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 Former excitement and anticipation have been replaced by familiarity and predictability.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.

2018 in review

Community.  Deeper than the physical towns of Dawson Creek or Chetwynd, 2018 fostered connections and cemented sense of place.  The workplace was my first community, and point of contact in Dawson Creek.  Taking a sabbatical abruptly tore me out of that supportive environment and I was relegated to isolating online studies.  As I’ve so often done in the past for social, mental, physical, and ultimately athletic support, I leaned on my sports teams and clubs. 

Too scared and injury receptive for game play, I continued to practice with my indoor soccer team, and enthusiastically rejoined them on the outdoor pitch for the summer.  It was another hard-fought fun season with most games carrying on to Boston Pizza for “pizza and pop” where we compared bruises and recounted stellar and botched plays.  The progressive party concluded as we walked each other home. 

The beginning of 2018 presented an unusual opportunity: free lifeguard training.  I attended “tryouts” and was one of 24 accepted from 49.  It wasn’t an exploration I’d seriously considered until it was right in front of me.  Confined to studies by day, it was satisfying to physically work towards something, with what quickly became a close-knit group, in the evenings and eventual weekends.  By the end of our National Lifeguard course in May, I was one of about a dozen to successfully complete the course.  But I still wasn’t an employed lifeguard.  A wet, and then dry interview still awaited where I continued to (out)compete with my cohort for a spot on deck at the local pool.  I have savoured the new working environment – the learning curve has been steep, but I feel well supported and cared for by my fellow guards and swim club teammates.   

My sabbatical was mostly successful.  I received good grades for all the courses I was registered for, but fell short the ultimate reason for the sabbatical, my goal: completing my Registered Professional Forester designation.  Invested since 2015, it’s a goal I feel a sick, perverse even, loyalty to complete, and it’s been fraught with roadblocks, ditches, and fiery dragons.  It’s felt like each step I take forwards, my professional association is waiting in the bushes to kneecap me.  This coupled with general work dissatisfaction and career disappointment has had me deeply questioning my long-term role and plans in the natural resource sector.  Perhaps it’s the notable, uncomfortable even, lack of community at my day job that’s adding to my uncertainty.  I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day and be in familiar embrace of one of my athletic communities.   

Summer photos so far

Various mountain, river and work days

May there be spring!

On a recent helicopter flight for work, our pilot commented that the Peace is two weeks behind his hometown Vernon.  The rivers here are filled with silt and not yet at their high water level for the year, snow still lingers in the bush and makes roads inaccessible, vegetation here is in various stages of leafing out while Vernon has had leaf out, flowers and is snow free!

We northerners cherish our summers.

It's rare for gardeners to plant before June due to lingering frost risk yet we're out on riverboats enjoying the snowcapped peaks and high water that makes areas inaccessible in warmer months.  Music festivals run into the never-dark night.  Black out shades sell out from the local hardware store a month before summer solstice as we attempt to adequately rest before launching ourselves into another high activity day of weeding, hiking, fishing, BBQs.  Even with our long days, it seems there's never enough time to fit it all in.

Holiday begins!

"To freedom," Lou and I clinked wine in short tumbler glasses in our shared Dawson Creek apartment. Today is our last day of work til January 4, 2014.  That's in, like, a whole different year!

Good work news: nobody has cut their leg open, severed their hand off, had a concussion or otherwise given me any business.  A few slow speed maneuvers ditching trucks and equipment has been the extent of my worries.  Bad work news: I'm way too excited to see this company in my review mirror in January.

My coworkers are flying, driving back to where they're from tomorrow morning- with a few sneaking out early this arvo - and I can't wait to see my sweetie tomorrow night.

It has been four years since I was in Canada for Christmas and I'm feeling medium about the whole thing.  This snow and cold continues to be dreadfully inconvenient, the shortening days are playing with my happy hormones and I miss the cat.  And Dan.

My immediate family never large on presents with our relationships floundering in the vicinity of functional, or recently, civil, it's the investment of time I'm most looking forward to spending with family - mine and otherwise.  Generously given from tomorrow til Jan 4th off, Dan and I are visiting Victoria, Calgary and Red Deer to cover off our respective families.  Can't wait!

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.  

Visitors

Currently relocated to Dawson Creek for newly found work as a First Aid Attendant on a BC Hydro construction project, I was over the moon when Dan and the current kitties visited last night.  True, I have only been here a week, but a week away from where I'd rather be none the less.

Work days have been slow and the crew has not given me any business (good) I gave myself a goal of finishing one novel every two days.  A few town days and training sessions and I'm still on track.  Yan Martel's Beatrice and Virgil - spooky, twisted ending; Rajaa Alsanwa's Girls of Riyadh that points out the common threads of women everywhere; and Paul Theroux's latest and rumoured last travel memoir The Last Train to Zona Verde: My Ultimate African Safari - a brilliant first hand account of western Africa travel - are on their way back to Chetwynd's library.

When the temperature plunged to -29 with a windchill of -36 I earlier this week, I undoubtedly confronted Theroux's driving question: What am I doing here?

Taking advantage of a bigger center's Arts Scene, I was pleased to drop in on a great acoustic session by Winnipeg's Chris Carmichael.  Dawson Creek's Art Gallery hosts concerts throughout the year and Carmichael visited on Tuesday. Among the sparse audience numbering fewer than a dozen, his original rock, alt/country, blues, surf blues and cover songs were a welcome break from hanging out in my fancy, furnished apartment yearning for my friends and family elsewhere.

Least liked ice breaker

Billed as Life's Most Dangerous Question, I dislike it when I am working and even more so when I am not - and the latter is often.

"So, what do you do?"

I inwardly grimace and roll my eyes when meeting new people and sulk that this is their idea of small talk.  It's not an inquiry to my hobbies, volunteer interests, books I read, mountains/hills I scale, how I have mastered bread making or counties I would like to visit.  No, it is an imploration in to how the workforce values me and a subtle inquiry of income, status and rank.

Are we that bored or programmed that we can find no other common ground discussing things we like and are passionate about rather than the jobs we loathe?

I don't care if you're a stay-at-home Mom, science teacher, physician, farmer, bus driver, painter, cake decorator or struggling student.  What I am interested in is what you care about, where your dreams and passions lie, if we have similar hobbies.  If I wanted to network, I would have gone to a conference, professionals meet and greet or cruised around on Linkedin not attended a social gathering.

I was a member of my current book club for a half year before anyone asked me "what I did" or (and this one I liked) "what I did for the community."  The former forced me to admit after being laid off I had taken on a role that was inappropriate for my location and education while the latter allowed me to expand on the great work the local rescue, On Our Way Home Animal Rescue, has done in re-homing and rehabilitating surrendered, abandoned animals in the B.C. Peace while strengthening its presence from Mackenzie to Fort Nelson.

It's beginning to end

As a Swedish girlfriend (working in Norway) is lamenting summer's end and equally anticipating fall's transition, I too am noticing:

The dawn and dusk chill that comes too soon to the north.  

Days are noticeably shorter and August is not yet out.  

Leaves are turning.  

My vegetable garden is getting harvest-ready.  

It's difficult for me to process that summer is winding down when I feel I've had so little of it.  Cheated out of a "normal bush season" by a lay off and subsequent scramble for employment I have not spent nearly as much time in the woods as I usually do.  

While I have caught some of the seasonal boreal changes on day hikes and dog walks, truly I have missed the full season experience of looking for my favourite boreal gems and tracking their progress from leaf out to flowering to seed/berries! to die back.  

Fall is approaching and so is a time for contemplation, dream time and mentally, physically and emotionally regrouping.  

Industrial spray season, vol II

Six years ago my forestry summer job dried up before it even started.  This year it happened mid season.

Both times, a minor scramble followed to get myself back on someone's, anyone's payroll.  I had to expand my search outside of the community I live(d) in and the forest industry that typically employs me and settle for employment outside the province.

Like last time, I've signed on with Ace Vegetation.  As before, it's just for now, to tide me over, help them finish off their spray season.  I haven't decided if supervising suits me better than spraying but it's certainly more flexible.

It's definitely not a long-term fit for me, but it'll do for now.  

Job insecurities

I am used to having my boots full at this mid-point in the summer field season.  Work was slow at the beginning of the season with the entire company anticipating it picking up after BC's provincial election in May.  Rather, the workload stayed constant and then declined.

I've been filling my time walking dogs, playing with our new foster cat, baking bread, planning a winter trip and applying for temporary work like a boss.

Unable to find something suitable in town or even in province, I am headed back to Alberta tomorrow for an expedited training session then up to the Alberta and BC Peace to finish out my field season in the lucrative herbicide industry.

My mother maintains I'll enjoy it.  While I disagree, I know it'll fill the thirsty bank account.

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

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.  

Too many cooks

It’s been eight years since I purposely worked in a female dominated domain, and it’s truly a great mystery how I lasted two months (nearly to the day) in the same gender arrangement before giving my notice.

More than fed up with the forest industry, specifically in the role as a contractor, and seeking a, any really, change of employment, I was pleased to land in a lunch bistro committed to providing nutritious, quality lunches for my northern community that doesn’t know quiche from quinoa.     

That delight was short lived as I was reminded of the subtle politics, daily agony, personality wars and unnecessary competiveness that working alongside sisters from another mister holds.  Anti-women I am not.  Non-feminist, no way.  I love my girlfriends, mother, female cousins, aunts, I do! 

I acknowledge it’s entirely possible I have yet to develop the skill set required to navigate the frothy, temperamental waters of all-female coworkers.  Not surprisingly, the forest industry fostered my compassing, cultivated veg ID and deepened my soil typing rather than nurturing those softer people skills. 

While I claim a few new kitchen tips and tricks, my ultimate goal of taking a breather, a sabbatical from primary industry was accomplished.  Fewer hours and demands (physically and mentally), negligible stress and personal time factored in my gainful underemployment. 

Sure, I may use my new-found personal time tooling around on the internet, cleaning the bathroom or visiting girlfriends when really I’d like to be reading novels (non-fiction or otherwise) and walking puppies.  But that’s not the point.  Not since my retail days of high school have I had flexibility and freedom in my schedule, am not falling-over tired from faking another (!) good day in the rain or as truly committed to never asking, “to stay or to go?” in the context of food again. 

Yeah, we roast our pieces of pig, Hutterite turkeys, roast beasts in store, bake our own bread, make outstanding soup and spreads and daily attempt to bake up a storm for the Chetwynd masses.  Yes, I am deeply proud of serving and creating quality food. 

But I am ready and it is time (for me, not the sodding sandwich) to go. 

To Africa.  

Commuting continued

I’m continuing to cycle to work despite daily 10-15 centimeter forecasts of snow in the B.C. Peace.  It’s not pleasant, enjoyable, pleasurable or any other synonym of the aforementioned three kilometer commute.  Chilly; slippery; scary-mask wearing; uphill; dodging pickups spinning out and confused motorists; winter cycling is turning into an extreme sport. 

Would I love to remote start a vehicle and hop into its waiting warmth instead of layering up and taking to two wheels?  A loud YES! But I choose to be car free this summer and am unwilling to pay for the convenience, ahem silliness, of owning a car in a small town.  Pedestrian and bike friendly it is not – there’s an overwhelming lack of sidewalks, never mind bike lanes in Chetwynd – but I maintain it’s better, or at least less bad, than owning a vehicle. 

As the handful of trails paralleling creeks that link schools and subdivisions are better suited for dog walking, nature strolls and midnight meanders than commuting I’m relegated to the road.  A road which, throughout much of the province is a bustling highway that briefly slows to 50 km/h, carries transports, log and coal trucks and motorists baffled at sharing a lane with cyclists.  Add in some concealed-by-the-snow ice and equally hidden holes and it truly is a recipe for a deadly spill. 

Sure, I’ve been offered rides but some lingering sense of pride, stubbornness, or a desire not to be an inconvenience prevents me from accepting.  No longer employed in the vicious, demanding and ultimately unforgiving forest industry, I still feel there’s something to prove and a toughness that can only be cultivated in the boreal to maintain.  I recognize it’s absolutely ridiculous to jump onto an exposed bicycle and slip around alongside one-ton pickups yet I continue to do it – at least twice a day.  

Westward ho(e)!

Have a listen to Sarah Hepola's interview with CBC on traveling alone.

With too many waxing on about how travel has reordered lives and given them new found direction, travel has, in too many ways, unshaped me.

I was willingly and quickly pulled out of the "go to university, spend money you don't have studying something vague very few give a rat's arse about, meet a partner, get married, spend way too much money again, buy a house, make lots of body wrecking babies that will drain your time, income and energy for the next 18 years while eking out a career from an expensive liberal arts university that no one's heard of and you're still paying for."

Blah.  Twenty-seven, debt free and recently re-unemployed, I couldn't be more pleased.  A mild uncertainty accompanies me like a case of lice as I pour over provincial and world maps while anxiously glancing at my bank account.

While I don't have sponsors like similarly named Sherri I take great pleasure that we're doing it simply because we can.

Where ever we can.  Tonight I'm leaving for a 10-ish day tour with the fella westward along Highway 16.  Fishing, hiking, hanging out, grizz bear spotting and cheap American beer await!

Hepola's full essay here.

Booners and berry creations

Thomas, Chris, Dan and I and bulging suitcases enroute to G.P. 

Just as I'm getting used to surprise weekend day(s) off, my exit is coming up. Usually the first one out, summer gems Thomas and Angie have already (and grudgingly, I think) left the north for school in southern locales.  Final night celebrations and ultimately tear-filled goodbyes around the fire, dessert table, sushi bar, and orgasmic Alberta pub served as a tiny tribute to true friends.  Their genuine East Coast hearts, smiles and kindness will be sorely missed.

Keen to show Dan a smattering of what I do, I packed him into my pickup for a journey down to one of my favourite areas, the Murray.  A Chetwynd resident for three years, Dan had yet to make the trip into Monkman Provincial Park to see Kineuso Falls.  Blown away by their late season volume, jealous of the river boaters at the base of the falls and curious about the fishing downstream assured me there'll be further visits.  

Dan's blueberry haul

While I zipped around the blocks checking for lammas growth, Dan grabbed an empty water bottle and collected as many blueberries as he could on the sandy pine flats.  Cleaned and sorted the following morning, he whipped up knock-out blueberry pancakes - nearly as good as my Saskatoon berry muffins.  

Saskatoon muffins turned out fabulous!

Rounding up another boat and another angler, The Mink made another appearance in a northern lake.  

Shaun captains while Colin fishes

A bit of running around on puzzle-like hydro roads eventually delivered us to Pete Lake, 38 kilometers up the Moberly.  Constrained my another engagement in town, it was a fast fish, but a good one!  Dan hooked up with a Rainbow but the wiley fella jumped the hook.  

Stern man Dan with the catch

I hooked into another, larger cousin of the escapee and was able to maneuver it into the waiting net.  My first trout as far as I know!

My Ragin Rainbow! 

Summer score: Sheri 8, Dan :0

Photos lately

For all my world-class whinging, I truly have been fabulous places this summer.  Places that facilitated campfires early into the northern twilight, places that have yielded estimated 8-10 pound lake and bull trout, places more spooky than graveyards, places that unite and segregate simultaneously.  

It's a beguiling sensation to be places surrounded by people yet feel so isolated.  In such close physical proximity to one another with none of the intimacy or expected closeness.  

The woods truly are an unforgiving place for contemplating losses and longings.  

Munching moose

                                       
                                      Red Columbine                                                 Toilet bowl cleaner

 Usilika Lake

 Yup, I work here

 Oh, here too

 Even here

 Monkshood

Fireweedy

Boreal buddy

Mackenzie, vol II

The super team strikes again.  While pleased to be leaving Mackenzie earlier than projected (exactly on time by our 10 day shift standards) I was bummed that meant our shift wouldn't reset with some weekends off.

Lack of weekends off with friends gifted the coveted Saturday and Sunday off accompanied by raised eyebrow decisions, frustratingly long hours, swarms of mozzies invading our trailer and more-than-expected time away from Chetwynd is souring my summer and raising urgent personal questions about future summer employment plans.  I don't live here in the home owning sense yet I'm constantly homesick for it.

It's a classic case of wanting what I don't have.  I love not having a fixed address that I pay for in any real or imagined sense, having post sent to a work address or the box of wherever I happen to be resting my head lately.  The freedom to move around at my leisure/where my wallet demands I go to fill it coupled with the desire to (temporarily) settle.

Fellow wanderer Jen maintains the home is where her feet are.  I'm tempted to agree.  Out in the bush, let's go home means let's go back to our trailers in the moz breeding depression.  When hitching up those trailers, home is Jaana's house in Chetwynd.  Returning from an international foray, home is Calgary where I tend to fly back to and have smiling family that picks me up on delayed flights from the airport. Home has been Edmonton, Red Deer, Meekatharra, Bimini, a beach hut in half a dozen countries. I continue to wrestle with this reoccurring theme of who, what and, less importantly, where home is.

Fleur de Peace

It's odd to pack my bag and be displeased about the destination.

As I prepare for another foray to Mackenzie, I'm disappointed to be leaving Chetwynd at the height of summer.  Teachers friends are off school, wildflowers are doing their thing, late days call for lingering, the rivers are clearing up and I'm off to bushcamp under the guise of making money

I continue to confront "what the H am I doing with myself?" whether on a recent heli show, up the reservoir days and days from Mackenzie or seated in my backyard enjoying a novel.  While I wait for a lightening bolt moment and not overly concerned to be questioning my life's path, meaning, meandering journeys, I've taken to enjoying those who do this every year - the flowers.

  This one is new to me.  

                                    

                                                  Poisonous                                           Pokey

A personal and perennial favourite

I adore this flowering arrangement

 Such delicate flowers

 More often seen as an ornamental than in the frorest

Waiting for our pickup, it rained, sunned and I found these rain drenched gems