Recycled

“What is that brown thing on the fence, Myrtle? Can’t hardly make it out. These old eyes are just not what they used to be.” Charlie shook his head, took his glasses off and polished them again. “Useless old things. When is the eye appointment with that new fellow we’re seeing?”

“Charlie, ask me one question at a time. That ‘brown thing’ is an old bird house. Now what bird would even want that old thing. I suppose somebody just didn’t want to throw it away. There’s enough trash as it is. I suppose it’s not hurting anyone hanging there. Just doesn’t make sense. And the eye appointment isn’t til next month. You’ll probably have to get new glasses and you’ll have to get rid of the old ones.”

“I’ll take ‘em down to the senior’s centre. You told me they recycle them - give ‘em to others that need glasses and can’t afford them. Too bad that old bird house can’t be recycled the same way.” Arm in arm, the elderly couple continued their evening walk. Myrtle stopped suddenly and pulled on her husband’s arm. “Why can’t it? Little Robbie has a school project about recycling!” Their grandson was always with his grandparents after school til one of his parents got home from work. “Grandma, teacher gave us a project today. We have to recycle something and then write a paragraph about it. We can find something in our house, in nature or in the school.” He had looked pretty dejected about the whole thing. “Looked like he’d lost his last friend. Let’s see if we can get that old bird house for him. If he doesn’t want it, well, maybe you can fix it up, Charlie”

Robbie’s grandparents did indeed get the birdhouse for him. The owners were more than happy to get rid of it. “We were just going to throw it in the trash. That fence has to come down. I don’t even remember where it came from, or why it’s hanging on the fence. If your grandson can revive it and use it in his school project, then it’s in good hands.”

Over the next few months, Robbie took it apart, put it back together again with new nails, and gave it a fresh coat of bird friendly paint. His paragraph told the story of how he got the birdhouse, that it was about to be thrown away, and that he would hang it in the tree in his front yard. There were little mistakes - Robbie wasn’t the best at describing things ~ but he did get a B+. Fixing up the bird house had been fun!

“There is no such thing as “away”. When we 

throw anything away it must go somewhere.”

~ Annie Leonard

Chapter Two, Episode 147 - Turning the Soil - Situationally Theirs

Turning the Soil

Stories spin themselves. But when Samuel Forrester gets hold of them, he adds sparkle. The twinkle in his blue eyes tells of the joy he feels when the dirt runs through his fingers in the spring. The satisfaction he feels when he digs up potatoes in the fall. He had been on the land and of the land since he was a boy. But he has never told his own story. As a boy, he walked beside his father as often as he could. It was from his father that he learned the story of the land and how precious it was to the Beaufort family. Now, he had come to believe that all land was precious to the wider world. Not just on the Estate, not just the city of Hartley, or even the country of Canada. He didn’t talk much about world events. “Don’t need to. Just have to watch the birds, the sky, the weather and all the changes. We’re not so special that just our little corner of the world has been messed up. ”  He claimed he was an old farmer. “No chemicals touching this ground. Organic they call it. Just like my dad and his dad before me. The old Mr. Beaufort and Grand-dad planned it all out. When horses, cows and chickens ran this place, this garden was the healthiest its been. The manure pile is long gone, but when it was here, they had a system worked out. Rotated the fresh cow manure with the composted manure. Same for the chicken pellets. Don’t know whether they ever mixed the two.”

                                              ~~~~~ 

Samuel, Matt and Dez had spent the day going over the needs of both orchards, the apiaries and, of course, the Beaufort garden. Matt and Dez wanted to do as many things the same as possible, to reduce their work load and align their expenses. Samuel was the best resource for what was needed on the estate. Matt and Samuel believed in much the same manner of farming. So much so that Dez was doing a lot of listening, with little to contribute. So, like a good student she took notes. When there were discrepancies in the plans they were stuck on, she was the arbiter. The Beaufort land had been organic for generations; Matt’s land had been non-organic. He had been working with a Land Board, but was still in the stages of conversion to organic. A time-consuming and expensive project. Until the conversion was complete, they would not be able to mix their fruits or anything used on Matt’s farm. “Put a hitch in your plans, Matt. We’ll work it out.” Dez was already doing some research about how they could work. 

~~~~~

“Let’s call it a day, you two. Elizabeth’s making us supper at the Estate kitchen. Should just have time to clean up. If I don’t, she’ll have my hide.” Samuel cleared their coffee cups from the table. “Guess we’d better clean up too. She’s not any gentler with Matt and me. See you up there, Samuel.” The couple pushed their chairs up to the table and set out for Dez’s place. Matt was still looking troubled. “Matt, it will be ok! It’s just going to be more work than we planned. We’ll get your place organic and this place growing fruit again. It did not bad last year but unattended as it had been, it’s been struggling.” She squeezed his hand gently. “It’s just that I don’t want to damage your orchard.” Then he let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders as they walked. “You’re right. We’ll just get to work and keep the guidelines from the Land Board so at least our corner of the world has special treatment. Let’s get ready for supper.” He kissed her forehead. They smiled at each other, stopped their walk home for a quick hug. “Race you, Matt!” He was already ahead of her with his long legs, but she grabbed his belt loops and pulled herself past him. “Last one there has to serve Elizabeth her supper!”

“Agriculture is the most healthful, most useful 

and most noble employment of man.”

~ George Washington

On an Afternoon Walk ~ Out of the Heat

When I see squirrels, they are usually racing up a tree, scampering across the street, running up and down roof tops or jumping branch to branch. This little fellow was on the ground, walking slowly up the sidewalk in front of me, about four feet from me. It glanced back at me a couple of times, but wasn’t spooked by my presence. At all. I really was concerned because he was moving so slowly. When the little one got to the fence, it did scramble up all right, turned around and looked at me. Just sat and looked at me. I took my time readying my cell phone camera. It didn't move from his perch. Even while I walked past, it didn’t move.

Why am I telling you all this? Yesterday morning, I listened to a CBC Ideas episode about how rising world temperatures affect animal populations. Yesterday afternoon, the temperature was over 30 degrees Centigrade. - it was just after 3pm. We are expecting similar temperatures for the next three days. I do hope that the little squirrel had a water source close by.

“You don’t live on earth, you are passing through.”

~ Rumi

Chapter One, Episode 29 - Brigitte - Situationally Theirs

June 04, 2020

June 04, 2020
Review, Edit and Update

Brigitte brings a different perspective to this story, 

as she is the youngest and most recent member of the Beaufort estate staff. 

Thankfully there were few repairs needed: typos, punctuation, wording. Thoughts are really self-dialogue, so hesitantly I added some detail to Brigitte's thoughts.

Brigitte

The jogging path, covered in cedar shavings, was soft underfoot. Brigitte loved being out in the fresh air, the scent of moss and trees all around her. When she was jogging she felt the surge of her muscles, the impact of her feet on the earth, and her breath filling her lungs. Brigitte, tall and slender with strawberry blond hair and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, was only twenty nine. She had been at the Mansion for four years, a job that had only started as something to do while she was figuring out the rest of her life. Higher education had held no interest for her. She had picked fruit, planted trees, been a nanny, waited tables in restaurants…..what ever would pay the bills. No job lasting more than a year. Now here she was, four years later, almost a seasoned professional. She liked the people at the Beaufort mansion. They were all rather intimidating for the first while, but soon Brigitte learned that Martha, the Beaufort Housekeeper, and Cook, who absolutely owned the kitchen, were softness itself on the inside. Digby was the unknown. An 'enigma'. That's what her dad, the English major, would have said. Her work hours were fairly stable. She was seldom called in on her time off. The pay was pretty good and she had health benefits. 

Like the rest of Mrs. Beaufort’s staff, she had left the Mansion to self isolate when the potential danger of the viral pandemic was announced on the news. Digby confirmed the truth of the reports and had called a brief meeting in the kitchen. They decided how they would deal with the situation and prepared to leave. None of them had wanted to abandon Mrs. Beaufort, but really felt that if they left everything in order, she would be able to manage. Brigitte was especially worried about her employer. She had been hired to fill two positions. Mrs. Beaufort’s lady’s maid and the cleaner for the upstairs. As ‘lady’s maid’, she looked after Mrs. Beaufort’s hair, her manicures, pedicures and all of her clothing. At the end of her employment interview, she was told that Mrs. Beaufort was in deep grief over the death of her husband the year prior and would Brigitte be able to compassionately, but firmly, care for her. Martha felt that in another year, Mrs. Beaufort would be much improved.  Brigitte came to the end of her run and did a slow walk to her car. She popped the trunk and pulled out a fresh towel from her gym bag. Wiping her face and shoulders of perspiration, she leaned back against the car. It’s been four years since I started work at the Mansion and Mrs. B. doesn’t seem much better. In fact, I think I’m doing more for her than I did when I first started. It’s maybe been too easy for her to fall into the role of Lady of the Manor. She’s never really had to do much more than go to the meetings she claims to enjoy, along with the occasional charity function. 

Brigitte closed the trunk of her silver Escort with a click. She felt her cell phone buzz. Strapped to her upper arm, she carried her cell phone on her jogging runs to measure her heart beat and distance. She also had ear buds and listened to audio books or music while she was jogging. But when her cell phone buzzed it meant she had an email. Digby? I wonder what he wants. I hope there’s nothing wrong. Brigitte opened her car door, sat on the side of the seat and opened the email. ‘Back to work soon - maybe next week…….jobs secure……staff meeting…Mrs. Beaufort attending!…..bring ideas for community aid. Mrs. Beaufort must be better. Wow. I wonder what happened. 

Brigitte frowned and then leaned into the sun warmed seat of her car with a groan. Yes, she was glad that she still had her job. She had really gotten interested in it and done some research to see if there was any training for a lady’s maid. Excited, she found out that some lady’s maids travel with their employers and may even become a personal secretary for their employers. But that’s not what she was groaning about. While Martha had isolated in her little house next to her daughter, and Cook had isolated in her own little cottage on the estate grounds and Digby…..well Brigitte thought he had a house close by ~ Brigitte had come out to her parent’s cabin on the little lake close to Hartley. The weather had been gorgeous. A little rain one or two nights, but she felt like she had been on holiday. Getting back into real clothes did not please her at all. 

As self assured and confident as Brigitte was when she was on her own, she was equally as shy and reserved with Martha and Cook. Most of her previous work experiences had been with people her own age and in very busy environments. Except for the tree planting, of course, when it was just her and the little shovel against the land, with sunshine, rain and the birds. Being a nanny, she was on her own with children. Brigitte knew that job was definitely not for her. Ideas for helping the community? Hmmm……Those empty bedrooms need to be filled, maybe, but with who and how long. And the den is kind of wasted as a bedroom. I don’t know about that room, unless Mrs. B………No. I don’t know what to do with that room. More people and Covid19 restrictions? I clean the upstairs, so it would increase my work load to keep it all clean. And I suspect there’d be special requirements for that. I’ve avoided a lot of the TV news, so I don’t know much more than ‘wash your hands’ and ‘keep your distance’. Anyone staying would need to have laundry - would we do it? I suppose that would depend on who it was. And then there’s meals… would they be in the dining room or would everyone come to the kitchen where the rest of us eat? Brigitte had a thought. When I was on any of my other jobs, especially the outside ones, there were certain things I had to be sure of… toilet facilities, food and food storage... and of course sleeping arrangements. The Mansion has all of those things, including an excellent cook but would we have to do anything differently? 

While Brigitte was trying to wrap her head around it all, she had gotten into the car, closed the door and started up the engine. She sat still for a moment, lost in thought. At least I won’t miss jogging with the track on the estate property. I wonder…..how could we fit the track into any plans? Brigitte expertly backed up her little car and turned it around. Grilled burgers on her horizon and her stomach grumbling at her, Brigitte headed back to the cabin.

“One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship 

with other woman beings as we take our place among them.”

~ Virginia Woolf

Viral

Harbours, full of friends, families and people we’ll never meet, wait with baited breath for rescue or reprieve. The powers that be are challenged to do the right things, globally, for each individual, their country and diplomatic relationships. Territorial, political, waters are seldom calm at the best of times. While this threat to humanity spills over borders, secured or unsecured, we are all left with many questions and few answers. Belief in individual abilities to care for ourselves has its own strength to clean up our tiny corners of this embattled globe. That in itself can go viral.

“Nothing is impossible; the word itself says ‘I’m possible.’ ”

~ Audrey Hepburn

Stumped

I’m so incredibly late with this post! I started this story late this morning, but had a luncheon engagement with an old friend. Now home (it was a long and chatty lunch) I fixed a few things and added some others. The picture is one I painted in 2006 when I was experimenting with new activities. I’ve always liked this funny guy and thought it deserved a story. Do hope you enjoy it!

I painted this
watercolour in 2006

Stumped

“ What do you think? Should we take it down just to make a clean sweep of things?”

“Oh, let’s just leave it as stump. It will just shrivel and die. The boss won’t care. He wants the big bushy stuff. We’d just have to leave this one behind anyway.”

The very much shorter tree really didn’t look particularly upset and was really not that old. At least not according to the birds, squirrels and deer that were in the forest on the edge of the clear cut land. They had watched as he was brought down by a passing chainsaw wielded by the tired and careless loggers. The young tree hadn’t ducked fast enough ~ well he couldn’t. Trees ~ even young supple ones ~ can’t duck. They may bend in a pushy wind, but just can’t get out of the way of passing chainsaws.  So, the stalwart little tree was just a whole lot shorter. He wasn’t down for the count though. Yes, branches had been almost completely stripped of needles and it was the only fir tree left standing in the wide empty swath. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ said the little tree to his forest friends. ‘My roots are strong and my sap still flows. Most of my branches have been demolished, but when spring comes there will be new shoots and fresh needles. My branches will welcome tiny birds. For now, my bark will be home to a few bugs. The spaces at my feet are for daffodils and crocus.’  

Once the loggers had gathered all their equipment and roared away in their smelly machines, deer, birds and squirrels edged carefully out of the forest. Deer nibbled the last of the green needles. Squirrels scurried up and around what was left of the tree trunk. Juncos and sparrows crowned the bare branches. It really didn’t matter because they were still all together.

“All stories are true. But some of them never happened.”

~ James A. Owen,  The Search for the Red Dragon

Author's note: Edited April 15, 2024

Hanging Out to Dry

Plastic bags

protect the food that

nourishes our bodies

until plastic begins to destroy

links in the food chain.

“It’s when plastic takes on a life of its own 

that the food chain will be disrupted.”

~ Anthony T. Hincks

Salt Spring Island She Shed Tour 2018 - #13

Front of Postcard with Anna Gustafson's Enshrouded Technology

Our final stop on this fascinating She Shed Tour was Art Haus, where technology is shrouded in white cotton. Quite literally. Artist Anna Gustafson is *an honours graduate from the Vancouver School of Art - now Emily Carr - and has

Front of Postcard with Anna Gustafson's Enshrouded  Technology

shown in public galleries since 1974. Her work is inspired by the environment, consumerism and, it would appear, our throwaway society. She patiently enshrouds cell phones, remote controls, leaf blowers and the many small pieces of technology ubiquitous in today's world to honour the work and design that created them. 

Our tour of learning and discovery had come to an end. We returned to our host’s home for delicious homemade plum pie and lovely ice cream. Our ferry return to Victoria was cool and cloudy, but we came away with lovely memories of a day well spent on June 24, 2018.

“The poetry of the earth is never dead.”

~ John Keats

See more of Anna Gustafson's artistry, ideas and beliefs at:

www.anna-gustafson.com

Fundraising event for: Saltspring Women Opposed to Violence and Abuse

*from Anna Gustafson’s CV on her website

Yes, Really.

I swallowed my anger 

about plastic kelp ~

a molten lump indigestible without a modicum of understanding,

acceptance of the mindlessness of others

and knowing that I must fix my own world.

Grateful that I took a deep breath!

Anger can be as lethal as plastic.

“You will not be punished for your anger,

 you will be punished by your anger.”

~ Buddha

Really?!

I had no idea how many 

plastic bags and plastic debris

go into my garbage daily ~

into my plastic garbage bag.

There are many global issues

that make me angry. 

None have touched me 

right in my kitchen! like this has.

Seeing pictures of oceans with

plastic bags and plastic debris floating 

like forests of kelp waving in the current

angers me. Garbage tossed away mindlessly.

Any gratitude towards convenience has also been tossed away.

I can’t divine which, if any, of my plastic

ends up strangling a turtle or

sickening to death a whale

but I can change my attitude 

about what’s really disposable.

“How is the ocean not enraged, swelling - 

How is it not furious with grief: 

we have drowned it in plastic, 

it’s waves are no longer it’s own.”

~ Ashley Asti,  The Moon and Her Sisters

Desert Blooms

Desert Blooms

The desert was like a vast dry ocean. Shallow rippling ridges shadowed by the lowering sun. The only coolness, if one could call it that, was on the porch. The only greenery were the succulents and cactus strewn across the desert and nestled up against the house. I was waiting for Emily to arrive. In the distance I thought I could see the kick up of her dusty old Land Rover. She had been to town all day for meetings and farm business and groceries. We had been married for over 20 years and my heart still seemed to flutter when I knew I’d see her soon. As a young boy, I had been too shy to say much to her. My mates hadn’t had the same problem with the girls they wanted to date. As we grew, our paths separated, our lives took different paths. Every now and then we met by chance. With a bit of maturity came the perspective that if I didn’t get over my boyhood shyness I’d better do something, so I finally asked her out. Slowly our lives took on a comfortable rhythm and we decided to marry. Emily moved to my farm out in the no man’s land of the desert. This was where our interests really came together. Emily had always been concerned about the environment and I had learned about hydroponic farming on the deserts. We found ourselves in long involved conversations, until we ran out of words and just walked quietly through this land that so many had turned their backs on. So it became our sanctuary. An errant breeze stirred the sheer white curtains on the open windows behind me. I had wine and glasses chilled. Our supper table was set with our old chipped crockery, salad was cooling in the fridge. Emily pulled up and jumped out looking as lovely as ever, at least in my eyes. “Oh, Norman darling. I don’t look lovely at all. I’ve been meeting-ed till I am exhausted, my clothes are a mess, my hair is stringy - but I accept your complement. I’m just glad to see you - I could hardly wait. Keeping my foot off the gas was almost more than I could  do.” I unloaded the groceries and put them away while Emily set our supper out. The moon rose as the night air cooled and was still.

“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and 

waste its sweetness on the desert air.”

~ Paul Hoffman, The Last Four Things

Author's note: Edited February 14, 2024

Grey to Green

Grey to Green

"‘Awareness of the world around me.' Why didn’t I think of that last week. I could have had this paper done.”

Katrina had been struggling with her homework. This first year of university had been pretty good, but the assignments were kind of different. Their prof only gave out a topic, the length and the format and after that they were all on their own. The Environment was their topic. She thought of marine life and icebergs and volcanoes. All things that she knew absolutely nothing about. There was no time to research any of them enough before the end of the week - an extension to the original deadline. 

The cement steps were cold and hard, but she had to figure this out. Sitting outside by herself, she stretched her long legs, leaned back on her elbows, stared at the sky. Interesting clouds. Clouds. That’s part of the environment. Wind snatched at her hair, swirled errant leaves in the air and ruffled the carefully landscaped campus. Wind. That’s another part of the environment.

The greyness of the day fit her mood and then Katrina smiled. Green lawns and spring flowers brightened the greyness. Katrina sat forward to clear weeds away from the new growth. Hmm...Her granddad had taught her many things about gardening. He hated pesticides. He always talked about the balance of nature and how pesticides were destroying that balance.

Katrina gathered her books into her backpack. Turning back into the library building, she was ready to write about what she knew. Any research was in the books of the library and from her grandfather’s wisdom. The greyness of the day was suddenly not so grey.

“The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and 

realities of the universe, the less taste we shall have for destruction.”

~ Rachel Carson

For the Sake of Progress

Progress comes at great expense……
The crunch of paper and jingle of coin in your pockets
Work to create progressive movement
In exchange for opinions and beliefs
Compromise without compromising principles

Progress - a visible passage of time
Are we afraid of progress?
Shifting sands that don’t wait
Balance and logic connect our principles 
To projected progress that
Takes the expense of time
Time while we run our dishwashers
Instead of washing dishes by hand

Which costs more to clean our dishes?
Hands or a silver box that whirrs and sloshes?
The convenience that is progress
Comes from ideas
Ideas that build plants
Plants that employ many workers

And where does the environment fit
in the inexorable move of progress
while we leach from the earth?
Progress comes at great expense.

“Progress is measured by the speed at which 

we destroy the conditions that sustain life.”

~ George Monbiot