The Nanaimo River Is Us

Saturday night I went to the premiere of Paul Manly's film, "Voices of the River". Paul is a Nanaimo film-maker who has dedicated himself to making documentaries about social justice issues.

Now if that sounds deadly dull to you, I have to assure you, it wasn't.  Saturday's event featured music from local musicians, good food, great door prizes, and a dance that went on into the wee small hours of the morning - my neighbours, Chad and Susana, were pretty tired the next day!

The film had a special resonance for those of us at Pacific Gardens, as the Nanaimo River is a favourite recreation spot for our families.  You may have seen the video on our Facebook site of eight-year-old Soma bravely jumping off a high rock ledge into the clear and cool river water.

Pauls' message in the film was simple, and powerful: The Nanaimo River is us.  We all drink it, swim in it, bathe in it, water our gardens and lawns with it, and use it in our industries, businesses and public institutions. It is vital to sustaining our complex ecosystem and the wildlife that lives in it.  Without it, our economy would wither away.

You would think that such a precious resource would be publicly-owned.  It is not.  We learned that Vancouver Island is the mirror image of the rest of the province in how land is owned.  In the rest of BC, 90 per cent of the land is  crown land, and 10 per cent is private.

On Vancouver Island, 10 per cent of the land is publicly-owned, and 90 per cent is private, thanks to a land grant given to coal baron James Dunsmuir.  Our precious watershed is owned by a private logging company, Island Timberlands.

Every time we go swimming, fishing, hiking, kayaking, or white-water rafting in the Nanaimo River, we are trespassing on private land. And that's a worry, with development being considered for some of the river's most beautiful locations.

In the Cowichan and Greater Victoria Regional Districts, the watershed is publicly-owned. It should be here, too.

Kathryn

Tofino, there I was

My first visit to Tofino on the west coast of Vancouver Island was awesome. I went with a friend who knew the area. That helped me to make good use of time.

The bus ride there and back in itself was lovely. The bus travelled through glacier-covered mountains, lakes and forests, including Cathederal Grove. At the high altitudes there still was snow on the forest floor.

Another first for me was staying in a hostel. I was spoiled by the award-winning Whalers on the Point Guesthouse. It has a view worthy of a multi-million dollar hotel. It's very clean and comfortable, and I enjoyed chatting with fellow guests from Canada, Australia and Germany.

Still another first was kayaking. Although I was a bit clumsy while I learned the technique, I enjoyed it. Led by a guide, we kayaked to Meares Island, and hiked in the old growth rainforest there. I loved the huge trees, the ferns, and the moss.

On another day we caught the bus to Ucluelet and did the circular walk, through the magical forest, overlooking the cliffs, to the lighthouse.

We then caught the bus back to Long Beach, where we walked, ran, explored rock pools, and played on a teeter totter [see saw] made of driftwood. I loved the roar of the waves on Long Beach. Fond as I am of Nanaimo, that is one thing we lack. We're protected by several islands just offshore, and we don't get that pounding surf.

Returning to Tofino from Long Beach involved yet another first for me -- hitch hiking. Luckily, a friendly couple who were visiting from San Francisco stopped within minutes and gave us a ride. (They said they'd seen us using the teeter totter they'd made.)

Tofino and Ucluelet are 40 kilometres (25 miles) from each other, and Long Beach is about a third of the way from Tofino to Ucluelet. It would have been a challenge to visit Ucluelet and Long Beach by bus in a single day. Hence the need to augment the bus with hitch hiking.

Had we gone to Tofino a few days later -- from April 9th, 2009 onwards -- it would have been easier. Each day there would have been two southbound buses to Ucluelet and two northbound buses back to Tofino instead of just one bus in each direction.

With that said, I feel we visited Tofino at an ideal time. The town was relatively empty and quiet, compared with the summer months, when the population reportedly swells by 20,000.

Everyone warned me that rain was very common on the west cost of Vancouver Island. They all said that the area's outdoor activities still were wonderful in wet weather, as long as you dressed appropriately.

I packed a Goretex jacket and rain trousers, but didn't use them. As it turned out, we had glorious weather. Local residents were astonished at how warm and sunny it was.

Walking around the quaint little town centre was fun. The art gallery that housed the paintings of Roy Henry Vickers was particularly inspiring. This was recommended by both my real life friend and my cyber friend, Rob. The Common Loaf Bakery was a cute place to stop for hot chocolate.

Stupendous as the west coast of Vancouver Island is, it is not immune to imprudent exploitation. Clearcut logging already has taken place. The only stands of old growth temperate rainforest left are those in Pacific Rim National Park and on Meares Island. (By comparison, the First Nations people of Canada harvested bark and planks in such a way that trees continued to grow.) Local residents are concerned about plans for a copper mine on Catface, a mountain just across the bay from Tofino.

There are complex relationships amongst old growth forests, wild salmon, the ocean, streams, and bears. Human activity, unless it is conducted with care, upsets the natural balance that sustains us. The guide who led us on the expedition to Meares Island gave us a great explanation of this.

I was attracted to Vancouver Island because it felt to me like Paradise. But, even during my mini-vacation, when I would have been more than happy to escape from the real world, I received many reminders that our unparalleled quality of life depended on dedicated stewards.

British Columbia is gearing up for a provincial election on May 12th, 2009. I am more conscious than ever that I want a government that values different kinds of capital -- ecological, social and financial. Our environment is the proverbial goose that lays the golden eggs. God forbid that we should kill it. Then we may as well kiss our financial capital goodbye, and I dare say our social capital as well.

Getting back into synch

The frenzy of Christmas used to bother me. I found it stressful. That was until I to some extent unplugged the Christmas machine, or at least tamed it to a tolerable level.

Some years ago a book about mythology explained to me why the North American Christmas is over the top.

Apparently winter used to be a quiet time in Northern Europe. The long hours of darkness and the cold weather naturally lent themselves to a more restful period. According to the book about mythology, that was reflected in the winter holidays of the Norse people.

The Romans, on the other hand, were just the opposite. They commemorated the dedication of the temple of the god Saturn on December 17th. They called the holiday Saturnalia, and it evolved into a playful week-long celebration that had much in common with the North American Christmas of today. There were school vacations, feasts, exchanges of gifts, pranks, etc.

When one considers that Southern Europe has a milder winter than Northern Europe, one can understand why the Romans were less constrained by the weather than the Norse people were.

It seems to me that cheap energy in the second half of the twentieth century allowed us North Americans to override the climate in which we lived. If we still were hunter-gatherers or even farmers, we in Canada and the Northern Tier states of the USA would be forced to celebrate a much quieter Christmas. Even my mother, who grew up in Hungary before and during the Second World War, reports that it was a big deal to find a fresh orange in her Christmas stocking.

When I started simplifying my Christmas celebrations some years ago, I did not retreat into a cave. Certainly I do enjoy having Christmas Dinner with family and friends. I also enjoy buying gifts for a very few close family members and friends. (I generally buy gifts way ahead of time, in order to keep December as stress-free as possible.) Now that I'm trying to be even more eco-friendly than before, I probably will make many of my Christmas gifts in future.

This year the unusual weather on Vancouver Island forced many of us to simplify even more than we might have wanted to do. If Peak Oil comes to pass, I wonder what Christmas (and the rest of our lives) will look like. I suspect there is the potential for Voluntary Simplicity to turn into Involuntary Simplicity.

Be that as it may, I like to relax during these days between Christmas and New Year. I like to feel the rhythm of winter.

Last night I played some haunting Celtic music that my son in Calgary had told me about by e-mail that afternoon. I turned off all the lights in my townhouse, lit a single tea light, turned the volume of the music down low, sank into the couch, and felt my body melting into the supportive atmosphere.

This morning I feel refreshed and ever so grateful to have had the chance to chill out.

Happy Solstice

This afternoon I'm going carol singing in downtown Nanaimo with the Everybody Sings group.

Then on to friends for dinner.

After this, the days here in the northern hemisphere will gradually grow longer. In due course, our winter wonderland will give way to spring. But I imagine we Vancouver Islanders will be sharing tales about the winter of 2008-2009 for quite some time.

Oh My God!

Have just looked out the window, across the water from Vancouver Island.

There is cloud all around, except for a break that is allowing the sun to shine a spotlight on the Coast Mountains on the British Columbia mainland.

When I looked at them yesterday, the peaks had a bit of snow on them. But now they look totally white. At least that's how they look from this angle, bathed in that light. I guess that is the result of last night's snow (which we got even in Nanaimo, but which is gone where I am).

The scene just took my breath away.

To paraphrase what a friend said recently, "I live in such a gorgeous spot, how will I know when I've died and gone to heaven?"

Joy to the world

I am just loving the Christmas season in Nanaimo.

Unlike a larger city, where it was difficult to find a parking spot and my ears felt assaulted by Muzak in the shopping malls, the Christmas season in Nanaimo has been convivial but relaxed.

Celebrations have been simple and fun -- potluck suppers, outdoor carol singing with friends followed by hot chocolate, concerts put on by churches and amateur choirs.

Don't know what to buy the person who has everything? In Nanaimo this is a non-issue. Give her a jar of your homemade applesauce. And, in my circle, be sure to wrap it in a tea towel rather than Christmas paper. My friends are nothing if not "green."

As to the question of what to wear to a Chrimstas party. Well, the big decision that usually faces me is, "This pair of jeans or that pair of jeans?"

I don't know if it's my imagination, but it feels to me as if it's much easier on Vancouver Island for my heart to "prepare Him room."

Embracing FOG

There has been just one occasion since I've moved to Nanaimo on which I've thought, "Uh oh, what have I done?

I knew that, in moving from Alberta to Coastal British Columbia, I would be trading a continental climate for a temperate rainforest climate. Each has its advantages. Alberta has lots of blue skies and sunshine (but snow and cold winter temperatures). Coastal BC has milder winter temperatures (but, as the climate zone's name suggests, rainy winters).

Back in Alberta there had been many people who had retired to Coastal BC, just because it had milder winters. Some of them had enjoyed the coast, and had stayed on. But I knew of instances in which Albertans had simply not been able to take the grey winters, and had moved back to Alberta (or become snowbirds and gone to Arizona for the winters).

I loved the lush vegetation of the coast, and felt confident that the surroundings that appealed to me so much would compensate for the rainy winters. When I'd lived in Melbourne for two and a half years, I'd experienced a sort of Mediterranean climate with drizzly winters. I'd survived those winters, so felt sure I'd survive the winters on Vancouver Island too.

But the suburb in which I'd lived in Melbourne had been slightly inland, and I had not experienced the full effect of the coastal fog. After Vancouver Island's rainy season had set in in earnest this November, we had a few foggy days in a row. My temporary condo is right on the waterfront. But it might as well have been on the moon. I couldn't have told you, from looking out my window, where I lived.

Then I woke up, maybe for the third morning in a row, to a particularly dense fog. I stood at the window, thinking to myself, "Yes, Nanaimo is a vibrant town with lots of neat stuff going on. Yes, I love my fellow cohos [members of my cohousing community]. Yes, it's so convenient to be able to take the garbage out in my sandals. But, holy Batman, I'm living in a sensory deprivation chamber!!! I don't know if I can take this!!!!!!!"

Just then, a piece of driftwood floated into view, barely discernable through the fog. Perched on it was some sort of sea bird. Being so new here, I didn't know the species. It was quite large and angular. Compared with the grey background, the driftwood and the bird looked black. The scene reminded me of some Chinese and Japanese paintings I've seen. Just a few brushstrokes in black and white. And then, before I knew it, they had drifted into the fog, beyond my field of vision. That vignette was so exquisite, so ephemeral, that I felt awestruck.

Right on the spot, I determined to see the beauty in all the seascape's changing moods. From that moment to this, I have remained resolutely cheerful about the weather.

In fact, we've had a mixture of weather through the remainder of November -- some sunny days and some rainy ones. This morning I again woke up to fog, but this time it didn't freak me out.

I know I will need to live through a coastal winter, indeed a few coastal winters, before I'm qualified to pass judgement. But, the way I feel now, I have survived my baptism by fog, and have earned my stripes an islander.

Pigs Will Fly

In doing a Google search for cohousing, I stumbled on pigs will fly : the can do community blog. That gave me a chuckle. Pigs Will Fly struck me as a lovely metaphor for what we were doing at Pacific Gardens Cohousing Community in Nanaimo.

Actually, we aren't that revolutionary. We'll be living in apartment condos in a "normal" neighbourhood, a couple of kilometres from Nanaimo's downtown core. If you went past our building project, you wouldn't necessarily know that it was "different."

But the consensus decision-making process we have chosen for our strata complex does take us beyond an average level of collaboration.

When I stop to think about it, there is a lot of cooperation in the world. Everyone, by and large, crosses a street when the light is green and stops when the light is red. Through thousands of agreements that most of us honour most of the time, we make it feasible for ourselves to live in society.

But living in society wasn't enough for me. I wanted more out of life. I wanted to live in community.

I remember a moment when I caught a glimpse of what was possible. It was at the turn of the millennium. At the time I was living in Melbourne. Because of Australia's longitude, we were one of the first countries to reach midnight. It was a thrill for me to watch, albeit on TV, the spectacular display of fireworks over Sydney Harbour Bridge.

I was so excited that I stayed up for the better part of 24 hours, and watched cities around the world reaching midnight. How can I forget the fireworks over the Eiffel Tower? Or the fountains dancing exquisitely to Handel's "Messiah" in Las Vegas? Interestingly enough, some of the low tech displays were gorgeous too. I remember how much I enjoyed the traditional dancing in Jordan.

What was so magical for me was the synergistic way in which all the people of the world pulled that off. I don't remember any UN negotiations or treaties or anything. People self-organized. It just happened. For that 24-hour block of time, the news focused on celebration, beauty and fun.

But, soon enough, we returned to business as usual.

Now, three months into my cohousing adventure, I've suddenly realized that I have attained what I longed for -- but wouldn't have been able to articulate -- back then. For me, joining a cohousing community has turned every day into the turn of the millennium.

It's not all beauty and bright lights. I guess our planning meetings might be compared with the preparations and rehearsals people had to go through before they put on those spectacles at the stroke of midnight.

Besides that, our project isn't obviously impressive, in the way a fireworks display is. Maybe the traditional dances are more representative of our efforts.

But, ever since I joined this project, I have felt alive.

Another way in which the turn of the millennium serves as a metaphor for cohousing is the paradox between the highly independent spirits that people in the cohousing movement have and how much cooperation the consensus decision-making process requires. Each of those millennium displays was unique, and yet they all fitted themselves to the larger timing framework.

Similarly, the people who are attracted to cohousing are very individual (sometimes even eccentric?). Yet we are the people who create communities that operate on degrees of cooperation that, at least for North American society, are extraordinary.

So I reckon it has to be true that pigs can fly.