Reviewing 2019 - mostly highs, then a walloping heartache

2019 was all-round a solid year. Notable highlights included:

• My mother visited after a six year hiatus. Mind that it was to help open a new Save On store, but the effort and her presence was appreciated. I was on strike from going to Alberta until some immediate family visited me here. While I do not want my brother to visit and suspect my sister never will, I will now dutifully return to my hometown in the spring. I was thrilled Mom was able to take in my year-end swim meet, even if she was too tired for me to properly show her around the rest of my life in Dawson Creek.

• SO MUCH HIKING!!! From Toad River to Mount Robson and numerous trails in between around Tumbler Ridge, I covered hundreds of kilometers this summer with an ever-changing crew of soccer team mates, friends, and coworkers. They even politely listened as I identified and rattled off random botanical facts.
  
• Swimming as part of a triathlon relay team in the local race. Our entire team bested their time expectations and enjoyed the race-day atmosphere. Unfortunately I was soured against training with the summer competitive club in the future. Largely ignored during practices with no technique corrections given, I dutifully dragged my race-anxious self to the required number of meets and puked my nerves out. I’m well aware that I will never be a provincial champion, but I was still paying to be in the pool and wanted to benefits of being coached.
  
• QUIT MY JOB!!! More specifically I quit a barely-qualified, disengaged supervisor who set poor time management objectives and even worse attendance expectations. I readily took a pay cut, returned to seasonal employment, and joined a high-functioning emergency response agency.
  
• Many, many hours at the pool. As staff on deck as part of a fun, trusting aquatics team, and in the water training alongside my lane besties. 

Lowlight delivered early December:

• Ending an eight-year relationship. Because kids. I would rather jump off a bridge than contribute to overpopulation. It still stung to abruptly have a treasured confidant, adventure buddy, and lover be no more.
  
  I had a lollipop moment after I told one of my girlfriends. She simply texted, “I got you” and again whispered it in my ear as we hugged goodbye for the night, tears streaming down my face. That simple phrase allowed me to re-focus on who I still had and wanted, needed even, to be part of my child-free life. My girlfriends, teammates, lane buddies, co-workers, yogis, dear friends near and far, and even some of my family. 

So long 33, hello 34!

Well, 33, you’ve taught me a lot. I stepped out of my comfort zone multiple times, and have been richly rewarded. I suffered defeat in the professional sphere that’s added to my uncertainty of remaining employed in the forest industry. More of that later. Or not – I’m still coming to grips with the possibility of a soft exit strategy from an industry, and ultimately an identity, that I’ve proudly worn for more than a decade.

My birthday has long marked a transition point. It’s the start of summer season, the shedding of winter’s cool and dark embrace, a return from foreign travels. From student to worker, from unemployed to frantically refilling my bank account, from office to field, as if the entire bush is open for business on May 1.

Summers have always meant work. Silviculture workers are not afforded the luxury of “summers off”, “holidays”, or “a week at the cabin”. Rather, my birthday marks the start of a condensed season of intense physical effort to collect data, wrangle contractors, and maybe even sneak in a lucrative fire deployment. I push my body and demand it relearns how to penetrate thick alder, swim through aspen and cottonwood, traverse over slash taller than me, and delicately dance with devil’s club.

And I lose. I fall. Over and over and over again. My body telling the familiar tale as bruises, cuts, and grazes cover my limbs.

This year feels different. That familiar longing has waned, my desire drained. Perhaps what was once a novel and desirable way to spend summer has now become mundane. Former excitement and anticipation have been replaced by familiarity and predictability.

Too scared to outright quit – for now – I have relished in my after-hours life: The soccer games that carry on til late. Book club gatherings that pass in what seems like minutes as we alternately howl and then cry over the events in the pages and each other’s lives. Intimate live music events that stir the soul. Intense off-mat conversations at the yoga studio. Raucous apres swim socials that shut down the restaurant.

Ultimately it’s community and rich relationships that have held me as I contemplate next steps. I don’t have an end destination in mind, but I am thrilled to share the journey with so many supporting friends, co-workers, and teammates.

Upcoming (more) northern visit

I think I have a thing for apex predators.

Living and working in northern British Columbia in prime black and grizzly bear habitat, I regularly see these beauties cruising the powerlines, cutblocks, roadsides looking for a feed.  In all the sightings and interactions on foot, none have given me any grief or cause to worry.

Two previous stints took me to volunteer at the Sharklab on beautiful Bimini in the Bahamas with a variety of shark species.

On Sunday, I will be arriving in Churchill, Manitoba to volunteer for six weeks at the Churchill Northern Studies Centre.  Situated on the aurora oval and adjacent to Wapusk National Park which protects the inland denning area of the polar bear, I'm looking forward to the opportunities to view northern lights and migrating polar bears.

As at the Sharklab, it's the spectacle of these apex predators that lures in most visitors and volunteers. While I fall into that category, I have to remind myself that these places are SO much more than the critters they're known for.

Bimini has endemic snakes, migrating birds, massive turtles and tiny seahorses while Churchill is also a birding haven, botanist's wet dream as three biomes converge, an active archaeological dig and there's even seasonal beluga whales!  And then there's the people I met and have yet to meet.

Yeah, I had a great time longlining, observing and acoustically tracking juvenile lemon sharks, swimming with reef sharks and pen building at the Sharklab, but it is the relationships I developed and continue to nurture that were the greatest prize from my time spent in Bimini.  So again, I'm looking forward to a new place and new faces to share this great next adventure.   

Summer photos so far

Various mountain, river and work days

Spring on Bickford

Still in its infancy, the Chetwynd Outdoors Society is committed to continuing its restoration of a decommissioned fire tower on Bickford Mountain.  I hiked up on Saturday with four other members of the group to document how the tower fared in our brutal northern winter and begin planning a work bee later in the summer.

There was no shortage of lingering snow.  Nearly all were prepared with gaiters and waterproof hiking boots and layers for the wind and rain.  A tough slog up the melting trail and over a swollen creek was worth the view from the tower and summit.

Disconnected travelers

I didn't intent to take a break from blogging this past trip. It wasn't a conscious electronic departure. Ample internet access was available as cafes and on a tablet thing when my dear friend Jaana was around.

On my last two trips, I've been deeply annoyed at wifi's pervading presence in guesthouses, restaurants, dive shops, bars and even places of worship. In the latter, I can assure you users were not communicating with the divine.

Yeah, it's great we can stay connected with friends, family and colleagues while we're away from our for-now homes but I fear there's a disturbing trend of travelers that aren't engaging with the locals or their fellow travelers.

It used to be easy as a solo traveler to meet new people or invite yourself to share their table. Now, when an ENTIRE table has their faces lit up by computer, tablet or phone screens, I'd rather dine, drink, explore sites, sleep alone than feel like I'm intruding on their electronic time.

An uneasy feeling of loneliness and isolation sets in as travelmates ignore you in favour of sending gang emails, updating statuses, posting photos or applying for jobs back home when the very people they are electronically "connecting" with are sleeping!

Such is the blessing and curse of the internet's popularity and deemed necessity.

I acknowledge I could not travel without it but I long to travel alongside people and connect face-to-face. To hear their stories first hand, not a polished online version of it. To laugh at cultural missteps, share advice on that delicious restaurant, cool elephant rescue place, warn against a dodgy overnight train, not read Tripadvisor reviews.

Ironically/fittingly/fortunately email, facebook, couchsurfing facilitates meeting with locals, distant family, friends of friends and expats. An online community persists when it feels like there isn't one.

As surfer, host and traveler at large, I have contacted and been contacted by members of the traveling community. I have dispensed advice and sought it.

I connected a dear friend and classmate who would be living and working in eastern Africa for overlapping timeframes. My mother's cousin's best friend's son let us stay with him in New Zealand and I have since visited him and his new family in several Canadian cities. My cousin and I continue to celebrate her birthday outside this country.

Yes, the world is opening up, and there's no shortage of people who've been there to consult with, but I caution amongst these marvel of being connected, we're guilty of not connecting to those around us in real life.

Hiking tea party in Sri Lanka

Haptule's mosque is meters and meters away from our rooms

"Would you look at those speakers!" Jenny, a recently retired Aussie school teacher and Sri Lanka tourmate, exclaimed as we oggled the imposing green mosque adjacent to our hotel. 

"There's roosters out the front," Paul said joining us as we marveled how the size and sheer number of speakers was disproportional to a) the size of the mosque and b) the size of the town.  Cursing our good luck we wouldn't need an alarm clock the following morning the multi-national Intrepid tour group keenly walked around Haptule after a stunning - and predictable delayed - six hour train journey from Kandy. 

Female pickers in the fields

Impossible slopes supported one of Sri Lanka's biggest exports - tea.  Nestled in lush valleys, the train skimmed along the ridge to a dizzying height of more than 1800 meters before descending into the mist.  Workers (mostly female) precariously perched at all elevations were clinging to the hillsides to collect their quota of 18 kilos. 

Gaaahh!  The gradient!

 After an interrupted night acclimatizing to the elevation and cooler night temperatures, our group set out for an overnight hike into the tea plantations.  Using the roads (and that's a generous term) and pathways the workers or lorries do to move the raw leaves and later final product to market gave our group an appreciation of the physical effort involved in a morning cuppa. 

Ten kilometers over a ridge, through villages and vegetable patches, we arrived at our hillside house. 

Mercifully unplugged from wifi and phone signal, our group was expected to provide musical or dance entertainment for our hosts in the hills.  They sang traditional Tamil songs accompanied by a sorry looking but powerful drum and we countered with national anthems, Waltzing Matilda and Savage Garden hits from junior high. 

Much giggling and a too many rounds of carrom later, we dropped into comfortable beds and waited for the neighbour's roosters to rouse us.

Guide Siva explaining a typical day in the plantations

Keen to get moving before the heat of the day, we set off along the tracks dodging sluggish tractors, transports and motorbikes.  How they gained traction and had confidence on the paths was mind boggling. 

Our knees were crying out on the downhill, we struggled to adequately replace the sweat that drenched us and we stopped often to inadequately photograph the stunning surrounds and still we slipped and slid down the paths. 

Glimpsing Sri Lanka's highest water and later the bravest of the boys swimming in its plunge pool we were refreshed and grateful to be back to our starting point in Haptule - even if it was in the shawdow of the town mosque.  

2013 highs and holidays lows

Winter is reserved for dreamtime in several aboriginal cultures around the world.  A time of reflection, rebuilding, contemplation, planning, cleansing.  As 2014 looms on the horizon for the western world, I, too, am meditating on this past calendar year.

Along with my boyfriend, cousin and friends I hadn't met yet, I journey to the Great Continent after my usual months of Canadian employment.  Stunning diving; sunrises over sand dunes; terrifying car hires or, more specifically passing; seeing amazing creatures rumoured to be and actually in decline from poaching and habitat encroachment; coming face to face with the aftermath and rebuilding efforts of South Africa's apartheid; hilarious hostel mates all awaited.

A proposal to move in with my sweetie came while we were in Johannesburg.  I immediately dismissed it.  I reconsidered after my girlfriend that I usually rent from announced she was selling her house.  Mostly in cohabitation bliss, I was keen to add animals to the mix.  Every other week I was dog sitting, feeding cats or checking on fish but I wanted some critters actually in the house.

Enter: On Our Way Home Animal Rescue.  Within two days of expressing interest in fostering, we had two fraidy cats in the basement hiding in the walls, drawers and under the sofa.  They went to a barn where I hope they're chasing mice and snuggling together.  Two kittens (adopted quickly) and another adult female cat (that we'll likely keep) followed.

It has been my favourite volunteer gig.  There's always the 'isn't it hard to give them away when they're adopted?' question from others outside the Rescue.  Naw, I'm pumped that they're desexed and rehomed to loving and worthy owners.  It's also heartbreaking as hell when parvo rips through a foster's home and puppies die.  Despite the setbacks, it has been very rewarding to be a part of this great organization and watch its influence grow.

A few slow starts and underemployment marked this past summer and I finally had the time to take the Level 3 first aid course.  A rewarding and challenging two-week course that currently has me examining options on the way to paramedic.  Sitting on a construction project from Dawson Creek to Chetwynd reading my weight in novels every two week shift has been the reward.  And a fist full of cashola.

Dan and I recently returned from a great holiday that covered off Victoria and Calgary.  I am consistently blown away by the love within and generosity of his family.  I genuinely attempted to make it to Red Deer but Alberta in the winter still has tricks up her sleeve and our bus was turned around when the highway was closed due to REALLY scary conditions.

Bummed I wouldn't get to spend more time with my mother but also pleased I didn't have to watch my brother treat my mother SO poorly, I see it was a mixed blessing.  How much of Kevin's awfulness is brain injury and how much is him truly being an acewipe I do not know.

More cousin visits and playing pictionary into the night instead.

I have two favourite aunties.  One of them kindly and immediately opened her doors in Calgary when Dan and I were not able to make it to Red Deer.  Her father has been doing poorly for years and he finally passed in to the next world to join his wife.  I didn't know him well but truly I felt the joy and release of his ailing, tired and shell of a physical body.

So, thanks 2013 for new places and faces.

2014, Here's to health, fitness, travel, family, friends, job insecurity and animal rescue!

I haven't seen this month in a while

Normally countries and countries and countries removed from Canada at this point in the calendar, my body is rebelling at the temperatures, shortening photoperiod and difficulty of cultivating even window box herbs.  I repeatedly resemble a sleeping bag whenever I venture beyond centrally heated buildings or warmed vehicles.

Last week, as temperatures dipped in the mid thirties on the minus side accompanied by teeth-shattering north winds, I repeatedly questioned "What the F am I still doing here?"  Mercifully I was spared from working in it as I was on my scheduled week off and snuggled under most of the blankets in the house wearing at minimum four sweaters with a cat furnace somewhere in the mix.

Maybe Dan has a firmer hold on my heart than I have outwardly acknowledged.  Perhaps it's that the foster kitties continue to be SO freakin cute!  Or I am pumped to be meaningfully involved in the community as a volunteer, book club joiner, yoga doer, lady who lunches, member of the Chetwynd Outdoors Society and small business advocate.  All of the above in combination, sure.  I may be dreaming of warmer climes to come, but for now, I'm enjoying tea parties and hot meals with friends while gaining some first aid experience.

Well, kinda.  Nobody has needed my services yet.  It's still very puzzling to me that the job I am hired to do/requirement I am to fill I have yet to actually do.  

Wow weekend!

This past weekend has been one of those rare ones where I see the majority of my friends in Chetwynd, rest up and recharge for the week ahead and have a clean(er) house.

Another girlfriend has left town for a promising work opportunity and she called together her town friends and coworkers from the last two years for one last bash on Friday.  Pub-filling laughter bounced off the wooded walls before we spilled into the Indian summer night and wished each other well with intentions of staying in touch.

Happy and (mildy) hungover the next morning, Dan and I set out on bicycles to meet friends for breakfast at the pub we had left mere hours before.  In small-town style, we saw nearly all our friends that morning.  At the post office, thrift store, library, in their yard, ahh.

Mild house and yard work filled the time until we popped out to friends house outside town for dinner.  A stellar meal was in the making - roast moose and garden spuds, carrots, onion.

We resigned ourselves to a sleepover, made arrangements for a friend to come to the house and feed our foster kitties when another friend dropped in after (unsuccessfully) hunting the same animal we had just eaten.  Conversation flowed, laughter filled the vaulted ceilings and we bummed a ride back into town for the night.

A delightfully leisurely day followed with light walks, board games, BBQs and kitty cuddle time.  

Dry July

As my brother is on a waiting list and daily checking in with an alcohol rehabilitation centre in Alberta, I too, am off the booze - for the month.  Inspired my a Kiwi friend's musings, a few too many big nights alarmingly close together and my bro's brain injury as a result of alcohol, I'm hoping to use the next 29 days to reflect on alcohol's role in my life and consciously make active and healthier (booze-free) choices.

Dry July is a fundraiser for the month of, you guessed it, July in Australia and New Zealand where Dry Julyers (DJers) go booze-free for the month to raise funds for adult cancer patients.

With work uncharacteristically slow (seriously, it's mind boggling difficult to find stable, seasonal employment), I'm not logging the kilometers and elevation gains I have in past summers.  Suddenly I'm worried about the grams of carbohydrates and the liquid, empty (delicious) calories in a cool, crisp brew.

The price of recreation is this town is absurd so I've been keenly attending all the budget options I can find.  Toonie Wednesday swims, free Pickleball at the Rec Centre, free Canada Day Zumba (Jaana says I have to put an (r) here), dog walks, mini hikes up Baldy.  Great as these all are, I half miss the views, uphill slogs and exercise that employment usually affords me.

Glasses up for Dry July!

Happy solstice, puppy sitting and work pics

Behind us is the year's climax: summer solstice.  A girlfriend recently sold her house and keenly hosted a joint Solstice and Hurray-I-Sold-My-House party.  The grill fired up, friends popping by during the evening, morning, the shots flowing as she doesn't want to move more booze than necessary, new faces mingled amongst new and dear friends, ahhh, another successful small town bash.  The best part: she is moving in with Dan and I mid July.  

Our two fosters kitties have an interested woman and if that's successful then On Our Way Home has more cutie pot pie kittens in need of temporary homes.  So, I hope there's enough for one for me, one for Dan and one for the new roomie.  

How it's nearly July is still a great mystery to me.  Work's been a slow-medium pace with several early days this week which suits me fine.  Some forestry work doing streams, veg stuff and soil pits and some enviro in the mix including leachate, water and air (yes, air) sampling for a proposed coal mine south west of Chetwynd.  

Friends who recently build a house out of town are off in Ontario for another week and willingly entrusted Dan and I with their home and new puppy.  It's been very refreshing sitting on the deck looking out at the hills and aspen trees while an adorable puppy plays and falls over underfoot.  

Dan with our most recent dog sitting charge, Renfrew.  She's a three-month-old lab shepard cross and is a mega cutie pot pie.

A recent crossing to plant a reclaimed lease site between Chetwynd and Tumbler Ridge

Yup, hip waders are now a part of my work wardrobe 

Fly in day

The Pine River west of Chetwynd

Sweetwater 905: festival season opener!

Sweetwater 905 Arts Festival outside Rolla, B.C. tripled in attendance from its previous year despite this past weekend's rain!  A stellar line up of musicians and artists from around the Peace, province and continent ensured that this ninth year will not be the festival's last.

The captive, appreciate audience at Sweetwater could be an audience at any northern music festival: inclusive, quick to dance and not shy about showing off their varied footwear and outfits.

Many of us, musicians and audience alike, neglected to change our tops, nevermind undies for the duration of the three-day festival.  Impossibly over-made-up gals jived alongside the Mattsons, venue hosts and owners of the property, while plaid-clad dudes in cowboy boots freshly wreaking of the cow paddy camping field mingled with the requisite hippies these events attract dressed in their baffling numbers of coloured layers.

Fire show performers deserved their own spot instead of inappropriately entertaining during an energetic performance from Ben Caplan.

Other standout sets were delivered from Samantha Scott, High Society and Dave Soroka and his "band."  Can't wait to hear you all again!

Chetwynd is a long way to come for cake

Spring, with a smattering of summer has finally arrived in the Peace!  Apple trees, dandelions and lilacs are flowering in town while prairie crocuses have already gone to seed in the bush as false saloman's seal and strawberries are getting their fragrant white flowers out.

BBQ season is in full swing with at least one invite rolling in per week from various friends around town.  Yesterday afternoon Caity and I sat on the deck under a sunny sky, drink in hand and caught up on the week we hadn't spent together.

Janice, the once-mother cat, will not be carrying on her reproducing ways as she was spayed on Friday.  That means our cutie kitty pot pies will be available for adoption this Friday to a loving furever home.  Will I miss them?  Absolutely.  Will I be pumped to see them come into their full kitty selves as indoor/outdoor cats together?  Even more so!

Our first couchsurfer, Yoko, from Japan was a hoot!  We popped around to the local pub, Murray's, for an early lunch  yesterday and as our sever's special table of her shift, she bought us a piece of chocolate cake for his long-distance visit.  His valiant attempts at English, a delightful tea ceremony with procedures resembling Communion preparations and keen attitude for anything Canadian, Alaskan or First Nations made for a delightful weekend.  

Work is hum bumming along.  I'm waiting for the first hatch of mozzies to start their annual assault but have otherwise been occupied ID-ing juvenile plants, classifying streams, planting lease sites (Seriously! I thought I'd hung those bags up!) cranking out nest surveys and logging some brain-numbing hours in the office reading manuals.  

It's weird being "The Local" on the crews.  It's true this is my fifth summer in Chetrock, but I by no means consider myself part of the permanent residential population here.  A plus of "local" status: I don't have to live in the company house.  

Back on the Alberta front, my extended family is taking turns visiting my brother in the Foothills Hospital after he rolled his truck two weeks ago.  From the updates, he has good and bad days where confusion runs rampant as his brain is attempting to slot info, data, sensory while also healing itself.  I'm beyond immediately worrying about him and much more concerned about how my mother is coping and processing it all.  

A trooper through and through, her state of mind and health are compromised and she openly confesses she is sleeping poorly and I fear that the responsibility of caring for him post-hospital (admittedly a long way off) is more than she can carry alone.  

Blessed beyond belief with a caring Calgary Crew composed of friends and family and a rocking group at her work, Mom says she is getting the support and breaks she needs while gardening and her kitties keep her distracted when she's not in Calgary.  

Kevin's given us substance abuse scares in the past and wonder of wonders he only injured himself with this most recent one.  

Sealy Saturday

Oceanside in Swakopmund, Namibia, Robyn and I took to the chilly seas atop a kayak to visit seals and dolphins.  Spectacular visibility awaited us at the end of Pelican Point in a sheltered bay.  A quick lesson from Leonard from Namibia Kayak Tours and we were on the glassy bay as seals young and old played in the water and on the sandbanks.  At Leonard's urging we paddle sprinted to the dorsal fins of dolphins and were rewarded as they popped up to breathe a handful of boat lengths away.  

We're approximately halfway through an overland tour of Namibia with Nomads bound for Cape Town, South Africa.  Our tourmateys have actually been a treat, our one (out of two) guides lacklustre and we've collectively been blown away by the scenery, animals and diversity of this African gem.  

Curious marine friends

Chillin on the beach

My favourite bow bitch

Namibian flora has some spectacular adaptations to its dry climate

Typical tentscapes

TIA

There's no shit shy in Africa.

"How's your bowels?" is a common greeting as meds are swapped on the advice of the coincidentally on-board Aussie nurse and pharmacist.  When not popping Cipro or "stoppers" for the travel days, any lingering reservations of pooping in public washrooms has literally disappeared down the toilet for our Commonwealth-citizened truck bound for Johannesburg.

With public washrooms a generous term, I have yet to encounter Thea's Malian "trous" or Risa's poo-bombed cement pads in Ghana but have been blessed with my fair share of filthy squat toilets where your and, more often, other's waste could not be more confronting.

While beach strolling in Essaouira, Morocco, I happened on a two-child couple engaged in the most compelling birth control: the father suspending a defecating toddler while the mother collected it from the sand in a plastic baggie.

As Dan was throwing his bag into his airport taxi - after his nth visit to the hostel's clean, private toilets - to start on his journey back to Chetwynd, I was dispensing his second course of Cipro.  Fingers crossed he lands an aisle seat for his 23-hour journey...

Morocco meanders