the tree of life on my morning path

The other day I went for a morning walk upstream McVicar's Creek. I went with my friend Lilian Mattar Patey. I first bicycled to Shuniah Knox United Church, where Lilian is interim minister, to meet her. We then walked north through the neighbourhood, behind Balsam Pit and along Margaret Street to reach the trail by the creek. Along the path, we saw a bunch of marsh marigolds ringing a swamp. Swamps always catch my eye as 'swamp' or 'bog,' which translate to 'suo' in Finnish, is in the very name of Finland in the Finnish language: Suomi. A few steps later on our path, we saw this amazing tree in someone's backyard. It was shining in the morning light; there was no missing it. The tree reminded me of the comforting and desirous beauty of the Tree of Life. It's sheltering arms, perfect symmetry, expansive canopy, circular space, and dusting of white flower petals caught our eye.  

Continuing on our way, we saw this pile of huge stones. I told Lilian that in Suomenusko, the old Finnish beliefs before Christianity came to Finland, stones as well as trees were seen to have spirits. People conversed with stones and trees for healing and for wisdom, going out into the forest for the medicine of trees and stones. Of course, stones and trees have been symbolically important to many peoples and cultures. I told Lilian, well, I don't need to tell a Palestinian like you of the importance of stones. Today stones are the remnants of the Palestinian houses that Israel has destroyed and demolished. Palestinian youth take up stones as resistance against occupation. Indeed,  a new documentary called The Stones Cry Out uses the metaphor, reality, and spiritual strength of stones to tell the story of the ongoing Nakba of Palestine, focusing on its Christian population and heritage.

Lilian's family story is part of the larger dispossession of Christians from Palestine. In the short 6 m. video above you can hear Lilian tell some of the story of her family's displacement from Palestine. She was born in Haifa, but because of the Zionist militia takeover in 1948 her family was forced to flee and found refuge in Al Quds / Jerusalem; however, they eventually met more tragedy. By telling her family's story, Rev. Mattar Patey hopes that people will broaden their understanding of the Palestinian heritage of what is now called  Israel. In 1948, Jerusalem was designated an international administration zone yet, as Lilian's story is an example, since 1967 Israel has taken large parts of it by force and today by demolition and the continuing displacement of Palestinians from East Jerusalem. Since burying her father, Lilian has not been back to her home.

Israeli General on 'security fencing': "it is indeed a monster"

Israel has recently completed its 'security fence' along its border with Egypt. This line snakes ominously through the Negev Desert.

Q: beside Israel, what other nation is entirely physically fenced in?

True, the US has built a separation wall on its border with Mexico, but it does not yet have a physical wall on its northern border with Canada, although it had been suggested by some. That plan was scrapped; instead, drones, "boots on the ground and greater integration with Canadian law enforcement" will be manning the border (and I think 'manning' is not sexist in this usage as most of those "boots" will be male and the ideology of militarism and security come firmly from militarised masculinity and the power of the male military hierarchy, even though there are women eager to perform hegemonic masculine militarism).  

Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu said the fence [through the Negev]

"was a sign of improved Israeli security. He has called the fence evidence of his efforts to insulate Israel from the turmoil of the Arab Spring revolutions and the influx of mostly Eritrean and Sudanese migrants, which he has portrayed as a national-security threat. ... Israeli security officials say Sinai has increasingly become a haven for militants from the Gaza Strip, local Bedouin tribes and global jihadist groups. Israel is also building a fence on the border with Syria, the prime minister's office said."

Netanyahu's rationale echoes the security apparatus and Islamophobic discourse common in Western nation states such as Canada and the US, a discourse embedded with racism of which Israel has its own multiple forms.

Ironically, the workers who have been building the barrier along Israel's border with Egypt are the very people that Israel wants to keep out of the country and one of the reasons it is building the 'fence': the Sudanese.

Israel already has a 'fence' along most of its border with Syria, but Israel is adding to it as well as fortifying it (appropriate word, 'fortifying' as it is linked to settler colonials building forts against the so-called natives).

Below is a photo of part of the Israeli security wall along what Israel defines as its border with Syria.

After finishing the 'security fence' along the Egyptian border, Israel will then build a 'security fence' along its border with Jordan.

Also, Israel has been busy fortifying its 'fence' along its border with Lebanon:

I wonder if these are "Arab Isreali" workers building the 'security fence'?

Of the 'security fence' being built along Israel's border with Egypt, deputy director general of the Israeli Defense Ministry, Brig. Gen. (res. ) Bezalel Treiber states:"It is indeed a monster...Seen from the Egyptian side, the fence overall is quite frightening."

Mice may well burrow their way to the other side, but will other desert animals pass in their migratory routes? And what of the Bedouin, whose traditional migratory land this is?

The 'fences' mapping out the borders of Israel are part of its system of segregation, of which the Apartheid Wall is its most heinous human rights abuser. It not only appropriates Palestinian land, but causes untold suffering to Palestinians caught in its oppressive encircling through restricting and preventing access to lands, education, health, recreations, community, religious institutions and is a formidable military tool of death, injury, and humiliation to Palestinians. 

image source: Tear Down the Wall 

This image is very gothic. I'm reminded of Frankenstein. It is dystopian. The wall is, of course, horrifically detrimental to the Palestinians, but what must it be like for the Israeli soldiers who go inside this dungeon? 

Christmas in the looking glass

image source
It's the beginning of December, and I'm already getting irritated by the glee of Christmas that I find everywhere I turn. People all around me, folks on Facebook, work colleagues, and people who should know better are all falling into the well of simulacra, Baudrillard's idea that what is false is more believable and desirable than actual reality.

The more untrue, the more we believe it to be true. The bigger the illusion, the happier our delusion.


When are Western Christians today going to move beyond the myth that they have created about the Holy Land? Believing in the story about Bethlehem in the Bible as if it were alive today? When are the majority of Christians going to wake up to what is really happening in Bethlehem today? Do they know there is an Apartheid Wall built by the Israelis and policed by the IDF that restricts the movement of the residents of Bethlehem? Do they know that the people of Bethlehem need passes and permits? Do they care?

It's this living in the looking-glass world where everything is childishly innocent and joyful that I find so irritating.

Oh Come All Ye Faithful, indeed. Get ye head out of the Christmas card and look hard at the wall.

shout out in Israel

This protest was held earlier this month in Tel Aviv during the recent Israeli attack on Gaza which killed 162 Palestinians, including 30 children, and wounded 1000, many severely.

This large fired-up group of Israelis chants to another group of Israelis on the other side of the street. Watch the video (3 m); below is the text in English (as translated on the video above) of what the Israeli group is chanting in Hebrew.

The hatred against not only Palestinians but Israelis who are left-leaning is shocking and sickening. What makes things worse is the man that comes before the camera about halfway through, who is welcomed as 'the next Prime Minister' and who leads this shout out on hate and xenophobia is a member of Israeli parliament, an elected member of the Knesset. He is of Iranian and Afghan descent. Indeed, many of his supporters look like they could be Mizrahi Jews like him, Jews who are indigenous to the Middle East. This man is an archeologist, which is so troubling because one has to wonder what role he plays in erasing Palestinian history from the land to justify the state of Israel as inheritor?

Why do I tell you these things about him? Read his words below which I've placed in blue text.These are the beliefs of a member of the Israeli government? I am used to right wing madness but this crosses all lines; it is venom and clearly hate speech.

It's funny that Israel claims that Arabs want to drive them out of the land and kill them all, but it seems some Israelis not only are architects of a language of extermination but also gloatingly and deliriously so:

The nation wants victory
The nation demands war now
Respect to IDF (Israeli Defense Forces)
The nation demands to expel leftists
Leftists are sons of ****
Your mothers lied [slept with] Arabs
Leftists go to hell
and shall you get cancer soon
Welcome our next Prime Minister [Michael Ben-Ari]

Good evening, good Jews

And to you all leftist traitors

we now demand let the army destroy

let the army exterminate

let's not confuse; No innocents in Gaza

No negotiations anymore

No agreements, we force them to kneel

and beat them

Eradicate Gaza, Eradicate Gaza

What, only 15 killed?

We want 15 plus 2000 bodies

We want all Gaza in graves

all Gaza in graves

Security means to annihilate Gaza

Yes, Eradicate Gaza, eradicate Gaza

People of Israel are alive

It would be interesting to hear what the leftist Israelis on the other side of the street were chanting.

snow story

I've lost my camera somewhere, so I wasn't able to take a picture of the snow storm that blew into town the night before last. I've looked high and low for a week but the camera is nowhere to be found. But I do have a story of the snow storm that blew in. 
 
That morning I did my best to make it to the yoga class I teach at 7 AM. After my alarm woke me up, I poked my head from behind the curtain to look out into the jet black morning to see if there was a hint as to what kind of day was coming our way. I was dumbstruck. A snowstorm! Overnight the landscape was completely transformed. Yesterday had been a balmy plus 8 celsius when I pedaled home on my bike; now we were slapped into the middle of winter.

My heart sank as I saw the piles of snow burying the car. Strong wind gusts whipped the world into a white howling storm. Wasting no time, I pulled on my clothes and dashed out into the dark to clean off the car. My dashing changed to trudging when I opened the front door. Snow threatened to fall inside the tops of my knee-high boots as I trudged through high drifts. Using a snowbrush, I cleaned some of the snow off the top of the car, but it was too heavy and slow-going. I started to sweat. This is going to take me forever!

I trudged back into the house to telephone to say I would be late to teach yoga. I dashed back outside, cleaned the rest of the snow from the car, scraped the windows, then looked down the driveway. Our winter shovels are still in the garage! I trudged through the snow to the backyard to get the garden shovel; it was hopeless to try and get into the garage as the snow was too deep.

I was sweating and I hadn't even started shoveling! Maybe if I shovel out two tire paths behind the car I might manage to get out of the driveway and on my way.

With the wind howling in my ears, I set about digging in the dark, wishing it wasn't so early in the morning as otherwise I could get my husband up and get him to help me. Satisfied that I'd shoveled some of the snow out of the way, I jumped in the car and carefully backed out of the driveway onto the street, but as I live on a hilly street, and the snowplow had not yet come by, I could not get my car up the hill. I tried again and again, but my tires just spun in the snow. We had had rain yesterday, which obviously had frozen into ice, and the snow was layered on that. Before too long it was clear that I was going nowhere.

After my numerous failed attempts, I reversed the car, driving backwards down the hill. I couldn't see out the window or my rearview mirrors because of the darkness and blowing snow, so I had to open the window and stick my head out to see where I was going. When I got close to my house, I parked, then dashed into the house and called the gal at the front desk to tell her that I was hopelessly mired in the snow on my street, and to give my apologies to the participants as I cannot get off my street. No yoga this morning.

I ended up leaving the car in the boulevard by my driveway as I couldn't get it back into the driveway, which is on a slope, too. I worried how I was going to get to the university for my writing class, so I decided to walk to the bus stop right away and take the bus.

 I had to walk in the middle of the road as there was simply no place else to walk. At the end of the street, after slipping and sliding through the snow, I saw two men standing in a snowbank.

"Is this the bus stop?" I yelled against the wind. "Are you both waiting for the bus?"

Killing the Ancestor

Awhile back, with dismay I read about the 800 year old cedar that was cut down earlier this year in a  protected forest, Carmanah Walbran Provincial Park, on Vancouver Island. The Ancestor was hauled away by poachers, who saw Her Majesty as commodity, to sell perhaps to make cedar shingles for roofing. How could a tree of this size be hauled away, which would require heavy equipment and perhaps a logging truck, without being noticed? Without anyone seeing the criminal activity? Part of the blame certainly lies with job cuts to park personnel. While at one time, 40 park rangers protected the forests, due to neo-liberal cuts, only 10 full time rangers patrol 1000 parks.  

Today I read about the 3,500 year old Pond Cypress, called The Senator, that was burned down earlier this year by a 26 year old woman who had hidden inside the tree to do drugs with a friend and lit a fire so they could see to smoke crystal meth. This Ancestor was the fifth oldest tree in the world. Tellingly, this tree also suffered from neo-liberal cuts and the neglect of the natural / spiritual heritage. As reported in the Orlando Sentinel:

 The crime against The Senator started decades ago, when Seminole County let Big Tree Park become a haven for drugs and prostitution while doing next to nothing to protect one of the oldest trees on the planet.

Officials with the Sheriff’s Office have long acknowledged the park’s seedy after-hours reputation.

There was no concerted effort to stop the mischief that went on there after dark. No security cameras. No lights. Cursory patrols. Only a fence around The Senator’s base, and apparently not a very good one considering what happened in January.

Jewish graffiti attacks

The western media is quick to show examples of anti-semitic graffiti attacks against Jews and label them hate crimes, yet why aren't they as quick to show anti-Christian graffiti attacks by Jews and label those hate crimes, too?


In and around Jerusalem, there have been numerous anti-Christian graffiti attacks painted on the walls of churches and monasteries:

"Price-tag" and anti-Christian slogans were sprayed on the gate of the Monastery of Saint Francis, just outside of Jerusalem's Old City in early October.

In early September, suspected Jewish extremists torched the wooden door of a Jerusalem monastery and sprayed "Jesus is a monkey" and pro-settler graffiti on the walls.

In February, suspected Jewish extremists wrote "Death to Christianity" on two Jerusalem churches. The graffiti also included profanity about Jesus, and the vandals slashed the tires of several cars parked in one of the church compounds.

This 20 yr. old woman, Moriah Goldberg, is unrepentant; she sprayed anti-Islamic graffiiti and vandalized property in Arab East Jerusalem. With the illogic of an unbalanced education, she, as part of a gang of Jewish settler youth price-taggers, warns the Israeli government by defacing Palestinian property. 

The BBC, to their credit, has reported on gangs of price-tagging Jewish hoodlums from the illegal settlements in the West Bank who spray paint anti-Christian and anti-Muslim slogans and deface and vandalize Arab property. Jane Corbin explains that "Price-tagging is the term they use for a range of acts, from vandalism to arson attacks and religious desecration." She reports that "One of the most provocative price tags so far was in February in the Palestinian village of Burka, where the mosque was attacked, prayer mats were burnt, insults sprayed and war declared on the walls."

Here's what I found on CBC when I searched the mainstream Canadian news for anti-Christian graffiti in Jerusalem.

catching fish

photo by Tofino Photography

Just sharing a captivating photo I saw this morning on the Weathernetwork while checking the weather. On the Weathernetwork people from across Canada upload images of weather, animals, and geography. This one by Tofino Photography (based on the west coast) reminded me of the story I wrote, My Mother, the Bear.

protective eye

A few years ago, on a road trip up into the mountains of north Lebanon, we traveled along the holy Qadisha Valley, up Mount el-Makmel, passed the village of Bcharre, and stopped at the Horst Arz (The Forest of the Cedars of God) where the artisans sell their souvenirs.

The cedar trees and grove at Horst Arz is a remnant of a once magnificent and huge sacred forest of cedars. The cedars that are left are survivors of thousands of years of travelers and takers. From building ships, temples, and palaces, to using its resin for Egyptian mummification and its wood for sacred fires, the cedars of the holy Qadisha Valley have been prized. 

This particular tree, to me, is symbolic of the destruction of this once magnificent and holy forest. It has been mutilated. The small remnant forest on the side of Mount Makmel is a protected area. There is a path through the cedars that you pay to enter. Last year when I visited Lebanon, we went on different road trips. The cedars I saw at Tannourine, to me, were much more impressive. Traveling to Lebanon right now, however, is not practical. 

trying to tanka

I set my goal to write five poems last week for the Random Acts of Poetry outing yesterday. In an earlier post, I posted "Trickster Translation," which I read on air live on the Betty Howls show at LU Radio. I read "The Divine Goodness: A Tree Called Sacred" (which I posted earlier) at Starbucks in Chapter's. I also adapted my rant against John Baird's UN speech that I posted last post, into poetic form; I'll post that later. 

The poem I read at the Farmer's Market was the shortest poem I wrote. It was very hectic at the market as we (the poetry word crew) were amongst the pumpkins, squashes, apples and other winter vegetables. The colour of these foods just draw people to them. 

Earlier in the week, I tried my hand at writing a tanka, which is an ancient Japanese form. There are five lines, each with a specific syllable length: 5 7 5 7 7.  Often, nature, the seasons, and emotions are the theme. Of course, as a novice of this form, I fell short. After I finished it, I realized I had written 5 7 5 7 5 instead. Well, modifications are part of the tanka's popularity in the West today, so I hope I can be forgiven. Next one I write, I'll try to be more faithful to tradition. 

Here's what I came up with:

Homeward

sweet smell of decay
yellow paper leaves crushing
surprise shout of red
My bike under the grapevine
I fall into hush. 

As properly I need two more syllables in that last line, here it is again with 5 7 5 7 7 form:

Homeward

sweet smell of decay
yellow paper leaves crushing
surprise shout of red
My bike under the grapevine
Headfirst I fall into hush. 

rattle in Finnish is helistin

Today on my morning walk, I saw a lot of things. I saw the most run-down garage I have seen in awhile. They used to be common when I was a girl, but seems everyone is slapping vinyl up on every standing wood frame building left.

This one doesn't seem worth saving, however. Under the Algoma St. bridge, I saw white supremacist graffiti and swastikas painted on the concrete walls.

Mostly likely, city workers will come out in the morning and paint over it. I saw a black squirrel that had no fur at all on its chest and upper back area, so it looked like it was wearing a vest. With its skin exposed like that, it looked even more like the rodent it is. I saw a pair of ladies thong underwear tossed over the overpass and a used baby diaper, and a whole lot of other unsightly garbage. Down at the water front I had to walk all the way around the paddling pond to pull out of the rocks a huge piece of unsightly plastic that was ruining the symmetry of the photo I wanted to take of the red dogwood.

I saw a pair of blue-winged teal, a male and female. I saw many beautiful reflections down by the waterfront, before the wind suddenly flew in.

I saw two of my friends out jogging and we stopped and chatted. I saw a man I had never met before but we also stopped and chatted about the so-called development of the waterfront. I saw an old white man with big brown liver spots on his face, walking preoccupied. I said, look! See those three goldeneyes? There are two males and one female. Both males are dancing their mating dance and calling out to the female duck, who is swimming non-plussed between them. He looked up and continued on his way.  

Behind the Spirit Garden, I saw some coloured tinsel streamers thrown out on the ground. First, I walked by them, saying to myself, stupid people. But then I decided to tie a few to a dried goldenrod. Before long, I had picked up most of them and tied them on. This was right when the wind picked up, so the streamers were dancing in the wind. It reminded me of the rattle I am making--or maybe the rattle was calling me.

I am almost finished my rattle. The women at ONWA had invited me to join them for their rattle-making workshop. I have to go back this week and pick it up because it was drying.

After I tied the shiny streamers of somebody's garbage onto the dead goldenrod, I headed back home. Before I crossed the train tracks, on the ground, I found two long soft beautiful feathers, one copper, one black. They were attached together with a small piece of metal that had a hole in it. I picked it up off the ground. Perfect! Just what I need for my rattle.

trees have rights, too

Olive tree within a traffic circle within an illegal Israeli settlement within the Occupied West Bank.

Regardless where you stand on the question of Palestine, watching the destruction of olive trees as shown in the video clip above calls into question the tactics Israeli settlers have taken up. Uprooting and burning olive trees? All to claim their rights to, what they call using the Old Testament names, Judea and Samaria, but since the creation of Israel in '48 became known as the West Bank; otherwise known as Palestine. Speaking to the further compartmentalizing of land for political and ecocide purposes yet masked in the rhetoric of claims to "my home," the West Bank has been divided further into Areas A, B, and C:

The Oslo Accords divided the West Bank into three geographic areas. In Area A, in which most Palestinian urban centres fall, the Palestinian Authority is responsible for security (although the Israelis routinely enter Area A at will) but in Areas B and C, which comprise over 80 per cent of the territory, it is the Israelis which are responsible for security. This means Palestinian police are not permitted to protect Palestinian civilians from Israeli settlers in most of the West Bank. The problem is, of course, that the Israelis are not doing this job either and so it should come as no surprise that 95 per cent of settler violence occurs in Areas B and C.

Whether the Palestinian land is categorized as A, B, or C, it seems there will be more uprooting of its trees and destruction of its natural environment to build more homes for Israeli settlers. The Israeli Housing Ministry announced last Sunday that it will build 1028 new homes in ...where? Well, here are more terms to obfuscate the question of where these homes are going to be built: 

According to a statement by the ministry, 500 homes will be built in Har Homa in south Jerusalem, on land occupied during the 1967 Six Day War; 348 in the West Bank settlement of Betar Illit; and 180 in Givat Ze'ev, which lies between Jerusalem and Ramallah.

According to official Israeli terms, lands south of Jerusalem are known as Judea, and lands north of Jerusalem, Samaria. In other words, the homes are for Israeli settlers and will be illegally built on Palestinian land that has been occupied by Israel since 1967.

I invite the uprooters of trees and their supporters to watch a short video from System Change. In this clip, Canadian Maude Barlow argues for the movement towards making laws to encode the rights of protecting the trees, forests, oceans, rivers, streams, wetlands, and ecosystems, those interconnected systems of life. She argues for a sacred relationship with Nature, a  reclaiming and honouring of these beings / systems of the Commons, protecting ecosystems from marketization, resource extraction, and privatization.  I wonder how --and hope that-- the question of Palestine can move forward when the rights of Olive trees are enacted. And let's not forget water as praise for the River Jordan is sung reverently over the holidays. 

on the other side of blue

If you are feeling blue, here is sound and eye therapy to lift you up, but not in that saccharine way that just makes you feel hopeless--hence, more depressed about the state of the world. The song is "Meadows of Heaven"; it is 7 m. long, but be sure to listen and watch the whole thing.

Written by Finnish musician Tuomas Holopainen (lyrics below) for his band, Nightwish, the song is from from their album Dark Passion Play (2007). Nightwish's music has been called "symphonic metal." Now, do not let that categorization stop you from listening! You will fall in love with this song; it is very captivating. The person who put together the visual clips for youTube has done an amazing job visually mapping the rise and fall, the hopes and despairs, encoded in the song's musical story.

While Tuomas looks like he crafts his metal persona as a cross between Johnny Depp and Keith Richards, in the lyrics for "Meadows of Heaven" he takes up the persona of the little boy inside the man.

Meadows of Heaven. Tuomas Holopainen

I close my eyes
The lantern dies
The scent of awakening
Wild honey and dew

Childhood games
Woods and lakes
Streams of silver
Toys of olden days

Meadows of heaven

The flowers of wonder
And the hidden treasures
In the meadow of life
My acre of Heaven
A five-year-old winter heart
In a place called home
Sailing the waves of old

Meadows of heaven

Rocking chair without a dreamer
A wooden swing without laughter?
Sandbox without toy soldiers
Yuletide without the Flight

Dreambound for life

Flowers wither, treasures stay hidden
Until I see the first star of fall

I fall asleep
And see it all:
Mother's care
And colour of the kites

Meadows of heaven

I ain't lost, just wandering

Each day brings something unexpected to our routine of life. You only have to open the door to find the magical just below your feet. Or up in the sky. Or right before your eyes. A gift given to you, unasked. All we need to do is walk into our days with our eyes and hearts open.

Sometimes, I wake up and say to myself, should I go on my walk this morning? I hem and haw. I don't feel too inspired. Sometimes, all the work that I have to do that day will run through my mind, filling every corner, and I haven't even popped my feet out of the bed. If it's past 8 am, alarm bells ring in my work ethic conditioned DNA; I feel anxiety.

OMG, it's late. Get moving! I've got lots of work to do. OK, think. Think. WhatdoIhavetodotoday?

But those mornings when life feels so uninspiring are exactly those times when I need to continue with my routine. With the pattern of my days. And, without fail, some message will cross my heart. Arrive at my doorstep. Or my pedal. Like the other day, when I was pedalling to a meeting with a satchel of notes and printouts, I heard the call of ...a loon? What? There isn't even any water close by. Sure enough, when I stopped my bike to look up into the sky, a loon flew straight over my head, flying due east to Lake Superior, calling out his arrival.

This afternoon, I first thought I saw snow falling outside the dining room window -- which is not improbable right now as we've had some up and down weather, with frosts at night. A snow flurry now? What the....But when I stepped into the porch to get a better look, a squall, not of snow flakes, but of flower petals filled the air. A northeast wind was whipping the flower petals off our neighbour's 60 year old plum tree. The petals had been released into another dance, once closer to death.

Adele. Hometown Glory

I've been walking in the same way, as I did,
Missing out the cracks in the pavement,
And tutting my heel and strutting my feet,
"Is there anything I can do for you dear, is there anyone I could call?
No and thank you please madam, I ain't lost, just wandering.."

Round my hometown, memories are fresh,
Round my hometown, ooh the people I've met,
Are the wonders of my world, Are the wonders of my world,
Are the wonders of this world, are the wonders and now,

I like it in the city when the air is so thick, and opaque,
I love it to see everybody in short skirts, shorts and shades,
I like it in the city when two worlds collide,
You get the people and the government,
Everybody taking different sides.

Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit,
Shows that we are united,
Shows that we ain't gonna take it,
Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit,
Shows that we are united,

Round my hometown, memories are fresh,
Round my hometown, ooh the people I've met,
Are the wonders of my world, Are the wonders of my world,
Are the wonders of this world, are the wonders,
Of my world, of my world, yeah, of my world, of my world yeah.

the rock below my feet

The great Canadian Shield at Cascades Conservation area. While out on a hike last Friday to the Cascades, no matter how many times I visit this place, I find the beauty breathtaking.

a missing few weeks

We had finally gotten rid of the snow and it was getting sunny and springlike. This is a view facing south towards Lake Superior, down Dufferin Street, which has a steep hill. This steep drop off use to be the shoreline of the ancient lake that preceded Lake Superior. You can see the feet of Nanabijou in the far horizon, a laker in the waters of the harbour, and sheets of solid ice still close to the shore. And, of course, you can see the hydro lines that crisscross the streets of our city.

photo by Dean Salerno

I found this photo on the WeatherNetwork site. This is the ice breaker that goes out into the harbour and chops up the ice so the lakers can come in to load up.

photo by Chris Garbo
Photo of the Aragonborg loading up with malt in Thunder Bay
and will be headed to Ireland.

A better view of that ship out in the harbour, by the grain elevators.

Then we had a sudden hailstorm. The sound was something fierce; at first I didn't know what that was pinging loudly against the windows of the house. The hail was the size of ping pong balls. My friend, Armi, who bought herself a brand new little Pontiac last summer, has her car in the shop now. The bill for hail damage: $5,600. Our cars were unaffected. Something about thicker steel on the body of the car, depending on the make of the vehicle, I believe. Then we had a winter storm return back, making everyone grumpy. The winds were fierce, we had a lot of snow, and it was back to boots and winter coats. Tassu loved it more then ever because it was bitterly cold again. I worried that the daffodils that had just started to sprout out of the ground in my garden would be killed even before they had a chance to greet the spring.

Today, most of the snow has melted although there are big patches here and there in my yard and around the city. McVicar's Creek is rushing water again and there's an open patch where the creek meets Lake Superior. Canada geese, mallards, ring-billed gulls, and migrants passing through can all be found paddling in the water. Most of the shoreline is still frozen solid, except for the odd patch of water. Someone new to town with a small packsack on his back went down to the lakeshore, sat on the old log that is in just the perfect spot, and, well, just sat.

snow scenes in my city

There are few houses with icicles as long as the icicles dripping down from the roof of my home. When it is brilliantly sunny, as it is today and has been for the last few days, regardless that it is -20c something, the sun still manages to do its magic. Behind the rooftops of homes and garages in my neighbourhood you can see an imposing looking old brick institution. That was a high school that has since shut down, so it sits empty.
Here is a photo from my walk yesterday. We had a lot of light snow fall all day long, making everything look clean, white, and pure. As you know if you are a regular reader of my blog, I like to walk down back lanes. Walking down back lanes is great in the winter as you are protected from the winds and, as well, there is next-to-no vehicle traffic. So it's quiet, except at times for barking dogs that growl at you as they run back and forth behind fences. Also, in back lanes the ground is earth, not paved, so it is more forgiving on the feet, ankles, and knees. Of course, this doesn't make as much difference in the winter as the snow underfoot cushions your step.
Here is a photo taken from the parking lot at Lakehead University, after I stepped out of my car. Along one edge of the parking lot, there is a strip of old tall spruce and tamarack, among other trees. Last month, I saw a lynx run into this strip of wood, on its way to somewhere else as this is not a wild spot. Indeed, in the area around the university, more and more urban forest is being taken down for "development." Thunder Bay is more a car culture than a place of public transit, so the university has a lot of parking lots. I am one of those car culture folks who takes her car to work rather than wait for public transit. This is a pretty edge of one of the lots. I will show you other photos later; I will go up to the fifth floor of the ATAC building and take some photos of our parking lots.

a New Year's Day walk

I love the slant of my town. A slice of the city meets the slope of Hillcrest Park as an old apple tree leans backwards, permanently bent by the wind, with Lake Superior in the background disappearing into a calming blue horizon. That small black dot on the hill? A young sledder braving the -24c windchill on the first day of 2011. What better way to celebrate the new day than whizzing down a hill on a thin round disc?
Looking up that same hill towards the apple trees. A father, his daughter, and their dog walked up from the Bay Street neighbourhood, climbed to the top of the snowy slope, and as the father and daughter flew down the hill, their dog raced up and down the snow in a frenzy of glee.
Walking towards the south end of the lookout, I passed a row of cars idling their engines as their occupants gazed out towards the lake. In the distance, you can see the one tall building we have downtown: Waverley Park Towers.
The old bell at the crest of the hill. It was gleaming in the cold. I had on my new double layer long johns that my mother gave me for Christmas, gloves with mitts on top, my fake fur hat made in Canada, a fleece scarf, and my daughter's hand-me-down red down-filled jacket, so I was toasty.
My camera, however, was not. It stopped working shortly after I took this photo. Standing in front of the bell, I snapped this photo of the old part of town. The white street running down towards the lake on the left is Bay Street. What I like about my town is that there are next-to-no tall buildings.

an empty nest, a dog, and a deer

I saw this bird's nest in a shrub alongside the sidewalk on my walk the other morning. I had gone out looking for fake tea lights; I've got a surprise in mind. The nest was empty; the birds who haven't left town now that the snow is flying are huddled inside conifers for protection from the wind. The bird that made this nest was quite the artist as well as practical. The puffs of dog fur and batting that it wove into its nest look quite comfy and warm.
Dog in the snow, photo by Johanna

The photo of the dog is not taken by me; it's just a dog galloping through the snow somewhere around Thunder Bay. It's a sweetheart of a photo that has captured that wonderful sense of pure joy simply for being alive on a snowy day! Dog medicine is simple: have dog, joy enters your heart. A dog's spirit is unbreakable; dog medicine teaches us faithfulness and unbounded love.
Buck near the creek, photo by Rod and Roger Pollard

And this photo is simply majestic. It reminds me of the majesty of charismatic animals. Deer medicine tells us to be gentle with ourselves and others. Deer appears on our path to take us back to old teachings. Deer are extremely acute to subtle movements and changes. Deer medicine comes to tell us to listen carefully for that which is not spoken.

Lately, I always seem to be on top of a rock

The trail to Finger Point starts in the bush. You access the trail from the Ontario Tourist Information Office right at the Canadian border, so park your car in the lot. At the beginning of the trail, the uprooted trees weren't too bad, but as we got further down the trail,
they become a serious impediment. At times, having to skirt around, leap over, limbo under, and break our way through the fallen trees, we momentarily lost the path. From all the cracked bark and broken branches and trunks, the aromatic scent of balsam and spruce permeated the air and was quite delicious. Have you ever walked for kilometres with the scent of balsam filling your head? Then you know what I mean. The air was healing.
However, the blown down trees made going down the path so arduous, and the creaking and groaning of tall skinny old trees swaying ominously in the wind threatening to crash down at any moment spooked us, so we decided to walk along the shore instead. I had stopped to take photos of the trees but my son shouted at me, "Are you crazy? Don't you hear the trees? Look at them swaying! We have to hurry up and get out of here! This is not a photo-op moment." He was right. No time for photos in the bush.

The shore, however, was terribly windy. I stopped to re-wrap my scarf that used to be a poncho I bought in Cuetzalan but which I cut up to make it more practical. I wrapped its soft black cotton weave tightly around my head and ears and crisscrossed it around my neck to protect against the fierce wind. On the shore we scavenged for some driftwood poles to use as walking sticks. I found one that was just like a cane with a curved handle. Perfect! With my huivi (scarf) and my keppi (cane), I am sure if anyone crossed our path, he or she would think an old lady gnome just stepped out of the forest.
After awhile, we had to give up walking along the shore, not only because it was quite difficult to navigate the hundreds of odd-shaped rocks, so you have to walk the whole way with your eyes to the ground, but also because the trail begins its climb towards the mound through the bush. So, it was back to battling blowdown.
When we got close to the top of the lookout, I turned around and noticed that you can see the mouth of the Pigeon River from this height of land. The US is on the left, Canada on the right, and the bay is Lake Superior. The sun was shining right at us, so it was difficult for me to get a photo without any glare.
As I mentioned in my last post, to get to the of the Finger Point lookout, you have to spiral along the edge of the path, which at this point is millions of pieces of shale rock. Earlier, where the path dips, there were huge rocks shaped like immense chairs that had broken off a cliff face. Patterns often repeat themselves, and I noticed the spiral designs in the iron artwork that wraps around the bench repeats the spiralling of the path to the lookout.
There are actually two mounds at the top of this lookout, like two hills or two breasts. One is bigger than the other. My son is sitting on the smaller one; the land just falls away behind it, which is hard to capture with a camera. The entire lookout is a magical place because it is not visible from the highway, yet it is just off of it. On the right, you can see a line that crosses the bush just below the horizon; that's Highway 61 cutting through. Yet few people realize as they speed down the highway to the US that there is a beautiful lookout on the other side of the trees. You can't see this bay from the road, but it is merely -- or should I say, literally, given the scores of fallen down balsam, spruce, birches and poplars on the path -- a hop, skip and a jump away.
On the way back, to avoid the worst of the fallen down trees, we got back onto the shore as soon as we could. Coming around a rock outcropping. we met a man with white hair, thin, older than us, with a camera in one hand and a cast on his other hand. He asked us how much farther to the lookout, whether the fallen trees ease up at all, and should he turn back? We told him that he's almost at the end, only about 20 more minutes, and that when the land begins to climb, there is less blowdown. We wished him well as we went our separate ways. A few steps later, my son and I wondered aloud why anyone with only one good hand would go on a hike through the bush. Never mind, I said, why would anyone risk hiking by themselves in the Canadian bush? What if you met a bear? a wolf? A tree fell on you? You tripped on a root and hit your head on the edge of a rock? You slid on the shale and tumbled down the ridge?
At the end of the trail, we decided to cut across the beach at the bottom of the bay. It is full of thousands of pieces of driftwood and logs that have collected here over the years. They are smooth as silk and have been bleached a pale grey by the sun.

The hike took us much longer than we anticipated due to the blowdown, and so we arrived home in the late afternoon. I do not recommend hiking this trail until next spring when the fallen trees have all been cleared. Then you can do the 5 k in a breeze.