BUSH CHORD: New Poems & Pinhole Photography – Kindle Edition/ebook

BUSH CHORD:

New Poems & Pinhole Photography

2nd Edition 2012

The Frozen Goose: A Christmas Story …

( Author’s Note: I am re-cycling this story once again, and wish you all – A very Merry Christmas.  Originally conceived as a tale ‘in the style of’ Alistair MacLeod, the intention was to touch on recurring ‘structural memes’ that Macleod  uses to solicit ‘sentimental empathy’ …  )

The black ice was treacherous and they were lost. Annabelle clung to Lachlin’s little hand and tried to reassure him, “Don’t worry Lory, we’ll be home soon”. The wind howled and the snow was blinding. Lachlin’s tear-soaked face was contorted with fear and Annabelle knew that if they didn’t find land soon they would be goners for sure. The howling drew nearer. She pushed on against that wretched wind dragging her little brother behind her.

She had been wrong, she would now admit, though at the time she was convinced that she had been right. Her step-father had entered the kitchen with his butcher knife. Her mother was beside the stove. He had said that there was no work in town and that it was time to cut their losses and move on. He put the knife down on the table and went towards the fire. Her mother was silent as she continued to stir the soup. Finally she turned to him and said, “You know we can’t go, Daniel. The children are settled, and we must make a life for them here. To go again would only make things worse.” He pulled off his wet boots and then his wet socks. His bare wrinkled feet were turned towards the hearth. “There is nothing here Helen. Nothing that a man can do, nothing that a man can become. I’m finished.” She sighed and came over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “We will manage. You will find something.” He took her hand in his and said, “You are a good wife, but it’s not enough. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m just too tired.” She slowly returned to the stove, “Here, have some soup, you’ll feel better.” As she lay out the soup bowls she turned to Annabelle, “Go get your brother, Bella, we’ll eat now.” Annabelle left that sorry rustic kitchen and went up the back stairs to Lachlin’s room.

He was sprawled across the bed reading a book about wolves.

“Listen to this, Annabelle, ‘a wolf can smell fear from another animal up to a mile away’. Imagine that!”

“Come on Lory, supper’s ready. Daniel is in a bad mood, so be careful what you say.” Lachlin made a face and slid off the bed in his floppy socks. He shimmied across the wood floor to the closet and pulled out his worn slippers. “What are we having tonight? Soup and bread again?”

“Sshh. Don’t say that. You know there is no money. We have to eat what we can get.”

“I should work. I could deliver the Flamborough Review again. I fixed the flat on my bicycle.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s the middle of winter. How could you manage snowdrifts and ice on your dumb bike?”

“Well, I could do it. I could be the man of this house.”

“Lory, don’t worry, I will work. I will go to Uncle Charlie’s store and see if I can do the check-out.”

“How are you going to get there? Do you want to use my bike?”

“I’ll walk. Come on silly, let’s go eat.”

During the meal Annabelle kept looking at her mother.  The older woman was worn out and listless. The air in the kitchen was filled with foreboding and despair. Annabelle knew she had to get the job. She was convinced that she was right about that.

The next morning she told her mother she would walk to Uncle Charlie’s store to get some work. Her mother looked at her long and hard, then said, “It’s too far in this weather to walk. Over 5 miles. It’s too far.” Annabelle said she could manage. She put on her toque and scarf and wrapped her warm overcoat around her. Her boots were dry and warm. Her hands well-covered and cozy. “See? Snug as a bug in a rug.” Her mother said, “I will come with you.” Annabelle shook her head, comforting her, “I’ll be there in no time, you’ll just slow me down. I’ll be back before dusk.” With that, Bella opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the mid-morning frozen day.

The air was crisp and bright. Not a cloud in the sky. She began the long crunchy march down the country lane towards the store. She hadn’t gone more than half a mile when she heard Lachlin yelling from behind. “Annabelle, Annabelle, Wait for me, I’m coming too. Daniel said it’s okay.” She stopped and turned around. Lachlin was storming up to her with his scarf flying behind, his mitts dangling from their strings. His head was uncovered and his coat was unzipped. “We aren’t going anywhere with you dressed like that. Come here and let me straighten you out.” Annabelle slipped off her mittens, tucked his scarf around his neck and gingerly zipped up his coat. She pulled up the hood of his jacket. “There, now maybe you’ll make it.” He slipped his hand into hers, “Let’s go this way! I know a short cut!” He pulled her towards the marked trail on the side of the road, “If we cross McCormick’s Pond we’ll be closer to Uncle Charlie’s.” “No, Lachlin,” she pulled her hand away from his. “Not the pond. It’s too big and I don’t know my way around in the woods.” “I do, it’s easy, follow me.” “No, Lachlin, we’re going by the road.” So, on they went.

It took them just over two hours to get there. By the time they entered the store premises, their ears were near frostbit and their noses were dribbling goop into their mouths. Their eyes too were streaming from the bitter cold. The wind had started to come up. Uncle Charlie gave them cups of hot chocolate and listened quietly to Annabelle’s plea for work. When she had finished, he stood and went into the back room, returning with a large twelve pound frozen goose. “Here, Bella, take this home to your mother. Say it is a Christmas present from me. And you can start work here in the New Year.” Annabelle hugged her uncle while Lachlin jumped with joy at the prospect of real food on their table. Uncle Charlie said, “Now off you go. Get yourselves home before this wind really starts blowing. The wolves are out and we don’t want to lose one of you to the pack!” Lachlin howled for fun and then barked like a dog. Annabelle cuffed him playfully on the back of the head as Uncle Charlie put the frozen goose into a burlap bag. He handed it to Annabelle. “Can you manage this Annabelle? It’s not too heavy?” Annabelle took the sack, “I can manage.”

The children left the store around noon.

They had only walked about two miles down the road when the wind whipped up out of nowhere. At the first gust poor Lachlin was almost hurled to the other side of the road. He quickly rebounded and clung to the side of Annabelle’s flapping coat , “It’s too much, we should get out of the wind into the woods,” he said. Annabelle looked down at his torn jacket, the zipper had broken open. “Oh alright, but stick with me, no playing around.”

They stepped down from the road and cut into the sparse woods in the direction of the pond. The wind played tricks with the snow. First it was coming from this direction then from that. Annabelle had trouble seeing her way ahead. Lachlin started whining, “My feet are cold.” She put the burlap bag in the crook of her other arm and took his hand again, “Come on Lory, we’ll be home soon.” They had reached the pond’s edge.

Annabelle knew that if they kept bearing towards the old willow on the far shore they would be close enough to the house. The old willow kept appearing and disappearing between the snow squalls. She had to keep a straight line. They started the march across.

And that’s when they heard them. At first she thought it was only the wind, but there was no mistaking the murderous yap-yap of the on-coming pack. They were close and closing. Annabelle frantically yanked Lachlin’s hand, “Come On!” They began crossing at a run and were two thirds of the way across when the ice cracked, trembled, then banged, like a gun shot. The surface split open two inches to reveal the freezing black water beneath. They skidded to a stop and tried to listen to the ice through the whistling of the wind and the swirling of the snow. Lachlin began to cry. “I heard the wolves. They’re coming. They’re going to eat us!” Annabelle snapped at him, “Stop it. They aren’t interested in us. They want the goose. Just follow me.” She took a step over the large crack and then another step forward and waited. She could see the old willow ahead on the far shore. She took another step. Then waited. And another. She listened to the ice. Lachlin stepped gingerly into her windswept boot prints. They made another twenty yards in this way when the ice shot and cracked again. Annabelle froze in fear. Lachlin whimpered behind her, “Hurry up! They’re coming! They’re coming!” She dropped down onto her hands and knees and pushed the goose sack out far in front of her. “Follow me, Lachlin.” She crawled towards the sack. She shoved the sack ahead again across the patchy black ice, then crawled towards it. “Lachlin, do what I do! Do exactly what I do!” She shoved the sack and crawled slowly forward. She could feel Lachlin push into her boot from behind. The snow blinded her vision. She pushed on. She shoved the sack again then crawled towards it. She put her hand out again to shove. But the sack was gone. Gone. She inched forward slowly sweeping the ice with her damp mitten. The ice was wet. She groped at the air. The sack was gone. Tears filled her eyes.

Daniel bent down and lifted them both up from the blinding white-out. He  quickly slid Annabelle around onto his back and clutched little Lachlin tightly in his right arm.  The burlap sack with the frozen goose hung from his other hand. Turning back to the willow tree,  he trudged slowly home – towards the hearth, and Helen.

(To learn more about Alistair MacLeod, link ‘here’ for a NFB film about the author and his life; and from Wikipedia – which in truth, seems to have the best representative coverage on this author at the moment – link  ‘here’.)

Fall is Upon Us …

‘Finding Farley’ (NFB 62 min VID)

A charming little film from the National Film Board of Canada follows one small family’s intrepid journey across Canada. Swirl down long languid rivers, bubble over rapid rapids, journey with them over hill & tundra dale as they follow in the path of legendary Canadian author, Farley Mowat. You’re going to love this very personal trip. Seriously. Great film with EXCELLENT footage of the FAR north. Link up below, sit back and go with their flow for about an hour -

FINDING FARLEY

 

 

 

Gone Native … (another short story) … recycled for the season …

(‘Island Spirit’ by Canadada)

Sometimes we remember things differently and for different reasons.

It had begun in this way.

Jules had said,  “Use positive, then negative pressure, then finish with positive.”

She said, “Well, in Human Resources we say it differently – we say ‘try to make a sandwich’ – bread, meat, bread.”  Then she put her hands together in prayer.  “Like this.” And she opened them. He responded by saying, “Honey, I was addicted to ‘Let’s Make a Deal’ as a kid, you can’t coax them with childish rhymes. It’s conventional organizational behaviour.”  She countered, “Noise, noise everywhere – and not a spot to think.” He said, “I know you think it’s always some kind of psychic war – a negative mental pollution generated by the corporation, but you’re ….”  “Not entirely,” she interrupted, “I think it has more to do with atrophied DNA from previous evolutions. Think calcified neurons. There’s a name for them, ‘entrons’ I think. Anyway, it’s really a physical problem, not a behavioural one.” He said, “I think you’re wrong Ginny. Bottom line, it’s only ‘dog eat dog’.” She laughed, “Right you are Romeo!” She slapped his bare bum and he, in turn, lunged for her. They made love again.

She heaved herself up from the bed. “I’m getting up now. Alert the press.” Wrapping her dressing gown around her nakedness, she walked towards the window and drew back the curtains. It was still very early. A soft rosy golden light shimmered over the island landscape. The water lapped the rock shore, pecking the shimmering pink boulders with persistent impertinence.

She watched the shorebirds swirl above the out islands, and said, “Why don’t we go fishing today?” Jules rolled over to look at her, “Fish?”

She turned to him, “Yes! Let’s go fishing. I’ll make a picnic.”

He smiled, “Ok. You’ll have to do the worm thing though.”

She smiled, “My corporate he-man.”

She opened the door of their bedroom and shuffled across the living room towards the pantry and kitchen. Oreo, the cat, sprang off the worn sofa and headed for her bare feet, meowing. Ginger bent over and patted the pet, “Breakfast, old girl? Where are the mice? Where are the mice? Come on.” Oreo ran ahead of her towards the kitchen.

The screen door was rattling back and forth on the hook. The wind was coming up across from the mainland and blowing through the backdoor into the kitchen. Not a good sign, a northeast wind usually brought bad weather. Ginger re-fastened the hook securely, then shut the interior door. It should have been closed last night before they went to bed. She’d try to remember tonight, if they didn’t drink too much vino again. She filled the coffee pot with lake-drawn water and turned on the stove. The propane burner sputtered to life, shooting out an irregular flame that settled down to a relatively stable flow. She measured out three heaping tablespoonfuls of freshly ground coffee and popped them into the top of the tin coffeepot. She fed Oreo breakfast, then put away the dried dinner dishes from the dish rack. She thought how she might do a hand wash later. She opened the window overlooking the back deck, just a few inches to let in some of that fresh invigorating early morning air.

Jules entered the kitchen in slippers and loosely slung housecoat. “Feel like poached eggs on toast, bacon on the side?”

“Sure. I’m going to take my coffee out to the front deck away from the wind.”

“Ok, I’ll be there in a sec.” She placed her hand on his hairy chest as she slid past.

Jules poured his first cup and rattled around in the utensil drawer trying to find the poaching cups. They were at the back buried under an assortment of cottage kitchen junk: bottle fasteners, toothpicks and boxed matches. He then heaved out the cast iron fry pan from the lower pot rack and opened up the fridge. He pulled out the eggs, bacon, bread, juice and jam. Oreo swarmed in and out of his legs. He glanced out the window to the front. Ginger was settling into the striped lounge chair, putting up her feet. Her pink dressing gown flapped gently in the breeze. He watched as she brushed her auburn hair off her face. He flushed and smiled at his good fortune, he had finally gotten the girl. She was a beaut too. He turned towards the stove and placed the freshly butcher-cut bacon into the pan. The strips slowly sizzled. He poured another cup of coffee, adding two large spoonfuls of brown sugar. He thought of the tackle box – he couldn’t remember where his father had left it. It might be in the back of the tool shed, or tucked up under the bow of the old outboard. He’d have to check later. He opened the interior back door and the screen door immediately started to rattle loudly on the hook. A gust of fresh air billowed open his dressing gown. He glanced over towards the flagpole. The flag was cracking and snapping in the growing breeze. He looked towards the dock harbour, the boats were secure, bumping abit but nothing to worry about. The water beyond was starting to whitecap. He noticed that the wind had a bit of a bite in it. He pulled his dressing gown taut and shoved the hook on the screen door firmly down into the eye on the door-frame, closed the interior door again and went back to the stove to flip the bacon. He rummaged around for the rickety toast rack, splayed open the sides, and put on four pieces of the store-bought white bread. He turned on another burner and placed the toaster on it. He pulled out another pot to poach the eggs. Where was that tackle box, he wondered.

He heard Ginger call his name, once, loudly and urgent, he answered, “Yes?” He turned. “What is it?” He went over to the open window and looked over to the deck. Ginger wasn’t there. Only her coffee cup. “Ginger?” He opened the window wide. He listened. Only the muffled irritating rattle of that back door. “Ginger?” he called out again. He turned off both burners, lifting off the toast rack, “Honey?” He went through the living room and out onto the front deck, his eye scanned the island left to right. Only her coffee cup. “Honey? Gin?” He walked to the end of the deck and looked down towards the lake. He reasoned with himself that she was closer than that when she had called out. He turned back to the cabin, “Gin?” His eye scanned the building, he looked towards the bedroom, the curtains were open, the kitchen window was ajar. Nothing odd or unusual in any of that. “Ginger?” He walked over to where she had been sitting. Then he saw her.

She was lying face down on the ground, her body bare and her dressing gown jumbled up in a heap on top of the juniper bush. As he rushed over to her, he momentarily thought, my god, she’s dead. As he turned her over he waited for her eyes to open. They did not. She was breathing very slowly. “Ginger – can you hear me? What happened honey? Where does it hurt? Ginger?” He glanced quickly over her body, there did not seem to be any obvious breaks or lesions. No discolourment or disfigurement. Only her right hand seemed marginally swollen. He lifted her into his arms and took her over to the lounge chair. He took off his house coat and placed it over her torso. He lifted her head again, “Ginger, can you hear me?” He gently stroked her cheek, then gently patted her face, “Ginger – answer me – honey please!” He laid her head back down on the lounge chair and stood up. He stood with his hands on his bony bare hips staring at her. He had no idea what he should do. He had no idea what had happened or what was wrong with her. Did she have a heart attack? A concussion from a fall? Why had she yelled out? Had she seen something? Jules glanced back at the house and the spot where he had found her. Her dressing gown was still strewn over the juniper bush. He went over to pick it up. As he bent over to lift the gown from the bush, he instantly heard, too late, the distinct and horrifying buzz, a large rattlesnake flopped out and fell onto the underbrush. In fright, Jules collapsed backwards onto the rocks, losing one slipper. The snake slithered off into the bush. Jules scrambled to his feet and fell back again towards the deck. “Shit!” He sprang quickly up the steps and rushed into the living room heading for the hearth. He grabbed the fire poker and tore back outside. Ginger had not moved and her breathing was laboured. He dropped the poker and rushed to her. He lifted up her hand. Sure enough, two small pinpricks less than an eighth of an inch in diameter were now visible just between her thumb and index finger. He tried to remember what he was supposed to do. Anti-venom shot? Tourniquet? Cut and draw the blood? He tried to think.

It would take almost an hour by boat to get to the mainland. The nearest ship-to-shore phone was thirty minutes away. The nearest doctor and hospital was Parry Sound, three hours by boat and car, one hour by seaplane. He had stupidly left the medical kit in his car. He did not know what to do: suck the blood? How much time did she have?

Jules pulled off his draped housecoat, and lifted Ginger’s naked body from the lounge chair. He took her indoors and laid her out on their unmade bed. He grabbed a face towel from the wash basin on the bureau and tied it tightly around her wrist. He crooked her arm up, off the bed, to slow the circulation. She was unconscious.

Jules dressed quickly in shorts and a t-shirt, he put his car keys into his pocket. He wrapped Ginger in the bed blanket and lifted her again. He carried her to the kitchen, managed to open the interior back door, lift the hook on the screen door and shoved their bodies against the screen. He could hear the door flap shut, then open and flap shut again with a repetitive clatter behind him as he hurried down to the boats. He carefully stepped into the rocking outboard and lay Ginger down gently against the back wooden seat. He untied the stern, moved up to the wheel, started the engine and unhooked the bow line tossing it onto the dock. He reversed his way quickly out of the sheltered harbour. The white caps splashed into the back end of the boat. He changed gears and thrust the throttle forward. The boat lifted up and took off.

His instincts were to go to the Key. There were other people there, cottagers and old-timers. There must be someone there who would know what to do, who could help. The boat thundered over the waves, the belly slammed up and down as it smashed against the white caps. He glanced back at Ginger. But there was only the blanket. Jules let go of the wheel and looked around the boat. Where the hell had she gone? He pulled back the throttle and the boat slithered to a bobbing stop. The waves continued to belt against the side of the boat. The wind was blowing hard. Jules looked back over the water – had she fallen out? No sign of her. “Ginger?” he screamed into the wind.

Ginger placed her coffee cup down on the patio table and gazed out over the out islands. The rocks glistened with morning dew. It was going to be another gorgeous and magical Georgian Bay day. Windy, to be sure, but that was half the fun. From the corner of her eye Ginger saw something move left. She turned her head scanning the rock. She saw it, the island bunny. She sat up pleased. The island bunny had come back. By the end of the summer last year it had learned to take treats from her hand. She put out her hand to it as it leapt for cover into the juniper bush. Gone from her view, Ginger stepped off the deck and walked slowly and quietly over to the bush. The rock was cold and damp under her bare feet. The lichen too, usually so brittle and crunchy, was like soft wet moss underfoot. She leant over pulling back one of the bush branches and murmured, “Are you in there little island bunny?” Before she knew what hit her, the rattler struck. She stared at the snake’s mouth latched onto her hand, stunned, then she grabbed the writhing tail and yanked. The snake let go of her and swung around to its tail. She instantly dropped it. The snake fell full length across the bare rock, twisted, upside down. Ginger’s only thought was to kill it. Kill it. She couldn’t step on it, and there were no small rocks handy to smash it. In that split second, she whipped off her dressing gown and hurled it over the snake area. Then she scooped up the bundled wriggling mess. Suddenly she felt dizzy. She knew she was going to pass out. Jules. She had to call Jules. That’s all she could remember about the strike.

She first came to in the bedroom. She watched as Jules dressed himself. Why is he in such a hurry she wondered? We were going fishing, why was he putting his car keys into his shorts? She blanked out again. She remembered someone carrying her. She remembered the brush of a vinyl windbreaker against her cheek. And her bum resting on a damp wooden bench. Her hand had ached. She felt something cold crawling up her body towards her brain. Slowly, insidiously, methodically, seeking her, wanting her.

She had to escape and quickly. As she slithered over the side of the boat, the blanket fell off. Naked, she could feel the water luxuriantly envelop her form. Rather than struggle with the swell and mad swirl of the whitecaps she ducked underwater and started to swim back towards the island. She moved quickly, effortlessly, naturally. Once at the island she slid ashore and could immediately feel the sun baked rocks warm her body. It would have been nice to lie there for awhile after such a long swim, but oddly, she felt hungry. The spasm in her stomach was demanding. She knew there was food in the cottage, but that was so far away, surely she could find something closer. She started to make her way towards the buildings. Then she stopped. There was a large dragonfly flitting above the tall grass, bobbing from point to point. Maybe if she stayed perfectly still it would come close enough. She shifted her body weight ready to snatch at it. And waited quietly, as still as stone. Only her black eyes followed the darting dragonfly as it came nearer and nearer, blissfully ignorant. She sprang at it and chomped it down in one swift bite. Delicious. But hardly enough. She continued on with her scavenging. Entering into the tall grass, so many ants and insects. Hors d’oeuvres. She could feel something move about 20 feet from her. Something small, rodent like. It was moving towards the kitchen. She too moved towards the kitchen. From the movement on the ground she knew she would intercept shortly. She sped ahead, then stopped and waited. The mouse was scurrying forward, its cheeks full of food. It burst through the grass and stepped directly onto Ginger who struck out and swallowed the mouse in one giant gulp. The mouse undulated down towards her gullet. She lay contented for a time. The sun was getting hot. Maybe a nap now. A long sleep. Better to hunt at night anyway when critters would be active. She thought of the rock barbecue. There was a perfect hole on the side facing the flagpole where she could curl up inside for a time. And she slowly made her way over there.

Jules started to cry. He had spent the last two hours slowly traversing the bay looking for Ginger’s body. Clouds were forming over the mainland, the wind had died down, and the water was calmer, but it would rain soon. There was nothing. Not a trace. He needed more gas, the tank was almost empty. He made his way back to the island harbour wiping the tears from his eyes. He tried to think, to form a plan, but all he could see was her naked body crumbled at the juniper bush. He had thought she was dead then. He tied up the boat. He would retrace his steps, maybe there was something in that. As he wandered back up to the cottage, he walked past the flagpole, it was then that he saw the rattler slowly slithering across the bare rock towards the barbecue. He stopped dead in his tracks. Then stepped backwards, slowly step-by-step, towards the harbour. When below the hill, he turned and ran to the boat and pulled up the emergency paddle. I’ll kill the bugger. He hurried back to the hill and up the footpath. The snake was almost there. Its long sinuous body bulged with a recent meal. Jules moved into the tall grass to the right to come up behind it. He stalked forward quietly holding the paddle ready for a strike. He was within four feet of the beast when it turned and coiled. Its rattler buzzed viciously. He raised the paddle quickly. But too late. The snake sprang towards his shin and struck his leg. Jules slammed the blade of the paddle down onto its back and twisted the edge sharply. The snake let go of his leg and curled in agony around the paddle blade. Jules lifted the edge and brought it down hard again against the rock and severed the snake in two. Mouse blood and innards oozed onto the pink rock. The rattler was definitely dead. Jules dropped the paddle and looked down at his leg. A tip of one of the fangs was still stuck in his shin, he pulled it out, and suddenly felt very dizzy.

Ginger wondered what was taking him so long. She would have had breakfast served up and finished by now. She turned towards the cottage and called out, “Jules?” She looked at the kitchen window, she could not see his silhouette. She looked at the bedroom window, the curtains were open but there was no sign of him. She stood up, “Jules, do you need a hand?” She sighed and opened the door into the living room and walked through to the kitchen. The toast was burning, the water in the egg pan was at a rolling boil and the bacon was burnt to a crisp. Typical guy, she thought, wanders off and forgets the stove. “Jules?” She turned off the burners, threw out the toast and opened the back door to let out the smoke. The screen door immediately started to rattle. She glanced down at the hook, it was out of the eye. She called out, “Jules?” and looked towards the flagpole. Then she saw him. Face down on the rocks.

Leonard Longhouse from the Henvy Inlet Indian Reserve had been out fishing near Fox Bay when he noticed the drifting boat pushing up against the red channel buoy. When he went over to see what was going on, he found both Jules and Ginger unconscious in the bottom of the boat. Both were stark naked. He immediately knew it was the Spirit Bay Rattler. Leonard used his grandfathers’ powers to revive them, then he took them into the Key for conventional medical treatment.

To this day, neither Jules nor Ginger can be entirely sure what happened that morning, exactly. They fixed the screen door and now keep the medical kit on the island at all times. They gave Leonard a 30-ounce bottle of whisky and thanked him for his help. He, in turn, had told them that they had to give the island back. They didn’t know what that meant exactly either.

The only thing they did differently was this: between themselves one night while sitting under the stars beside the glowing barbecue they raised their wine glasses and drunkenly paid homage to that strange bewildering day. They splashed their drinks onto the glowing embers and jokingly re-christened the island ‘Rattlesnake Rock’.

Yet, to Leonard and others from the Reserve, it is still that unnamed centre island of ‘Go Home Bay’.

HMCS Haida Destroyer in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

As part of the ‘Doors Open’ event in Hamilton Ontario over the past weekend, I visited the HMCS Haida Destroyer, currently docked in the Hamilton Harbour.  What an amazingly robust little ship, equally impressive to imagine that 200 seamen would have spent months/years on this confining sea-worthy vessel.  Double click on the images below for full screen visuals. Well worth a visit …

Vote NO to the Pan Am Games in Burlington City Park – Please SIGN our PETITION!

NB: UPDATES ON THIS ‘ISSUE’, first posted in July 2010, ARE NOW LOCATED AT BOTTOM OF THIS POST.

Dear ALL,

Please be advised that a Grass Roots PETITION has just begun -

Vote No to the Pan Am Games in Burlington City Park

We have so little time to get this message ‘up’ and ‘out’ – venues are being finalized, monies are being spent – yet, we MUST TRY to be HEARD before it really is TOO LATE.  Please –

Vote NO to the Pan Am Games in Burliington City Park

The ‘new’ Burlington City Park, the largest park in Burlington, Ontario, Canada, is currently ‘under construction’ at Kerns Road and Dundas Street. The Bruce Trail runs along its brow edge and Kerncliff Park is already there, in its south-western ‘corner’. Located primarily on TOP of the Niagara Escarpment, it is home & haven to a wide variety of species – including wandering & wondering nature-loving humans …

Most of this rural park land, though in the political boundary of Ward 1, butts up against Ward 3 and Ward 15 on top of the Niagara escarpment. This petition has been created to draw attention to the FACT that most Burlingtonians – let alone citizens all over the Golden Horseshoe region – have had little to no say about the impact this Pan Am ‘venture’ will have on THEIR park. It’s not simply the park that’s underway, it’s the sneaky way the City has ‘slipped’ in the Pan Am Games ONTO the development of this PUBLIC land space.

After the rejection of Sherwood Forest Park in the urban core as the ‘soccer’ venue for the Games, by local residents, City Staff put forward the “remote” new ‘City Park’ to Burlington City Council. Before the City could get the Pan Am ‘bid’ they had to convince and get the Niagara Escarpment Commission’s ‘approval’. This entire escarpment zone is locally known as unique, in many ways it remains ‘untouched’ and, as such, falls under the NEC mandate to preserve and protect it from inappropriate development.

When the City originally proposed the idea to the NEC in February of 2010, the NEC turned them down. The City’s ‘plan’ encompassed 10,000 spectators, with seating for 8,500 plus all the necessary food, security, garbage, restroom and media/power facilties to accommodate such a large soccer-minded crowd. The NEC was rightly concerned that the size and scope of this kind of event would upset the natural equilibrium of the park. So, the City went away and sharpened their pencils. On June 17th, they came back with ‘revised’ numbers for the NEC. Suddenly projected attendance had dropped from 10,000 to 5000 that only necessitated ‘temporary’ seating for 3500 with NO on-site parking for spectators. The crowds would be shuttled in by a ‘temporary’ transit system. They also said that when the Games were done, the whole ‘event’ would be dismantled and cleaned up. The NEC gave them the go-ahead.

HOWEVER, things just aren’t adding up, and this should be of GREAT CONCERN to all those interested in maintaining ANY wonderful natural park on or near the magnificent Niagara Escarpment. During the City’s June presentation to the NEC, City officials maintained that there had been numerous public consultations – including an ‘Open House’ in Ward 1, specifically about the Games, and that the “vast majority” there of “over 30 people” had voted in favour of the Pan Am Games.  Hey, 30 people of near 3000 in the immediate vicinity does not a ‘majority’ make! Meetings have been held about the PARK, not the Pan Am Games IN the park, and that’s where something is starting to stink …

What is becoming increasingly clear is that the City does not want another ‘citizen rejection’ of their big-ticket Pan Am scheme. The City has seemingly used the ‘cloak’ of public consultations about the PARK, not the GAMES, to inflate their ‘public approval’ numbers to the NEC, the media and the organizers of the Games. If people really HAD been properly informed and consulted about the IMPACT these games would have altogether, it is very unlikely that they would want them any more then did sensible residents of Sherwood Forest Park.  All Wards butting onto the park – Ward 1, Ward 3 and Ward 15 of Hamilton – should be better informed about this ‘Over the Top’ SPORTS SHOW that will be running for the summer of 2015.  City Park, as originally conceived, is, yes, IN PART, a recreational sports park, but increasingly it is being ‘modified’ and ‘reshaped’ to accommodate the mega-million dollar ‘branding’ ambitions of the Toronto-based Pan Am Games. This is NOT – when understood in full scope – what people ‘ pro the park’  had bargained for.

In short, ‘we’ were not adequately informed or consulted, and ‘we’ are now being ‘railroaded’ into ‘accepting’ it, like it or not. Well, I, for one, am NOT accepting it. The need to accommodate so many – 5,000 or 10,000 or even 15,000 – will move the park so far away – conceptually – from what it SHOULD be, and what it was originally SOLD to us as, that it does now warrant this GRASS ROOTS  ‘citizen’s protest’.

Please join with me and

Vote NO to the Pan Am Games in Burlington City Park

The new Burlington City Park is  INAPPROPRIATE for the Pan Am Games, as an ‘event centre’ or as an intense “training facility”.

Link to, and  Sign the PETITION -

Vote NO to the Pan Am Games in Burlington City Park

And then,  Please FORWARD THIS MESSAGE .

Thank you.

FRIENDS of City Park
Lake Ontario, Canada

Update, August 15th: BMO Field in Toronto, initially intended to host the ‘soccer’ portion of the Games, has been ‘deleted’  as a main venue. Why? They’ve recently replaced their artificial turf with real grass!

Burlington New City park is now slated to get 3 artificial turf soccer fields. A ‘City’ recommendation that ‘occured’ in June of this year. Again, without public consent …

Update, August 25th: Appeal is now before the Tribunal with a pre-Hearing set for August 27th. The City has used ‘tactics’ of a ‘motion’ to scare down Appellants. It’s working. If all appellants step down, the Permit will go ahead and that noxious gunk will go in …    Pity the poor future …

Update, October 3rd: Full on Hearing now set for October 5th before the Environmental Review Tribunal at Burlington City Hall, Rm. 247

Update, October 7th: We did it. Three of us ‘presented’ . City brought in SIX witnesses, with two flown up from the States as “experts” who CLAIM there are ‘no malignant’ effects whatsoever with synthetic turf. According to these ‘know-it-alls’, synthetic turf is just another ‘atomic chemical compound’ like anything else ‘out there’ with NO toxicity and/or adverse effects  to plants, animals, or the environment …. (I know, NUTS!!!!)  Anyway, it was a  long ‘court-like’ ordeal from 10am to 6ish. Impossible to know what the Hearing Officer really HEARD out of all THAT. So, now it’s a ‘wait and see’ what the  Environmental Tribunal will decide. Could take a week, or two, or three.  Could be GOOD news, could be BAD. We just don’t know. I think, all things considered, without LEGAL representation, that as CONCERNED CITIZENS, we did ok. So, now, we must WAIT ….  When we know, we’ll let you know. Thanks everyone for your VOTES.  We ARE making a ‘dent’ in the armor of this STUPID  ‘planning’ DECISION to cover up the Living Earth with Plastic.

Update, Dec 21st: On December 10th we received the ETR notification. The Hearing Officer has deferred this DECISION to the Minister of Natural Resources. The case has now moved over to them to evaluate and reach a final verdict – ie. will New City Park be GREEN, as it should be? or plastic as is the Fed & PanAm ‘intent’? We’ve been told that this decision COULD take up to a year.  (!) Ultimately, this could be ‘good news’ for us. The Federal  ‘Action Plan’ stimulus funding with several MILLION ear-marked for plastic grass is set to ‘expire’ in October 2011. If the decision is delayed until after that, there is hope that the funds are NOT available to put that life-defying crud into the park.

The PanAm org is another kettle of fish. According to lastest City Talk Newsletter, City is still PLANNING to hold PanAm soccer training at New City Park on, quote,  “high quality” soccer fields, (ie. PanAm funded plastic grass.)  So, clearly, City is DETERMINED to still do this, contrary to growing public outcry & continued concerns about ‘plastic grass’s’ future viability in this eco-sensitive UNESCO World Biosphere…

Stay tuned peeps, more on all this to come in the New Year ….  ho ho.

And please, click on this link -  VOTE NO to Pan Am in New City Park –

Help us SAVE this park from RUIN.

Merry Christmas.

Update, March 25th, 2011. We are still waiting for a ‘verdict’ from the MNR.  We have no idea when this will come down.  City, meanwhile,  continues to PUSH ahead with THEIR plans to transform New City Park into another wasteland plastic ‘paradise’ …

We wait & HOPE that reason & good sense will prevail.

In the interim,  please ‘Vote NO’ on the Petition above if you haven’t. Thank you.

Update, April 13th, 2011.  Finally, a DECISION, and it’s not good.  MNR has decided to ‘allow’ the Permit to proceed, though they did add a number of new Conditions to the reissue that City must comply with.  Condition 15 requires that an Environmental Impact Assessment must be done to meet the requirements of Conservation Halton, the Region of Halton, and the Niagara Escarpment Commission.  GOOD!  Now, perhaps the FACT that NO E.I.A. was EVER done vis a vis plastic grass in this park will come to light!  How could it when the hydro-geo technical studies were done in 2005/6, but the COMPONENTS of ‘plastic grass’ were not even identified until the Hearing in October 2010 – ????   Anyway, typically, City, in yesterday’s paper, NOW say, that maybe all THREE fields of fake grass WON’T go in after all. – Huh? What SPIN is this? What would be their rationale for DROPPING one NOW? – We’ve concluded that it is a ruse, a slimy ruse at that, to skirt around the MNR ‘ruling’. Why? Because in the Park Management Plan of 2009, that had those aforementioned hydro-geo technical studies, TWO fields of artificial turf had water usage  ‘projected’ out in hypothetical scenarios (though again, HOW that makes sense given that they didn’t KNOW what this synthetic product IS remains kind of mind-boggling). City is going to PRETEND that an appropriate E.I.A HAS been done. Will the eco-regulatory authorities swallow this gambit?  Stay tuned …  Plus, for those who aren’t on our regular mailer, here is the link to our INITIAL reaction to this SAD SAD  ‘news’ ….http://mim.io/9bd001

Our focus will now be on getting this toxic Life-Denying CRUD out of the park as soon as is possible. This may take YEARS. To carry on with this work for the FUTURE HEALTH of this PUBLIC PARK, we do need your continued ‘support’ – so, please, VOTE, if you have not done so.  Sign – here.

For those who may doubt that this is an on-going  ‘problem’, watch this eye-opening  photo slideshow. Outrageous, sad, and disgusting, ain’t it? Can you SEE now what we MUST do?

 

Please FORWARD ON this CAMPAIGN to other Planet CARETAKERS …

Thanks.

Update: February 2012: The petition is now CLOSED.  The naming of the park is now underway, and is set to ‘open’ to the public in the early spring. The two fields of artificial turf have gleamed a verdant green all winter long. The building of the stadium is slated to begin in 2013. We stand ever vigil …

Google’s ‘Motion’ now in BETA … (April Fools)

Link

HERE

Our Home – Planet Earth

… the time has come, the walrus said ..

-   imagine ALL the people   -

and ALL we TAKE -  for granted

-    how well do you KNOW our planet – ?

walk the talk

 

T.y.p.o.r.g.a.n.i.s.m

Periodically I come across a website that just AMUSES me  …

This one does it  – t.y.p.o.r.g.a.n.i.s.m

When you get there, link on the ‘visual composer’ in the sidebar on the right.

You’ll see that certain ‘letters’ in your keyboard will create certain effects.

Choose whether you want to ‘create’ a percussion (2 types) or piano ‘melody’.

It does take a minute or two to get the hang of it,

but the end result really is  kinda cool …

…  Keith Jarrett eat your heart out!! :)