Father's Day, 2013

First Father's Day without Dad...

Dad died nine months and two days ago. In honour of the today, I'm going to share my thoughts of him. These were the words I shared with friends and family at his memorial service last September.

Dad’s Memorial Service; September 27th, 2012.

I would like to share a few thoughts and memories of my Dad. I’ll read them, as speaking off the cuff will be a little difficult right now.

Dad taught me many things over the years. He encouraged me in many pursuits, even the ones that were of little interest to him. And he always shared with me his observations of what went on in the world, our neighborhood and our family. 

Here are a few of the things he taught me;

Dad taught me how to light a fire.

He taught me how to polish my shoes and boots. Dad also taught me, no, instilled in me the importance of polishing one’s shoes and boots. First, they will last longer and second, many people will judge you by the state of them.

Dad taught me how to tie knots, and also how to tie a tie, properly! Ties were very important to Dad. I recall meeting him at Union Station one morning as we were going to the Auto Show. Even though he’d been retired for a few months by this time, he still couldn’t leave the house on a week day without putting on a tie. I insisted he remove it. Reluctantly he did so! 

For Dad, wearing a tie seemed almost as important as having a good shine on one’s shoes.

Dad taught me to drive standard.

He also taught me how to use simple hand-tools, but most importantly to put them back from whence they came! 

Dad taught me that having a good sense of humor was a very important tool for dealing with one’s problems, easing a difficult situation or putting others at ease. Dad’s wit, not unlike the tools on his bench, was always so very sharp.

But Dad’s sense of humor, his witty responses or observations, they were never meant to harm. His joking, or “pulling of one’s leg” were always in good fun. Always “joshing” and never aimed at someone who couldn’t handle it.

Dad didn’t tell jokes though, he told funny-stories, he made light of serious situations. He did this to put you at ease, break the ice, or simply to get a rise out of you.

Dad loved to go for a swim. Whether it was a “dip” in the Roses’ pool or a “paddle” in the sea, he enjoyed a swim. Many years ago, when I was maybe 9 or ten we used to go a couple of times a month to the local public pool. He also took me there for swimming lessons. This was one of those instances where he “encouraged” me as opposed to “taught” me. I was curious to know how Dad had learnt to swim, so on one of these outings I asked him.

Well, where Dad grew up there were no public pools at the time. All the kids went down to the local canal and their parents taught them to swim there, by just throwing them in. Only thing was though, while all the other kids had bathing suits on, Dad had a sack full of rocks!

I don’t think Dad had an easy childhood. Growing up through the war, the threat of bombings and having been moved around so much was difficult. Making light of these difficult times was Dad’s way of dealing with difficult situations. For as English as Dad was, and as English it is to have a “stiff upper lip,” finding humor in what otherwise might be bleak can be very therapeutic. 

Something else Dad taught me, which again finds its roots in his early years, was the importance of being on time. Something even more important than having a good shine on one’s shoes! Dad was rarely if ever late. He NEVER left the house without his watch.

Photography was a hobby Dad encouraged me to pursue. Dad’s interest in photography though was not an interest in the actual art or science of it. Dad took pictures to record an event, or for a recollection of the places we had been. Later though he took less pictures and his interest in the equipment involved grew. Many times I would show up at Mum & Dad’s with a new camera and Dad would enquire if I was leaving it for him to look after. Most of the time though I think this was simply in response to me asking him if he wanted me to look after his Rolex! 

Dad taught me many lessons over the years. Some very important ones. Dad taught me to have a strong work ethic. He taught me to take responsibility for my own actions, especially when they affected others. To say you’re sorry when it was your fault. Own up to your mistakes, admit it when you’re in the wrong; unless of course I was involved in a car accident. 

Mostly though, I was taught by my Dad through the examples he set and by his actions; not often by his words. The “Old Guy” never said to me “I told you so,” or “What did I tell you.” Never commented “Should have listened to me,” or “That was stupid!” But he always asked if he could help somehow. 

Dad loved my Mum, loved her dearly, treated her like a Queen and taught me to do the same. Most of all, and certainly most importantly, my Dad taught me respect.

Mother's Day

Today marks the first Mother’s Day in many years where location prevents me from expressing my love, admiration and thankfulness in person to my Mum. She won’t be getting flowers from me either. So, I’m hoping that these words, expressed publicly, and the images accompanying them, will be of some consolation, a remittance of sorts, representative of a closeness I feel for her, not reflective of the distance between us.

The past year was trying for Mum. The hardships, her trials and sufferings eclipsed any she may have endured in previous years. Early last year her Dad died. Although a burden was somewhat lifted from those closest to him, all were saddened by the ending of a life, the passing away of a figure prominent in lives since their first thoughts. But celebrating a life of one-hundred and three years is a great solace.

Mum also spent the past calendar-year awaiting replacement hip surgery. Although our healthcare system is fantastic, waiting lists can be long, prolonging suffering and discomfort, resulting in a diminished quality of life. Mum was to endure further waiting when the worst tragedy of all occurred. 

Dad, Mum’s companion for over fifty years, fell ill in late August of last year. Dad was diagnosed with Legionnaire's Disease. The week of his diagnosis Mum was scheduled for her surgery. It was recommended that it be postponed. 

Over the past few decades, Dad had suffered a number of heart attacks, undergone numerous surgeries including a quadruple by-pass. While Dad lay in a near comatose state I had commented to Mum that Dad had suffered worse. Mum responded by saying this was the worst she’d ever seen him. 

Soon after, during mid-September, Dad passed away.

Mum had much support at this time. Friends and family, near and far, sent their condolences and shared their happy remembrances of Dad. His memorial service was well attended, many gathering to express their love and share in Mum’s sorrow. 

Many people, at the event of such a loss, are supported in like manner. Mum’s ability to cope and carry on during this emotional crisis though was mostly due to her great inner strength and personal faith. Mum still suffers great pain from her loss, but her long-suffering spirit, her positive and strong personality, make each of her days more endurable than the last.

Before the end of the year though, Mum would have her surgery. A number of months later and Mum’s getting around better than she has in years! If only she had been this mobile four years ago when we travelled to the UK for a two-week jaunt about the countryside!

On this   Mother’s Day, with me being unable to give her flowers, my gift to her is really a gift to those that read this. 

My mum has given me quite a bit of good advice over the years. For this I thank her. I’m going to share some of it.

“Never put down on paper something you don’t want anyone else to read, anyone.”

“Always err on the side of compassion. Yes, compassion, NOT caution.”

 

“There is always someone worse off than you.” 

“God never allows trials to become part of our lives that He hasn’t given us the strength or resources to deal with.”

I love my Mum. After all, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her!                                                         

But I also love her because she has a positive attitude, a strong personality, and a wisdom that eclipses most, if not all, I know! She is, simply put, a great person!    

                 

Life's An Adventure... Or At Least It Should Be!

Life's An Adventure... Or at Least It Should Be!

Sometimes our travels are planned, other times you just get up in the morning and decide you need to be somewhere else; even if just for the day. Maybe that’s the difference between adventure and leisure?

When it comes to business travel, one week they tell you you’re needed in Waskaganish and a week and a half later you’re on a plane to Kashechewan. A month later, Sandy Lake. 

International travel can be different. Sometimes not. 

My past two trips to the UK involved months of planning. B&B’s to book, youth hostels and sites to visit researched. Yet on both those occasions I found myself booking into a four-star hotel on-the-spur-of-the-moment! 

Our travels to Crete were well planned; rooms booked, meals planned, well in advance. Yet we still found ourselves far off the beaten track.

The Bahamas were quite the same. A condo reserved for a few weeks, but transportation, whether boat or car, and cultural events, simply by happenstance! 

One of our last ventures through customs was planned in a mere fifteen minutes. A call at seven in the morning meant a trip south of the boarder by noon.

This latest adventure we have embarked upon has maybe been a combination of “spur-of-the-moment,” and “intense, long-term planning.” 

After first living for a short while in Nakina we decided that we really wanted to be there. We would work five or so years, buy a small place and maybe spend our summers there; fishing, hiking with the dogs and picking blueberries. But one phone call can really change your plans.

Within three days of that phone call, both Aimee and I were offered jobs in Nakina. It was an opportunity not to be passed up! Within ten days, Aimee and Alfi were headed north to Nakina. I planned a travel-date six weeks later, accompanied by Lyndy and George.

Aimee started work less than two days after her arrival; spur-of-the-moment. I stayed behind in Whitby; packing... And planning.

For me, the adventure started early one Thursday morning last month. For almost seven-hundred kilometers I drove through showers and absolute downpours. By the time I arrived in Cochrane the rain was freezing upon whatever it fell! 

Having been turned away from a few motels because of the dog and cat, I drove another twenty clicks to the next town. Waking the next morning found the Jeep covered in a quarter-inch of ice. Blowing snow and white-out conditions greeted me as I drove out of town.

Continuing towards Hearst, the adventure intensified! But I only had five-hundred kilometers to go. According to plan I would see Aimee that afternoon for the first time in six weeks! 

Weather-conditions worsened, correspondingly, so did the roads! I have never driven in such conditions and never wish to again! 

For many long stretches of road I followed plows. With the wind and snow, visibility was virtually nil as the ploughs pushed snow from the road and into the northerly wind. But still semis with their trailer loads insisted on passing! 

At times I was forced to travel long winding stretches with my windshield coated in ice before I could find a safe spot to stop and clear the wiper blades.

Conditions only worsened! Fifty-K east of Longlac there was a snow-plow in the ditch, on its side! Twenty kilometers later a westbound eighteen-wheeler in the eastbound lane with its entire right side sheared off!     

Finally, after seven hours of driving I arrived in Longlac; one-hundred kilometers from my destination and the first coffee shop since Hearst! But traveling any further was impossible. The police had shut the entire town down. All roads, in all directions were closed.

Meeting Aimee that evening wasn’t going to happen. 

Burns and Steinbeck were coming to mind:

“The beast laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

A couple of glasses of red, a roast-beef sandwich and a warm hotel room; but still no compensation for dashed hopes and my “best laid plans.” But tomorrow would be another day!

Saturday, my third day traveling, found me under bright blue skies, surrounded by three and four-foot drifts of snow, but traveling on plowed roads! An hour and a half later I had returned to Nakina, and a long awaited reunion with Aimee! 

Making plans is quite often the prudent thing to do. Often times though plans change. But if plans didn’t change, life wouldn't be nearly as adventurous!

  

  

The Lions are at the Gate

Smoke signals aren’t reserved for our Native American population. And the signals are not always black and white.

You can’t turn to a news broadcast without viewing an image of either the Colosseum or Vatican City. Seemingly quite ironic considering that one is representative of a society that chose to feed Christians to the lions and the other claims to nourish Christians in a world dominated by lions still aching to feed on them. Maybe we should question where and who the lions really are?

In the eyes of the world right now, the question is “who will be the next Pope?” not who the lions are. It’s easier to look for a lion tamer than the den of the lions. But maybe they’re one in the same. Let’s leave that for future consideration.

The visuals of Rome are bombarding us because of the mystery that surrounds the choosing of a new Pope. This time though, it’s far more political than any could have ever believed. The new Pope will be more diplomat than preacher, and certainly more hunter than fisherman.

Here’s my “pontification” on the upcoming selection of a replacement for Pope Benedict: The new Pope will be either Angelo Scola or Gianfranco Ravasi. Both are Italian and both conservative. The “conservative” part has nothing to do with it, the nationality though, is pertinent. And not just the nationality, they’re both European, the Catholic Church needs a European Pope. 

The economic crisis that engulfs the European community, the strife caused by in fighting amongst its members, these are symptoms of a society that suffers from spiritual loss. 

The lions can smell that loss of spirituality, and it’s not in the smoke.    

   

The Canoe

Image courtesy D. Burton

The Canoe

No other vessel, craft, or man-made form of transportation has stayed as close to its original roots, endured in its purest of forms or proved as true a course as the canoe. The canoe is a craft of the people, yet it is the embodiment of true individuality. Its lines are manufactured virtue and artistry combined; practical, aesthetically pleasing, rugged to a fault. Its composition can be of a natural substance or a scientific breakthrough. Its design has been promoted and advanced by commerce, sport, warfare and even romance. The canoe embodies freedom, hearkens back to a simpler way of life yet represents a progression in time. One’s compulsion to build, posses or paddle a canoe runs deep within our DNA. 

My first boat was a canoe. I’m quite sure that most of us who have had boats had a canoe first. Many of us have owned bigger boats, but it seems we always return to a canoe. It’s a boat that can attract all who wish to be on the water, and be within their reach. No matter what one’s financial or societal situation is, there’s a canoe that works.

Walk almost any neighborhood in this great country of ours and chances are you’ll see a canoe. It might be astride work horses in a backyard, leaning against the side of a house or amid an overgrowth of weeds tucked behind a shed or garage, but believe me there’s one close by.       

Unlike other forms of transport, little of the canoe has changed. My ’93 Jeep is a far cry from the Jeep that won the Second World War, and differs even more from the Jeep being driven off the assembly line today. And bicycles, they’re another story; how many of us still ride a Penny Farthing? Yet my forty-year old canoe is little different (other than its construction materials) than those paddled by the early pioneers to this country. It’s propulsion system is the same; its shape and capabilities equal. For a few hundred dollars and a trip to Canadian Tire I could replace it this afternoon. But why should I?

Construction methods and materials have changed little. Progression beyond the dugout was inevitable and warranted. But beyond the birch-bark or cedar-strip, technology has encouraged and bred irresponsibility. Aluminum and fiberglass have only brought one advantage; accessibility. Even so, a cedar-strip or simple plywood canoe can be constructed with a few modern tools and a modest amount of funding.

History, adventure, romance and legend; all characteristic of the canoe. 

Niagara Falls’ namesake, the First Nations’ princess, was immortalized by paddling over the falls in her canoe. The Voyageurs and the fur traders, paddling their canoes to discovery, built commerce and established the original economic base our nation would be founded upon. Thousands of years ago the first migrants to this land plied its rivers and lakes in canoes seeking fish and game, and shelter from the elements. A few hundred years ago explorers and map makers charted this vast wilderness in canoes.  

The art that exemplifies Canada is heavily reliant on the canoe. Canoes are depicted in the work, or worked to deliver the product. Emily Carr portrayed the indigenous peoples' culture of the Pacific northwest and their great war and whaling canoes. Krieghoff depicted nineteenth century rural Canadian life with birch bark canoes even present in his winter scenes. Many of the Group of Seven were inspired while paddling. The last anyone saw of Tom Thomson was of him paddling away on a fishing trip, coincidentally to be found dead days later, floating on Canoe Lake. 

Archibald Belaney, better known as Grey Owl, set out on his adventures in a canoe. His quest to save the beaver propelled by a paddle, brought a knowledge of Canada and its wilderness to the world. Castor Canadensis would not be our nation’s symbol and quite possibly extinct were it not for the canoe.
Frances Anne Hopkins, while travelling with her husband Edward Martin and Sir George Simpson of the Hudson's Bay Company, was not only inspired to paint scenes depicting the great Voyageur canoes, but is thought to include herself seated amongst the fur traders' cargo on many of her canvases.      

The canoe, if not a main character, has often played a supporting role in Canadian literature. Whether advancing the story-line or transporting the author, the canoe will always be a devise for the written word in this great wilderness. From “Paddle to the Sea” to “Lost in the Barrens,” or the many works by such people as Bill Mason or Robert Service, canoes have always been an inspiration.     

Image courtesy D. Burton

Many great discoveries have been made in a canoe. Even greater though may be the personal discoveries we make while paddling our own canoe. Views of where the water meets the sky, or the land meets the water. Reflections of our world on a glassy lake or the multitude of colors churned up in the fury of a rock-strewn river, these images give us time, resource and a reason to ponder our own journey through life. 

Image courtesy D. Wade

The canoe is of great significance to Canada. Its profile is recognizable by all. All Canadians can easily have access to one, all of us have read about them. With all its practical and symbolic meaning why is it not immortalized as other Canadian iconic images are? 

Image courtesy C. Smith

We have the maple leaf on our flag and penny. Some will even dispute the maple leaf as symbolic of all of Canada. On the nickel a beaver; representative of Canadian resourcefulness and a true success story. On the dime the Bluenose, a vessel far beyond the means of anyone I know. The quarter shows a woodland caribou, most mistaking it for a moose. The “Loony” depicts a loon, the “Toonie” a polar bear. And where’s the canoe, far more representative of Canada than most of these? On some silver dollars. But most of us never even see these in circulation, most silver dollars are relegated to dresser drawers and coin collections.

Now that the controversy of the penny has been put to rest, why not replace the image on the dime with a canoe. My nomination would be that icon of provincial parks, portage route signifier, great Canadian super hero, Mr. Canoe Head!         

Water sustains our world. The canoe sustains my need to be on the water. It protects me from its depths while allowing me to quietly visit its solitudes. In a canoe I can harvest the water’s bounty and ponder my own contribution to this life.   

The canoe courses a passage through time. It’s wake our past, its heading our future. Between the gunnels and chines, our hope for prosperity.

A few notes, observations, recommendations and most importantly, a few words of thanks...


As you can see I've had help with some of the images that accompany this post. Dave Burton, a great friend, always comes through with requests petitioned through emails and Facebook, sent me some great shots, including my right hand! Dave also "lifted" the "Mr. Canoe Head" image from the Internet for me. That image came from The Portage Store. So if any of you are in need of equipment or interested in a paddle through Algonquin Park, check them out.


Colleen Smith and Ryan Madill, fellow paddlers, sent me a few images also. The one I used is fantastic, with a real-life Mr. Canoe Head! Keep paddling, guys!


The best canoes are "Free Canoes!" Doug Wade salvaged the sunken canoe and it now sits on his and Julie's shoreline. I guess old canoes never do die!


Beth Stanley, Artisan Program Coordinator of the Canadian Canoe Museum was also a great help! Please pay a visit to the museum next time you're in Peterborough. If you can't make the trip you can make a donation on-line. We need to preserve the wonderful craft on display there.


Both Paintings depicted here are by the above mentioned artist Frances Anne Hopkins. I believe the originals are held by Library and Archives Canada. If they have a problem with me using these two images they can give me a call. I'll remove the images and the link to their website!


I photographed the birch-bark canoe just this morning. It was built recently right here in Durham by Elder Marcel Lebelle in conjunction with the Oshawa and Durham Region Metis Council. There are some great images on their website showing its construction using a combination of modern tools and traditional methods. Well worth a visit!


Finally I would like to thank Brenda Ghent. My canoe, the green one pictured along side the red and the yellow canoes, lives at Brenda's and Paul's cottage on Skeleton Lake where it's well taken care of! If you would like to paddle my canoe, you can rent the cute little cottage in the background; Brenda can be found on my Facebook Friends list.    



      

Image courtesy D. Burton