the dirt will be placed.  Trust me, I’ll build slowly.

Sally and Phoebe don’t seem to mind.  They chat like magpies and lots of shrieks and laughter can be heard.  They seem fine on their hands and knees shaking little handfuls of  
dirt from some rat’s nest of roots and twigs.  They dig with hand trowels and little hand-held implements of flora destruction.  It is painstaking.  Maybe I can build two boxes? 

Had to whack another mouse yesterday.  That’s two mousecides on my hands so far this year (altho I wear gloves during the executions).  Harsh.  I suppose a guy who has had a few street-fights, undergone a few operations and eaten meat for 60 odd years would have some comfort with blood and guts and I guess I have.  But not much. I keep thinking that I should be able to hunt.  I should.  It’s a real-man thing, I think.  And I should be able to kill and butcher a deer.  Mankind has been omnivorous for eons. 

Deer meat is good, there are plenty of them and, after all this time on the planet, I am pretty much knee-deep in indirect slaughter, mayhem and gore.  So, what is another carcass or two?  Eh?  Well if dispatching a little mouse is anything to go by, I am not going to do it.  Rib-eye steaks?  OK.  Mouseicide………..well, when required I guess.  But cute little deers with those big eyes?  I don’t think so.

Hmmmmmmm……………………Sal is a good shot………………maybe……….. 
 

Seems the satellite dish horn went dry…….that’s good.  Signal is up.  May as well take down the orange tape.  Off with the hard hat. 

Imagine that!

Went up to work on the Quonset hut Wednesday, the old 1940’s post WW2 building that was the first school.  We are restoring it.  Well, maybe restoration is too strong a word.  We’re fixing it up to serve as a woodworking shop for the kids and adults of the community to build boats together.  One of the mothers wants us to donate some space to a potter’s wheel she has.  It is really her way of saying, “Throwing clay pots is not dangerous.  All the men on the island are missing teeth or fingers, usually both.  Throw pots,  Please!”   She has a point.

There are four or five us doing the work.  About four hours every Wednesday when it is not raining.  We couldn’t keep up the pace and so took the summer months off but now it is back to the grindstone.  A nice long lunch is the only respite.  As you can imagine, the project is taking a bit longer than expected.  But we’ll get there.

Of the five of us, only Dan and I can hear.  The others are pretty deaf.  Of course, even Dan and I have trouble with the portable genset running and hammering going on.  The results are pretty funny.  “Hey, Hugh, you got the length on that board?” 
“It’s plenty strong enough.  What is the length I need to cut?”  And on and on all day.

Work-site humour is a special kind of humour.  Very male.  Very funny.  Usually just short little bits of nonsense.  “Geez, better nail it up now before it gets any worse!”  “You ever use a hammer before?  This your first nail?” “Hell, this is good enough for the women we go out with.”  “Too short?!  Try trimming a little off the short end.”  “Didn’t bring the right tools, eh?  Did you check your purse?” 

At the community lunch the others (not the Q-crew) always ask about our progress.  “How’s the Q-hut coming, Dave?”  “Oh, good.  You know.  One step forward, two steps back.  Then lunch.  Then a couple more steps back until we go home.”  

“Sounds typical. Can I help?” 

“Yeah.  Can you do anything well?”  

“No.  Not really.”  

“Great, you’ll fit right in.  See ya Wednesday.  If it looks like rain, stay home.”  

“But aren’t you guys working on the inside?” 

“Yeah.  But when we were working outside we made up the rain rule and no one wants to change it.” 

Did I mention how much slower is the pace out here?

Dish is on the fritz.  Literally.  There is ‘water in the horn’ as they say when……..well, water is in the horn.  The dish has an arm that holds a device like a ray-gun with a hand mirror stuck on the end.  This device points at the dish and transmits and receives my signal.  Seems my little mirror-like device is 1/3 full of water distorting incoming and outgoing signals to the point that I am incommunicado except for a few seconds now and then.  Sending this may take a while.

I called my satellite technical service.  After an hour of ‘messin’ with settings and diagnostics over the phone, we concluded the problem was with the horn. 

“Do not touch the ‘horn’ sir.  It is a highly technical device that only authorized technicians are able to service.  It will void your warranty if you touch it.”

“OK.  Fine.  I live on a remote island. The warranty is over anyway.  21 days passes quickly, you know.  The service technician will take three weeks to get here if he is in the mood.  Which he rarely is.  So, waddya saying, I cannot take off the mirror and fix it?”

“It is highly dangerous sir.”

“I just spent the day taking down deadfall trees on a moss-covered slope with a chainsaw.  Which is more dangerous?”

“I don’t know what a deadfall tree is, sir.  And I cannot advise you, sir, but I would advise you to make sure that the power is off if you should choose to do something unwise.”


Hmmmmmm……..should I choose to do………?   “Now we are talking.  Just how unwise could I get?  Imagine the dumbest customer on the planet………..what no good could he get up to?”

“Well a person knowing nothing and trying anyway might try to take the horn off and drain it. Technically a violation of the warranty that has expired.  Poor fool.”

“Would the imbecile be successful?”

“Not likely but it would definitely determine if the horn was at fault.  And draining away the water might work but it is just not the right protocol. Proper protocol requires replacing the unit.  I doubt that even resealing the horn would work.”

“Thanks.  First I am going to phone my authorized dealer and technician.  Then I am going to phone my doctor (which is apparently always good advice even if you are not going to do anything).  I may also consult legal advisers and then I am going to string orange tape around the site with warning signs everywhere.  Of course, I’ll be wearing my hard hat and day-glow vest at the time.  I will not have any silicon seal nearby.  And no one will go near the lethal thing!”

“Good.  I am glad you appreciate the impossibility of your doing this work, sir.  We cannot be held responsible.”

“Me, neither.  That’s why the orange tape.  Whew!  We came mighty close to doing something silly.  Thanks!  And goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sir!

A friend wrote to ask: “Really, what are the benefits of change?”  He, too, is 62 and wondering what retirement might hold in store.  So, I feel compelled to answer.  Not because I know what the hell I am talking about for him but because I know what I am talking about for me and, to be fair, I have been a bit of booster for shaking things up now and then.  I should have some kind of answer for a friend standing on the threshold of change, shouldn’t I?

I am not sure when I retired.  In fact, I am not so sure that I ever have.  Who knows?  Perplexing state of being, actually.  I am still ready, willing and mostly-able to work given that my now outrageous and exacting requirements and personal limitations are met.  One thing is for sure, I am not cheap nor am I much good.  Quite a niche!  You should think twice before recommending me.   In fact, I not only moved out of the very-low-standards-expected-market, I have likely priced myself way, way out of any other type of market as well. 

I sure hope that I have or else I will have to raise my rates yet again. 

I do know that I had lost the will to run with the rats back in 1999.  I was 51 and placing mid-pack at the time.  For some reason, all of a sudden it all seemed so silly.  Still does.  I still needed chee$e, of course, and we were in no position to retire or even, for that matter to lift our noses off the grindstone or to even linger at a rat race watering hole (Palm Springs, Cabo, Whistler) for very long.  But I wanted off the treadmill and the ennui grew. 

I found myself slowing, even faltering at times.  I was being passed by other rats and there were no competitive juices complaining in response.  By the time I was 53 or 54 I simply had no heart for it anymore.  A financial need, perhaps.  Money, after all, ruled at the time.  But I had no heart for that either.  None.    I had to wait for Sal, of course, but the ennui disease was, it turned out, contagious.  Once I was in a swoon, she felt herself fading fast.  We both wanted a way out and cost was not a factor.

As you know, we found it off-the-grid.  I was 56 and living and building on a remote island but still thought of myself as not-yet-retired.  What a nut!  I kept my Vancouver 604 number for four more years. “For my clients!”  Totally delusional on my part.  Although I have had four cases in six years, I think I have to admit that I am now real close to retirement.  Maybe. 

A quick aside: A huge amount of gratitude is owed to Emily, our daughter.  We were gifted with a kid who has a sense of independence and wanderlust.  Even better she was smart enough to win a scholarship to York University in Toronto.  She too, wanted to ‘go’.  When she left home at 17 to ‘be on her own’, we knew that she would handle it.  And she has.  She gave us our freedom.  Credit goes to Ben, too.  He was three years ahead of Emily and became just as well established.  He never looked back. 

Living out here and building our own house answered all my needs.  I am happy and indebted to both my children for being as great adults as they were kids. 

So, I am happy.  Right? 

Right!  I do find this way of life a lot more ‘real’.  Translation: I play an important role in everything I do and I almost understand what I am doing.  Office work?  Not so much.   I find that a little adventure in the morning is a good thing and adventure is defined as requiring a bit of adrenaline.   I tend to schedule a little ‘adventure’ in for about noon-ish.  Quite civilized, don’t you think?  I am pleased with solving the myriad daily challenges we face, the daily exertions, the constant learning curve.  Tho I am still not a big fan of heavy sweating, I have come to enjoy swinging an axe or running a chainsaw now and then!  Mind you, I am even more pleased that I can quit all that $%$#@!! learning at 5:00 and have some wine if I want to.  I usually want to.

I am basically pleased at the level of NON boredom I have now and I was singularly displeased previously at the enormity of the omnipresent BOREDOM of the cul de sac lifestyle that I had then.  So, on that score, this is a step in the right direction. 

Key thought: direction……………..

But really, is the cul de sac any less real than the cabin?  Is chopping wood in the great outdoors any better than pushing paper in a rabbit warren office cubicle?  Is fresh air better than HVAC air?  Is being able to work to your own rhythms and moods any better than marching to the beat of the corporate drum? Is a nice glass of wine before a slowly-made-and-eaten-home-cooked-dinner that much better than a drive-thru or a 30 minute hot delivery?

On the face of it, Yes!  A thousand times yes.  But there is a caveat……………

Learning, it seems, is the real key for me and Sal.  Our location, lifestyle and health is much better but the real key was to reawaken the ‘student’ in us.  We have been on a huge learning curve these past six years.  And it is still advancing.  Except when we fall backwards, of course, but we then just pick ourselves up again and carry on.  Advancement is slow but steady as a result.  The ‘direction’ we are heading in is more about learning than anything else.    

We learn stuff new every day, every week and every season.  It is like being at school again, only way, way better because we choose the topics, we choose the pace and we do the grading.  It is that learning of things that is so interesting to us and, I think, feels so good.  Truthfully, there may or may not be much of a real difference between HVAC air and fresh air but the fresh variety is largely a new experience for me.  I can smell the trees, pick up scents from flowers hundreds of yards away.  I can hear better.  I see better.  Whatever the value difference is in the actual air quality is almost irrelevant to the whole experience.  The bonus stuff I get, like clouds and birds and rustling leaves, makes ‘fresh air’ better than HVAC air.   But the real lesson is in now knowing the difference.

But, you know what? We felt the same way as beginner ESL teachers in Hong Kong.  And air quality there was not a positive factor!  So, it doesn’t matter what or where the learning takes place – it just has to happen.   
So, I am definitely ahead by one great lesson.  Learning that learning new stuff is the best and easiest part of having fun, being healthy and enjoying life.  The location and the activity are not so critical although, by definition, they should change now and then – for me, anyway.  But the real ‘refresher’ is in the learning. 

Part of that is coming by way of this blog.  I am poking at ‘readership’ and seeing what happens.

Just so you know, I poke at things all the time.  Not every time is there a life changing result.  In fact, some pokes are pointless.  Still, out of 30 pokes at the universe, something always unfolds.  I wonder where this one will go. 

Maybe I will become a ‘cabin consultant’?

Neighbour called.  Needed to use our vehicle.  So, it’s gone for a day or two.  A guest called needing to be picked up on Quadra but a neighbour on Quadra is coming out on the same day and so the guest will be retrieved by them and be delivered to our end-of-the-road dock for boat pick-up.  A bunch of women need boat rides to get to book club on Sunday and, with a call or two, that is handled as boat drivers and pick-up points are agreed to.  And, when they arrive at the landing, a neighbour’s flat deck truck will drive them (all 7 standing on the back) through the forest to the host’s house a few miles away.  Four hours later they will be flat-decked back.

The community workshop group will reconvene next Wednesday and all parties coming to volunteer will bring some supplies from their own stockpiles to keep the work progressing.  And, of course, the dock will host the community lunch.

Yesterday, John and Jorge picked up some supplies in town for us. Now the phone works.  Delivered to the door!  The best neighbours in the world, by a huge margin, are John and Jorge.  John drops off movies that he has bought even before he watches them!  And books (but he usually reads them first).  After these many years I know that I could ask for just about anything.  Of course, in an effort to be good neighbours ourselves, we ask for little and only in a pinch.  Weird, how that works, eh?   

‘Doing for others’ is a way of life out here.  What has become so ingrained in our daily lives is, however, foreign to most others.  Especially those who live in the city.  We, at least, just didn’t do that before.  In Tsawwassen, if everyone on our block needed a loaf of bread, 30 cars would leave the driveway and arrive at the store.  Everyone would say ‘hi’ to one another and then 30 neighbours would return home in their cars.  Here, we travel 15 miles to get a loaf of bread and so calling around to see if you can pick up a few things for others while you are at it, only makes sense.  And everyone does it.

Mind you, it is done, primarily, for those immediately close to you.  And the protocol is to offer first before you can ask.  Actually, ‘asking’ is not so good..  Not really.  Waiting for an offer and then accepting is the proper protocol.  Should someone be going to town and they do not offer to pick up something, it is assumed that they have way too much to do and no face is lost.  And, once in awhile, if something is more pressing than a loaf of bread, it is OK to ask if someone is going to town.  But such imposition must be reserved for things necessary like prescription drugs, a part for the boat motor or just about anything for a baby. 

Other ‘unwritten rules’ include that the favour should be limited to one necessary item or, at the very most, a few items all from the same shop. Preferably one that the shopper will be at anyway.  It is considered ‘bad form’ to say, “Would you mind picking me up some chocolate fudge from that new shop just out of town and I need a few spare sparkplugs from Lordco as well.  A newspaper would be nice.  Do you think ice cream would melt or do you have a cooler?”

It is much better to say, “If you are catching the ferry, would you mind dropping off my overdue movies at the nearby gas station?”  Or,  “Oh, you are going to the hardware store?  Thanks for asking.  I need a drill bit.  1/2″.  No thanks.  Nothing else.  That’s it.”

Of course, in a pinch, anything goes.  So, this time, there went my car.