Are you Tapping Abundance or Scarcity?

Today I met a man on the ferry who began to talk to me as soon as I was seated on the top deck of the small Bowen Queen. I thought he was a little different when he first began speaking to me but I couldn't really put my finger on why I thought that. When I have that thought come up with strangers, I try to acknowledge it internally and keep with the conversation. I want to see where it might go; see if my intuition is accurate.

He began talking to me about a course he had taken in Atlanta, Georgia that had to do with requesting things from others.  You apparently get sequestered for two weeks with others and then on the third week they let you loose on the unsuspecting public.  In this course,there were three pages of things that the participants were required to request; things that you almost always have to pay for. 

At the beginning of this course, they take away your wallet, your credit cards and cash and in exchange they give you a couple of small books which are your only currency.  The first time he took the course, he said he made about $3.00 a day. The second time he took the course he made enough to feed himself. The third time, he made more than enough to live on. (Read that last sentence again and think about that!)

This particular twist in the conversation started because I said I liked the boots he was wearing. They were a nice pair of shiny, black ankle-high leather boots with a square toe. He proceeded to tell me that he got them at Nordstroms. They had other boots on sale but he didn't want those. He wanted these boots and he wanted 10% off so he asked for the manager. The manager, a happy earnest young guy, said,  "What can I do for you?" The man said he wanted these boots and he'd like 10% off. The young manager looked at him and said he couldn't do that. They weren't on sale. "You can't just come into a store [in North America] and ask for 10% off," said the young guy who had no idea when he woke up that morning what kind of interpersonal mindtorture was coming down the pipe.

The young guy told this man  that he should look at the other boots that were on sale and choose one of those and then he just turned and walked away. But, this man, persisted, always remaining completely polite and calm and he continued to persist because he said it was only 10% and really there was no legitimate reason why it didn't make sense for the manager to give in. So, after 2 hours of this, the young manager finally relented.  "Really," I said, my right eyebrow pretty much raised as high as it could go thinking how much I'd hate to have him for a partner, imagining myself slinking into the woodwork on most public outings.

He then gave me another example. He told me about walking into a chain grocery store and having to get something off the shelves without paying for it. He asked for the manager. Now this particular manager began to ask him a lot of questions almost as if she was interviewing him. At the end of her questioning, which lasted about 20 minutes, she said she wanted to hire him. He said he didn't want a job but he had a friend outside and she needed $100 and could work for 3 days. After speaking with this man, the manager hired his friend on the spot just because of his request. She then turned to him and told him to take what he wanted off the shelves.

Finally, he told me about his experience of walking into a restaurant and asking for a free meal. Of course, the waiter had to call the manager and the manager was another young guy.They were going back and forth and finally in exasperation when the manager said he really didn't know what to do, the man took this opportunity to tell him: Get me a cheeseburger, some fries and a coke." He got it.

"People want to help you," he said. "We don't know how to ask for help," he said, at which point I thought he might just be a messenger from God.

Now, regardless of what you think of his approach, the lessons behind this story are interesting ones. Too often we think that things are impossible when all we have to do is ask for what we want.You know those people you meet who think just because things are a certain way they can't change even though take a look around, the rules are really quite arbitrary for the most part.

The other interesting thing to note is that I honestly believe it's probably true that you'd only ever end up having such a conversation (or maybe I'd only end up having such a conversation) on a ferry heading towards Salt Spring where individualists unite!

An Enchanted Love Story

When the rain is zooming in at a slant on the sliding glass door and you're sick to death of looking out at nothing but trees, grey sea and the occasional bunny, you just know you better get on the gumboots and get out and socialize before things get as ugly inside your head as they are outside. That was today, probably yesterday by the time you read this.

The first ever Salt Spring Blossom Festival was taking place over the weekend and partaking in Sunday's activities meant showing up at the Harbour House hub so off I went, wet hair straight from the shower just another indication of how far I've let things slide over the winter.

First up was Odette Graham of the newly launched Salt Spring Island FLORIST showing us the basics of Ikebana design. Odette was a florist in Vancouver. Her website will launch later this week and she'd love to find a retail space to sell from, which, on Salt Spring is,  in the language of Tai Chi, like finding a needle at the bottom of the sea.

According to Odette, Ikebana is about simplicity, and being aware of nature and the seasons to create minimalist creations with the container being a key element as well. Often parts of the plants other than the blossoms are used. This, of course, is the Idiot's explanation of Ikebana via me. I love the idea of Ikebana and the end results and Odette would like to bring an Ikebana master from Victoria to give a workshop if there is enough interest.

 Terry Bibby, Saori Weaving was on hand with her loom for the public to help create a woven banner that will be sent to the people of Sendai from Salt Spring. I wonder how long it was by the end of today?

Bibby chose pinks and green to represent spring and cherry blossoms which on a grey day just bubbled with hope as every new inch of weaving materialized.

Masa Ito, a Japanese landscape architect from the Lower Mainland (Richmond?), talked about the history of design of Japanese Gardens in a slideshow and spoke about the meanings behind each feature of a Japanese garden and how those developed out of Zen Buddhism.

There was a box of happy origami birds, popping with colour.

And then the big event, a brilliant idea that will surely blossom into a must not miss occasion. Salt Spring's  fabulous vintners and master chefs gathered in one room to offer, sometimes on a silver platter (for a mere $15) bite-sized tastings of their delectable creations. Give it a few years and this event will be a big tourist draw.

In between the talks and waiting for the food to materialize, the highlight of my day included speaking to an 80-year-old lady who has lived on the island for 20 years. We started speaking while I was flipping through a hardcover photo book showing pictures of the luxury Hastings House Country Hotel. "My husband and I celebrated our Golden wedding anniversary there," she said wistfully. I had to remind myself what Golden meant. Was it 50 or 60 years?

She went on to tell me how she was originally from Australia and she first met her husband to be, whom she had remained married to for 53 years (prior to his death a few years ago), when she was five years old and he was eight. Can you believe it?

He was the little brother of one of her girl friends. She didn't think anything of it. Not until they were teenagers.  They both ended up going to university in Sydney and kept bumping into each other over the years. After he graduated from engineering, he decided he was going to move to Tasmania. She decided that she better follow her guy and finally give in and married him. She was 21 and he was 23. "We travelled all over the world," she said. "He'd call me from some project, and he'd send me the airfare to meet him in Frankfurt or South America." She was really sad that he was no longer here at which point, envious of such a life, I had to remind her that she had her wonderful memories to sustain her in the present and I hadn't met all that many people who would describe their lives as "enhanted".

You do realize that very soon 50-year love stories will be a relic of another time as that war-time generation passes away.

Poverty: Is it really their fault?

 There is no such thing as poverty in nature

 I wanted to write something about my experience working at the island's employment centre now that I've decided to move on, but, for whatever reason, I always have trouble writing about those things in my life that have affected me deeply. Then, yesterday, I saw the story in The Victoria Times Colonist about the Salvation Army's Dignity Project. A project that referred to the results of a poll conducted by Ipsos Reid in January 2011 on 1,025 Canadians in order to gather their perceptions on  people who are financially poor.  

I read the absolutely astounding figure (how can that be accurate?) that 50% of the people polled believe that a family of 4 should be able to live off $30,000 a year.  About one in 11 people in Canada lives in poverty and that number, according to Statistics Canada, has remained stable in the past decade. Picture children. In B.C. and Canada, they are a large number of the poor. This poll made me angry because, once again, the complexity of the human condition, through a poll, is reduced to unhelpful simplicity. 

Almost 25% of those polled said that poor people are in that position because "they are lazy" and they have "lower moral values" than those who are not poor. 

But, having worked at the employment centre on Salt Spring Island, what I mostly came to understand, or deduce, were circumstances that began so much earlier in a person's life to shape their current challenging realities. What I saw was the very reason why the philosophy behind The Centre for Child Honouring needs to exist.

Perhaps you`ve heard the statement `Hurt people hurt people. And, hurt families hurt each member. The results of that hurt can haunt people for life. The results show up in a lack of self esteem that leads to addictions. I saw mental health conditions that dampened potential.  Occasionally, very rarely, I saw laziness. 


Judging people who are poor does not  allow room for understanding about what it's like to be raised by alcoholics or drug addicts. It has no room for learning disabilities or sexual abuse endured as a child. There's no time to care about what it must be like to be a First Nations person in Canada or to have survived residential school, to live with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder or to have Fetal Alcohol Syndrome through no fault of your own. So much for overcoming disabling bouts of depression as a result of circumstances that may have led to it in the first place.

Myths about poverty do not take into consideration what life might be like if both your parents died when you were an infant. Stereotypes about the poor being  lazy do not account for all those people known as `the working poor` who have more than one nearly minimum-wage job. There is no acknowlegement about the reality of people who are driven to create - artists, writers, musicians, poets, actors - often poor because of how little their talents are valued in a world where money seems to have become the exclusive form of currency.

The moral superiority and false security that stems from having more than enough money does not believe in the existence of `bad luck`. It doesn`t dare allow for the realities of  illness and accidents, especially without insurance. There is no accounting for how the actions from our past lives may play a part in current realities regardless of your moral fortitude.

When did our value as human beings become so entangled with how much money an external force decided we were worth?  I`ve known what it`s like to have very little money. I know it now. I have also known what it`s like to live off a salary as a single person that some families of four can only imagine. Neither circumstance changed who I am at the core of my being.

One of the things that the job at the employment centre showed me about myself that I`m really glad to know is that I do have the ability to look beyond someone`s current circumstances, however wretched, and see their spirit.

Yes, for sure, I would lose my patience. There were days of judgment and annoyance and disbelief and dislike and exasperation but always, I could usually overcome my surface reaction and see the heart and soul behind behaviours that were, in the moment, blocking a clear view of every unique self that walked through the door. My co-worker could do the same. I believe it may be one of the most important requirement to work there or perhaps to work with people in general.  

All these poll results say to me is that too many of us are still so extremely judgmental, especially of that which we most fear.

Gulf Islands Maple Syrup Surprise

 Maia Green and Elizabeth Woodward

Friend and Gulf Islands Driftwood editor Gail Sjuberg and I caught up at brunch at the Harbour House Hotel dining room this morning. The place was packed which was nice to see. We had a really good candied salmon quiche with a huge salad picked straight from the garden. Her husband Michael joined us to taste the  maple syrup that they were in the middle of producing from the 100 Maple trees out the back of the hotel.

Before that however, I peeked my head into the second location of Solace Organic Spa which has transformed a room off the lobby of the hotel  into a treatment room which is beautifully appointed complete with a fireplace. Leslie was prepping the room for a pedicure. The client was in for a treat with a front row seat of Ganges Harbour while being pampered. Darn. I should have snapped a pic. Sorry.

Elizabeth Woodward (above right) is the daughter of the hotel's owners, Jack and Glenda Woodward. She was busy explaining the process with help from Maia Green. They talked about how the maples were tapped last week and the liquid comes out of the tree completely clear. Boiling it turns it the tawny, syrupy colour. It takes about 100 maples to come up with 15 litres of syrup after a 7-10 hours of boiling. We tasted the liquid through the stages from clear to almost there.

 The Harbour House completes the process to about 90% because they use the syrup in their hotel kitchen and it's easier for the chef to transform it into sauces, etc. if it's not completely boiled.  They've been involved in this process for three years. 

We then took a stroll around the grounds to see how the many varieties of leafy greens were coming.

They just finished installing a second new greenhouse this weekend where they're going to put tomatoes and as we were in the first greenhouse, an employee was cutting more lettuce to satisfy the crowd in the restaurant.

 It's really amazing to truly know that the lettuce on your plate is coming direct to you from the garden right out back and picked minutes before it will end up in your mouth. Now that's fresh!

 Here's proof.

The Spirit of Colombia on Salt Spring

It has been ages since I've gone outside with my camera and wandered with the hope of helping photographs to find me. The long winter/spring of monsoons and greyness has not inspired much of anything but cocooning.  It feels like I need a new locale to reignite the photographer's eye. A vacation. Yes, a vacation would be so fine right about now. Alas, not in the cards.

Today, however, a window of opportunity poked through. I made my way into Ganges early to catch the taping of the CBC program North by Northwest live at Barb's Bakery (a.k.a Barb's Buns).

The place was packed as host Sheryl MacKay interviewed some of Salt Spring's notables.  Here's a photo of writer Brian Brett (author of the book Trauma Farm) reading a poem about bread.

Afterwards, I wandered down to the float plane dock and was snapping photos when I spotted a young woman who seemed to be just hanging out. Eventually we said hello and I learned that she was from Colombia. She's lived on the island for about a year working as an au pair on Stowel Lake Farm.

Her beautiful name is Isela Mileth Espitia Fernandez. Her father told her he'd  heard the name and really liked the way it flowed. Are you sure it wasn't the woman who belonged to the name that you liked, she asked him jokingly. She claims he flatly denied that.

I asked her if she'd mind being the subject of my blog. She agreed and we proceeded to chat about how it was for a young woman from another culture to live here on this little island with so few eligible bachelors, especially in her age range.

She said she had a great host family and that she liked it. She's 26 years old and she originally left Colombia to be an au pair for a family from Pakistan who were living in the U.S. But, she returned to Colombia prior to coming to Canada and has hopes to be a dental hygienist once she gets her landed immigrant status. She found her host family on a website called GlobalAuPair.  After Skyping a few times, their mutual decision was made. She arrived on island in February 2010.

Her host family either owns the company of the cup she's holding (or maybe a franchise of it) called Guayaki Organic Yerba Mate. I wasn't totally clear on that. Her English is excellent and she said she learned it by listening to English speaking films and lyrics from popular songs. She'd take a line from a song and then try to learn it and understand it. How's that for dedication on learning a second language?

She looks after two small children who also speak Spanish and she says that Rio, the youngest, helps her to pronounce English words properly. She admits to having a lot of trouble pronouncing worm as in creepy crawly versus warm as in temperature.  Repeat after me: The rain in Spain grows mainly on the plain and the Yerba Mate in Colombia is warm, not worm.  

Since she was passing time and I had the entire day stretched out before me, I invited her to breakfast at The Treehouse.

 Afterwards, we walked over to a craft fair where Cory Judge, a friend of her host mother, was selling exquisite chinese silks and other "tantalizing textiles" under glass created into necklaces, earrings and belt buckles. Judge's  Shi studio is based in Victoria, B.C. This photo does not come close to doing the pieces justice.

  Create your own custom piece by visiting Shi Studio.

It turned into a lovely little morning. With camera in hand, you just never know what you might find or who you might get to know to turn an "ordinary day" (if there is such a thing) into a sweet little memory.

Best Supporting Actresses...

 Vancouver friends Colleen, Peggy, Dee, Me, Lisa, Heather, Gwen and their Oscar

on the beach celebrating my BIG birthday last weekend at Tigh-na-Mara Spa.

I'd like to thank my mother and my father and my sisters and my brother and my unborn children and my none existent husbands and my former psychiatrist but most of all I'd like to thank my brilliant women friends who have been there for me through thick and thin. Who have made me laugh until my stomach hurt.

You have listened. Been generous beyond belief. Always make me feel like I'm a better person than I really am. Exposed me to things I would have never been exposed to on my own.(ugh):-) It's not like that! Honest!

They've helped me when I needed a hand. Took me places even when I was depressed and no fun just to get me out of the apartment way back.  Brought me into the fold of their own family.  Helped me feel joyous. Brought me back to myself. Refrained from saying, You do realize you're insane right? Who are fun to be around. Bursting with integrity. For endless telephone conversations. For well-placed generosity. And just for being there. You're the best! 

Oh, and most of the time they're not even acting. There is no script. There is no set. Although I can be bossy so sometimes I act like the director. But, like most actresses, they just smile, and go about doing what they were going to do anyway...

Bruce Creswick's life as a teacher was his magnum opus

In spite of the many examples of individuals thoughout history who have made a difference, if you've ever had any doubt that one person can be the change, all you have to do is be on Salt Spring Island this week.  Beloved Salt Spring island Middle School teacher and musician, Bruce Creswick, died on Saturday. 

Everyone has a story about "Mr. C" and it's almost as if you can hear his name in whispers throughout the community. In Thriftys. In the hot tub at The Rainbow Road Pool. In the Employment Centre. It's all good. Clearly, this man's life was spent doing what he was destined to do and even though he is gone too soon, too young, his life's purpose was perfectly suited to his contagious and warm personality.

The quirky upbeat  humour, teasing and wholly genuine humanity streaming out of him as the love he bestowed on his students and everyone he met as a music man is coming back tenfold in tributes and in tears.

When you've only been in the presence of someone for a few hours (as I was) and yet the news of their death has the ability to really make you sad and a little tired; leave you pensive, experience a real ache and a sorrow for his family, his students and the music community on Salt Spring Island, you know his impact on others was extraordinary in the literal meaning of that word.

I met him one evening when he took over as conductor of our beginner band when Wendy and Derrick Milton were away.  "Mr. C" as the kids called him, had on his trademark Converse sneakers. These ones were cherry red. I believe he had on black jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt. He kept cracking jokes even though he'd put in a whole day at school. As a flute player, I was sitting right in front of him and his humour and banter were in fine form that evening. He kept teasing me just because I was there. Why not? It's what he did. It's was his modus operandi.


In our first year of band, when we played a joint concert with his middle-school band, I saw how he interacted with the kids using humour to get them to do what he wanted and yet keeping them in line as well. He must have been a patient man. He looked like he loved what he did in a way so many people can only dream about.

Read the tributes on the Facebook page that have been set up and you'll begin to feel teary-eyed even if you didn't know him. The tributes give you a sense of who he was in a way that will make you wish you had.

Google: Mr.Creswick - R.I.P.

50 Random Things I Wish I'd Learned Earlier

1. Even if it takes 50 years or more, recognize the significance of loving yourself first and foremost.
2. Celebrate life's significant moments as a form of love - for yourself - and for others and then celebrate when you feel like it in small ways just because.
3. Ask yourself, Will I regret this if I don't do it and if the answer is yes, do it as soon as possible.
4. Say what you need to say to someone emotionally even if you risk making a fool of yourself.
5. Get in touch with your gut instinct and recognize it so you'll know how to tap into it as part of the decision-making process.
6. You can only be treated badly by someone else more than once, if you let them treat you that way.
7. If the feelings are there between you and another person, don't discount them.
8. Accept all compliments with a heartfelt, "Thank you."
9. Recognize the reason, season, lifetime nature of friendships/relationships and enjoy them for as long as they are enjoyable.
10. Forgiving and forgetting are two very different choices that have no direct relationship to each other.
11. Make the first move.
12. Smile when you meet someone as a universal sign of openness and curiosity.
13. Aim to listen at least as much as you speak, preferably more.
14. Recognize that you truly are the only person you can change.
15. Learn when saying nothing is the kindest act.
16. Know sooner when to cut your losses.
17. Learn how to make a budget and work it.
18. Save 10% of everything you earn.
19. Remind yourself to give people the benefit of the doubt.
20. Understand that you can't ever make someone love you and sometimes you'll never figure out why someone does.
21. Recognize that you are not your family, just one member of a family.
22. Try to get at the heart of what brings you joy. Do that more.
23. It's okay to need someone. In fact, amazingly enough. It's human.
24. Know that someone else's expectations of you are their expectations, not yours.
25. Buy the most expensive shoes and the most expensive bed you can afford.
26. See through bravado to the emotion underneath.
27. Know that failing at something is the best way to learn; not a personal failure.
28. Recognize that your time is a valuable and a limited resource worth protecting.
29. As a women, understand that being involved with someone else's husband/partner is not only a direct route to unhappiness but disrespectful towards yourself and women in general.
30.  Celebrate diversity in people, places, food, fashion, etc.
31.  Ask yourself, "What's the worst thing that can happen?" and if you can live with the answer, go for it.
32.  Learn or do new stuff every year. Plan it.
33.  Don't allow other people's definitions of you, define you. They may be inaccurate in their assessment(s).
34.  Recognize that your personal value as a human being has nothing to do with the size of your bank account.
35.  Realize that your actions, visible and invisible, matter.
36. Surround yourself with people who have palpable hope for the future and are mainly positive.
37. Don't keep doing the same thing and expecting different results.
38  Don't expect other people to guess what you need. Ask for what you need and want.
39. If something that matters to you isn't happening, make it happen for yourself.
40. Find someone to admire, ask them to be your mentor; watch how they behave, learn from them, mimic them.
41. At all cost, if travelling matters to you, do it as much as possible when you're young.
42. Do not ever use age as an excuse for why you can't do something - too young or too old.
43. Know your regrets. Acknowledge them and then put them aside as quickly as possible.
44. When people tell you who they are either through words or behaviour, believe them.
45. When someone is annoying you, let the feelings flow through you while repeating to yourself, There is only the love of God." Practice. Practice. Practice.
46 See your uniqueness as your greatest strength. Recognize the same in others.
47. Collaborate.
48. Dream and then raise the bar even higher than what you imagine in the dream.
49. Explore all options in greater detail before settling on a single path.
50. Just show up, even when you're afraid to go.

Anything you'd like to add to this list?

The Wellspring of Talent on Salt Spring

It's so redundant to say there are so many incredibly talented people on this little rock of approximately 10,000 called Salt Spring but people keep saying it because every day it's in their face, not to be ignored.

This week I met with one of them at his beautiful low-slung home right on the water which runs the length of the shore and angles off in interesting directions. His entire front yard is a view of the ocean with little wooden decks staged for perfect summer lounging. It seemed appropriate that a photographer should live in a house where the windows frame the view in the same way the viewfinder in a camera frames potential photographic images. 

In winter, it's grey but in summer one can only imagine the beauty. He told me that his wife, an interior designer, has been coming to the island for 40 years. They also own a little "shack" on the water on another part of the island and when the sun goes down on their main house, they pack a picnic lunch and head over to the shack to enjoy the evening until sundown.

Originally from Scotland, with the true beginnings of his 40 year photography career originating in London, England, he has worked as an editorial and advertising photographer for all of Canada's major magazines and its top advertising agencies in Toronto.  At this point, he's choosing to do what he wants and brainstorming the type of creative projects that he really wants to do: portraits, architectural photography, still lifes of subjects that he, not a client, chooses.

What struck me most about him is his quiet manner. He's very easy to be around. Everything about him and his lifestyle seems very low-key and civilized with ego kept at bay. I like that.

I have decided that I will only agree to offer my writing services to people who I like as people, whose integrity is beyond reproach and who are professional in every aspect of that word. Some people might think you only get to do that when you're financially successful but that's the thing about getting older, you get to make up your own little rules in compliance with your own values and, of course, reap the consequences.  I think it was Tony Robbins who has said, The quality of your life is in direct proportion to the quality of your relationships..."

I think making the decision only to work with people who are professional in every sense of that word will eventually pay off even if it means I say "No" when I intuitively know that saying so is the right decision for moi!

He is going to be one of the photography presenters at this photography event taking place in Campbell River at Painter's Lodge in April. I'm debating whether I can find a way to justify going.

I notice there are 4 photographers from Salt Spring Island presenting: Amy Melious, Steven Friedman, Janet
Dwyer, Gillean Proctor.

The Dude, Lane 31 and a Crane for the Fir Tree

  If you're in the city, sit down somewhere really quiet, listen to your breath and imagine a full moon dropping silver dust across the grass, spotlighting the potholes in the gravel lane and freeze framing the steeley rippling ocean as if you've been dropped into an Edward Hopper painting.

That's what it's like driving along Walker's Hook Road where I live. The narrow, windy asphalt creeps and winds just above the water's edge on the North End of the island. I must keep my eyes on the road to avoid the ditch even though I have taken lately to driving smack down the middle of the yellow line. A car is rather a rare sight in the evening.

With one hand on the steering wheel, I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the moon and the purple and pink haze of streaky quotation marks around the otherworldly translucent orb. It's my happiest moment of the day. It brings me back to the luck and beauty of  being alive.
.
Salt Spring Island is a quiet place in the winter. Maybe that's true of every small place. What to do? Read more.Local authors. Brian Brett's Trauma Farm is ready to be cracked open. I just devoured George Sipos's Geography of Arrival. Movies. More movies.  I catch up on watching movies that most other "normal" North Americans have already seen because, let's face it, I'm a bit of a pop culture alien. Understatement.

Last night I watched The Big Lebowski by the Coen Brothers. How could I not have seen this movie? The Dude characterization gave me all sorts of ideas. I"m surrounded by The Dude in various incarnations and as worthy on a daily basis in my job. Maybe I should invite the Coen brothers up for a visit on a little "recky" mission.

As for tonight it's a bloody  miracle I'm not on my knees out in the back yard howling at the moon in frustration related to problems with the creation of a new website for myself. It's never simple. Even when it should be. Especially when an insurmountable problem arises and you turn into an obsessive-compulsive, wimpering, temper-tantruming desperate piece of quivering and totally-stumped brain matter attached to a set of 10 fingers tapping madly at the keyboard all to no avail.

Maybe a dip in the pool and a little weekly Deep Water Aquafit will relieve my angst. Being January, the class is packed with women and one guy who merely, by his presence, I admire immensely. He's cute and he's  a film maker and of course he plays in a band. We discuss it in the hot tub. They're called Lane 31. I'm not crazy about that name. It's the Lane islanders must get into when they return from Victoria and line up for the Fulford Ferry. So?

I'm listening to their MySpace downloads and wow, my first impression wasn't fair. I have listened to this song, Shari's song, about 25 times while I'm writing this. Love it. Love the lyrics. Love the guy's voice.

The evening gets capped off with a long call from Pauline to report in on the latest Monty Python skit of how not to build a cottage.

Turns out that a huge fir tree smack dab up against the new little cottage must come down.

"What?" "You never noticed this before?" I ask stupidly before I think, "Shut up Gayle."

 "It will require a crane," they say. Call your insurance provider they tell her. Check your coverage. Does it cover Acts of God? Freaks of Nature?
Never seen anything like it, they say.
"I couldn't sleep last night," she said. I kept seeing two people -  city slickers -  sleeping peacefully in the new B&B crushed to death by the tree. I imagined hearing the crack and waking up just in time to see the towering inferno of branches devouring the roof.
I'd lose everything. They'd die. Their relatives would sue. Gone. All gone. (Blessing in disguise I think to myself but wisely refrain from saying.)
"It's a miracle that thing hasn't dropped before," said the arborist.
"Is he really an arborist?" I ask. "Like, a real arborist?"
"He has 30 years," she says. "With trees though?" I ask again.

I only ask because everybody here, on this crazy little island, is something whether they are or not if you know what I mean. It's a bit like Hollywood in that way, I imagine. I should ask to see my doctor's degrees just in case.

"Call me when they're ready to hoist it outta there," I say to her about the Giant Evergreen.
"Doesn't matter where I am or what time of day. I want to see this."

But for now, enough already. I lay me down to rest.

Owner-less for Life

I took this photo in a Victoria tea shop last February. A bike. Just one example of a highly shareable items that fit well into the trend of Owner-less-ness.

When I lived in Vancouver, I loved belonging to the Cooperative Auto Network. I loved being able to get online and just pick a car to use when I needed to use one.  Gee. Let's see. Did I want to drive a truck? Maybe I'll opt for the yellow Volkswagon bug. I was beginning to get pretty partial to the Pontiac Vibe station wagon. The Mazda Protege had the best visibility even if it was extremely boring.

It would have even been better if the Car Co-op started purchasing really high end cars so instead of just driving regular cars you could opt for the Jag or the BMW or the Mercedez Benz. Of course, the fees would have gone way up.

The best part about the experience is that when I'd finished my trip and use of the car, I loved being able to lock the keys up, and walk away, knowing I had absolutely no responsibility for the stupid metal hunk of machinery if someone happened to sideswipe it, steal it or it went up in flames. It wasn't mine. I didn't OWN it. I didn't have to repair it. I didn't have to think about it at all except for when I was driving it.

Lately, on Salt Spring, I've been noticing a trend. It might be a trend. Maybe it's just desperation masquerading as a trend. It could be both.  I've noticed that more and more people are building structures on land that they don't own. I have trouble getting my head around this. You're going to make yourself a beautiful little space without any control over a landlord's decision to let you keep it on their property? What? Are you crazy? Why put money and effort into building a structure on a piece of land that you don't own? You might have to just leave it if something changes. It's like a floathome on land. I don't get it. Nano homes. Yurt-like structures. Call them what you will. Get a trailer. Buy a caravan. Build a tree house. Use a tent. Not my idea of ideal.

But, maybe I'm just being extremely unimaginative. Perhaps these people are actually pioneers. Maybe they're buddhist-like explorers recognizing that every moment of our lives is about letting go. They have excelled at non attachment. They're able  to risk the possibility for creating a pad of their own - for as long as possible - and accepting the inevitability of change.

Maybe they've got something there. I mean, if you know you'll never be able to own, why not borrow? Respectfully of course.

You can use your imagination and think about all the possibilities here for owner-less sharing. People with huge yachts that just sit tied up could share them. Massive million dollar homes that get used a couple of times a year could be shared. Restaurants, especially on Salt Spring in January, could be rented out for events targetted at attracting those to the island for whatever type of gathering. High end camera equipment. Art Studios. Workshops. Bikes. Motorbikes. Horses. Expensive art.

The potential for the sharing of irregularly used, high end items makes a lot of financial and environmental sense.

Just two days ago I picked up a hitch hiker on my way to work in the snow and he got a call while in my car. It was someone talking to him about his sailboat.

"You own a sail boat?" I asked. "Well, I own a shared sail boat," he answered, "except I'm the only one who seems to pay attention to it and use it."

Okay, so there may be some drawbacks to the sharing depending on who you're sharing it with and the arrangement.

But, it all ties into a trend as pinpointed  on Trendwatching.com referred to as Owner-less. 

Access, Baby! Isn't that where it's always been at in the end?

What's a Lama Doing in a Place Like This?

Mural of a typical immigrant family from the past

In the window of Dr. Sun Yat Sen Gardens

Serene reflection on garden wall

It's not every day that a Lama from Darjeeling, India walks through the door of our employment centre on this little island and smiles the whitest, widest smile. I was a little confused. "Are you looking for work?," I asked, stupidly. No. He was merely accompanying someone. His robe was maroon and straight to the floor narrow. He had a bright yellow toque on his head. Just a wee day trip they were on. Down from Mount Tuam in the four wheel drive. His white teeth brightened the darkness from the drizzle outside. I didn't have my camera. I wish I could take a photo of every person who walks in the door. Every face is amazing. I can't. Confidentiality. So, instead of Salt Spring, just a few photos from Vancouver's Chinatown taken over my recent break away. 

Swimming with the Dragons on Salt Spring

Intuition. Mine works pretty well. Especially when it comes to people. Friday I found myself walking down the path of this 7 acre property, through a gate, into an old orchard and in the distance I see this unfinished round building.

A conversation with someone whom I have know superficially led to me agreeing to meet with him as a means to help me focus on my physical health.

He teaches Qi Gong. He's a carpenter who specializes in Asian-style buildings and in rammed earth. He's also done rigging for concerts in the city.  From the first time I met him about two years ago, I knew that he was a very unique individual. His whole way of being radiates gentle, respectful and accepting.

The conversations I've had with him have always been in my office and have always been oriented towards the spiritual. Whenever he drops by, which hasn't been often in the past 6 months, it's a breath of fresh air compared to my usual interactions throughout the day. He's just come back from Hornby Island for 7 weeks where he was building a rammed earth house.

He's  a very soft spoken guy who stands very straight. Slight of build but very fit; lithe might be the word. He wears his long blonde hair in a chignon atop his head. He usually walks around town in clothing that seems very Asian even though he's Caucasian. He's got an extremely calm, centred energy.

When I arrive, I find him at his "outdoor kitchen". We enter his place which is one round room on the main floor with a lotus flower cutout that leads to the "loft" where his bed is. There's a wood stove and a beautiful round skylight at the top where you can look up and see the sky and evergreens as if the natural world is being offered to you through a magnifying glass platter.

There are lots of windows and he is proud of a door he's just finished building. There's a poster of a tiger on one wall which has a significance that he explains to me.  Sprouts are growing in shelves in front of a window. (I never have seen the attracton of sprouts. Blah).  The woodstove has a kettle on it and the fire is crackling. He hands me a cup of green tea. A beautiful large Buddha with a turqouise patina sits atop a bookshelf full of books on nutrition, spirituality, martial arts.

We sit cross legged on the floor. 

I was facing the window, he was facing me. The light streaming in was framing his blonde hair like a halo. I was soaking in the visual effect savouring the way the light seemed to accentuate this "sentient being". (I say that half jokingly because a former friend, Anu, constantly would use the term "sentient beings.")

We talk about the three pillars of health and "plan the work, work the plan". He talks about clear vision and laser beam focus and he leads me through a series of questions he wants me to spend time answering on my own.I must come up with 20 possibilities for each.

As our conversation unfolds I am blown away by the knowledge he has and his ability to impart that using analogies and metaphors. After quite a long time, we get up and do some exercises.

He starts with a guided meditation called Coming Home. We begin beating ourselves down one side of the body and up the other like in former yoga classes I've taken. We are awakening our inner smile.  And finally, we do a movement called Swimming Dragon which starts with us standing on our toes, our palms together above our head, and then we try and draw an S curve with our arms and our body.

I am standing behind him so I can mimic him. I have to keep bringing myself back to the moment because if not, if I'd see myself as others might have if they had been observing, I'd probably have wet my pants laughing.

I felt like Shirley Valentine and instead of being on a boat with a Greek player named Kostas, I was with some Germanic "Ninja" healer in his Yurt-styled abode like I had just been transplanted into that book The Secret.

I'm trying to move a spine that is more used to sitting stationary in front of a computer than one that can bend fluidly like the winds bend willows. I know from being around Colleen all these years (and just from my own knowledge gained by taking Sandra's yoga classes in the West End) that keeping the spine limber is the most significant way to maintain mobility hence youthfulness.

Can't you just see me? I was pretty happy. I had a big smile on my face that he couldn't see and I stood behind this beautiful man. He was moving as fluidly as a dancer. It goes without saying, I don't. Move like a dancer, that is. I move more like the tinman in The Wizard of Oz. But, there I was.  Seeing the humour in the situation and wishing I was about 10 years younger.

Something to look forward to in the New Year to be sure. :-)

Green Drinks,Silicon Island and Kindness

Green Drinks
Made it out to the first meet-up at the Harbour House between the Green Community and those working professionally or seriously interested in the digital world.  It was organized by a core group of on island "movers and shakers." The easy reference for the evening was Green Drinks.  Margery Moore from the Institute for Sustainability, Education and Action  introduced the evening.

It's an "experiment" said Christopher Roy, a senior strategist for Vancouver's Communicopia who works from home on island but commutes every second week for a few days to be at the Vancouver office.  

 International Digital Media Conferences? Educational Retreats? University symposiums? Workshops? Centre of Excellence? Dedicated research? There's a Facebook group called Silicon Island  and soon a physical space located between Salt Spring Air's offices and the Steffich Fine Art Gallery.

In a Former Life and Publishing
It was nice to say hello to Li Read. I haven't seen Li since my UBC Multimedia Studies days when she was a student there (circa 1995) one of the first, if not the first realtor, to have the insight that having a web site and being able to design it yourself would be good for the future. Ya think? And nice to chat, as well with Phillip Reece, part owner of Salt Spring Air, who was telling me about his wife's business, Spire Publishing, as an example of transplanted entrepreneurialship. (It started in the U.K.)

World's Apart
Afterwards, in a complete 360 degree turnaround in terms of topics, I met up with Karen Cross, Dave French and Larry Cross.  Karen runs the pest control company P.C.S. Gulf Islands.  It was started by her former husband and friend Larry Cross. She just returned from a conference in Waikiki. I always find it fascinating to think of all the circles of influence out there that just never intersect with my life and yet employ millions of people focused on a topic which is fascinating even if many of us would rather not think about.

Dave has worked for Karen for more than a year and they go all over the Gulf Islands to deal with people's pesty annoyances sometimes being picked up at The Burgoyne dock and being taken to a remote estate on a private island. Apparently wealth is no deterrant to creepy crawlies.

The Face of The Driftwood Retiring
Dave tells me that his mom Claudia, the friendly face at The Driftwood, is retiring as of Friday and the Driftwood Gang are celebrating their Christmas party this Friday where I'm sure she'll be well hosted (and maybe even roasted).

Seafood Linguine
I wrote a story on Karen and Dave's work for The Driftwood more than a year ago and I was invited last year to join them at their annual christmas dinner but snow prevented me from making it. This year, no snow anywhere, except in the lovely card Karen gave me above.  It was really a nice evening and the seafood linguine was fantastic at The Harbour House. It's a must order for sure chock a block with salmon and prawns. Yum.  Thanks so much Karen for your kindness!

Sounds Like Salt Spring, Feels Like Gilligan's Island

It was with a heavy heart I packed up from the tiny vacation home, bid farewell to the loving kitty and returned to the hovel a.k.a. my cottage. There's nothing like steppin in the front door of your abode and the first thing you catch in your line of vision is a mouse trap. The only thing worse might be a mousetrap with something in it - or worse yet - only half of something in it. UGHHHH! My trap was empty thank you very much.

Goodbye Kardashian sisters. Goodbye Oprah. Goodbye Trading Spouses. Goodbye drinking coffee in front of the morning news.  I'll have to drag my sorry ass back to deep water aquafit for some reality tv entertainment along the lines of Biggest Losers.

What can I tell you about my exciting life on Salt Spring today? The workspace was totally dead this morning. That was cool because it allowed me to hear about my co-workers recent trip to Vegas. Then, this afternoon it was as if the office became like a miniature Gilligan's Island full of professors and Mary Anne's and too many Gilligans. It was as if a ship of asylum seekers had run aground offshore, all piled into a little dinghy, and rowed madly to reach shore (and our office) but instead of being from Cuba or India they were from Victoria and Ontario.

I'm in a strange mood. Can you tell? At lunch today, over at Volume II books, I spent some time lingering and I heard about a couple of books that might make good presents. The first was called A Vineyard in Tuscany by a guy named Ferenc Mate who it just so happened was the boyfriend of the ex girlfriend who was friends back in 1963 with the wife of the guy behind the counter at this bookstore. Yes. I admit. That sentence should keep you busy for weeks trying to decipher. The book, however, looked really enticing and the woman who came in and bought the only copy raving about the fact that this bookstore would even have such a copy at all said that the writer, Mate, is hilarious.  Perfect for the wine lovers or sommelliers (love that word, use it whenever I can) on your list.

Then, I was watching Oprah and heard about her next Book Club book: It's called Freedom written by one of the rare authors who has made the cover of Time magazine and was actually summoned by Barack Obama for a 20 minute meeting. His name? Jonathan Franzen.  On Oprah's show he described how he writes in an office that has no internet access, no t.v. and is cold. He says it's imperative that the environment is really quiet. That is the only way, he says, that he can really hear his inner dialogue and to quiet his mind enough to begin to get real insights into the struggles he's having and find a place where he understands that his personal struggles transcend himself and are possibly tapping into universal truths which he finds a way to weave into plot on paper. Horrible paraphrasing on my part I'm sure.

The best thing that happened to me today was a beautiful woman of First Nation's descent about 60 year old came into the office. She talked with me, I learned she was a hypnotherapist and she handed me a tiny silver angel with the words Love inscribed on the back.

I'll leave you with that beautiful vision and to think about how it is possible through a simple act of loving kindness to exchange an acknowledgement of spirit with another human being who will then surely remember the feeling that arose from your one simple action, forever.

Trading Places on Salt Spring

Here are my dear friends Tom and Linda leaving their cute little paradise on Salt Spring Island via a Salt Spring Air float plane via YVR to Puerto Vallarta because they found an amazing deal on TravelZoo

The thing is, their going on holiday equals me going on holiday (sort of). They wanted me to stay in their house and look after Fluffy, their cat, whom I love. I love Fluffy. It's the easiest house-sitting/pet sitting gig in the world. Fluffy and I are like this (visualize fingers wrapped around each other) as much as you can be with a cat because, well, we all know about cats. Bon voyage mon amies!

Suddenly, I have a whole house. A full-sized fridge. A freezer. A bed with a box spring. A full oven. It's heaven. I love their house. How long are they gone? ha.

It's as if I've become one with the couch because, hey, they have a big screen T.V. and I no longer have a T.V. and late last night, I hate to admit it, but I tuned into this show called Trading Spouses which just going by the name seems despicable; the lowest of the lowest reality show common denominator.

The thing is, I'm just going to say it once, really quickly: I like watching this show. It's a sociological experiment. They take the most unlikely families and switch the mothers for a week. Think Mormon Mother meets The Kardashians.

Think of yourself. Think of how you live. Put yourself in a situation that you'd absolutely despise and there you have it. It would be like me going to live with a family of 5 guys who all participate in monster truck rallies and them moving into my cabin on Salt Spring surrounded by new agers and healers and having to attend a zillion craft fairs being forced to give up Miller Light for Yerba Mate.  Mother Teresa meet Lady Gaga. It makes for fantastic T.V. (to which I'm sure many of you will disagree wholeheartedly).

Take a couple from Thousand Oaks California both raised in India. The woman has  a Ph.D. and works as a research scientist. The husband is a successful businessman.  A porche and a Hummer are parked in their driveway. They have one daughter. The family the research scientist mom is going to live with lives in the country with horses and participates in medieval re-enactments. Gettin' the picture? One word: Nightmare.

The thing is, the Indian father and the 12 year old daughter are the whiniest, most pampered, materialistic shallow snobs that have ever walked the earth.  They don't ever cook. They only eat out (perhaps so they can complain bitterly about every morsel.) They stay in only the top hotels and the suite they took their "new mom" to was unbelievable but they described it as "trashy".

They take their new mom to Palm Springs where they spend all day wandering from shop to shop and every single time they eat, they have nothing good to say about the food. The new mom showed incredible restraint. Even when she made them some homemade sushi, they were grossed out and wouldn't eat it, digging instead into some ice cream while she had to throw out what she had just made.They're judgmental and rude and the epitome of what's wrong with wealth in the bank accounts of the spiritually unconscious.

It's fantastic to have nice things and to be really comfortable and for your home to be your castle. I'm all for it. In fact, not having that stuff, I am beginning to see, is incredibly motivating.

Trust me,  when it comes to trading places, it's much better to be "Trading up"than "Trading down" but not at the expense of graciousness and gratitude.

Otter Not Be Winter Yet

 Oh just another pesky human taking my photo. It's so been there, done that.

 Are you still here?

 Alright. Honestly. You can leave any time now.

When my power first went out on Saturday morning I went for a little walk down the road to the Fernwood Coffee shop because they had power. And coffee. And a cinnamon bun. And company.  But, first I had to make a quick trip to the end of my favorite dock and as I was walking I saw four otters pop their heads out of the water. This one, curiouser and curiouser, kept popping up to take a peek at me. I think he looked a little perturbed by the cold, especially in that first photo above. Have a bad hair day buddy? Or maybe it was the sight of me standing on his dock.

There's something thrilling about seeing an otter up close. The only time I've ever seen them is at the Aquarium in Stanley Park. You know, that cute picture where they're floating on their backs and holding each others paws?

Power Outage and Decadence

 It feels lately like I'm in some hurricane of discombobulation where I'm accomplishing absolutely nothing. Goal setting? What's that? I must set some new goals. Must write them down. Must prioritize. Must get off Facebook. Stop frittering away on Twitter.

 Between focusing on elderly father's health and updates. Working at part time job. Searching for a new full-time job. Trying to think of new query ideas, I appear to be going nowhere fast. I'm starting to act like a real Salt Springer. Pretty soon I'll start wandering aimlessly with a coffee in my hand or worse yet, sitting on the steps of T.J. Beans just staring into space, or god forbid, I'll take up folk singing and convince the editor of the local paper to write some inane story about how nobody wants to support me when I'm standing outside sounding like every other amateur folk singer who has ever lived on the planet in this millenium.

When I heard there might be snow, pre-weekend, I went and  bought a small roast to see if I could still manage to cook such a thing. I figured if it snowed a lot and I was holed up like a crazy bacheloress hermit crab, I wanted to eat well, watch good movies, have lots of books and magazines, and at least one good bottle of red wine. I wasn't counting on one thing: Power outage. No woodburning stove. Are you kidding me?

So, I packed it all up and headed over to the luxury hotel more recently nicknamed The Shambles by its infamous owner Pauline.

It's true, her main cottage might be chock a block full to the rafters of two households worth of furniture given  the impending completion of the new cottage that is taking longer to build than the pyramids did.

We holed up with Maggie and Griffin "the beast" and we ate roast beef dinners, drank good red wine, watched movies, ate popcorn, talked about men and Salt Spring and work and getting old and dying, about buying a flat in France next to a bakery and tried to compile a silly list of everything you'd really needed to know about Salt Spring before you move here that nobody ever tells you.

She loaned me a nightie and let me wear her furry pink floor-length robe. She heated up the heating pad and I crawled into the big, beautiful bed in the loft with the old fashioned quilts.


Before that I made sure all the cuckoo clocks stopped their incessant ticking and turned off the lights and sunk into the heaven of a Beauty rest, the mattress and yes, a description of the luxurious sleep I had.

I awoke to golden light streaming through the windows. The snow on the evergreens was crisp through the skylight. I could hear her in the kitchen below speaking to the dogs as she made the coffee and I was aware at every moment that it's one of those memories that I'll tuck safely and fondly away to go back to with love when I need to.

Pool of Shame

So the other day I finally decided to get some exercise. Think mortality. Consider the shape-shifting of menopause. Suspect the hump beginning to form on the back of my neck from trying to figure out how Twitter works at a desk set-up that's ergonomically criminal. Desperation does funny things to a gal.

For me, preparing to get into a pool requires just a little less prep than a Rolling Stones concert.  It requires shaving every part of my body that might not be covered by fabric, and that, in polite company, shouldn't actually have hair and let's face it, always does.

It requires rummaging through, finding, and then holding up by two fingers with a pained look of confusion on my face, the bathing suit that's been in the bottom of my dresser wondering what in God's name made me think that THAT bathing suit made sense. Ever. It makes even less sense now. It's damn near fluorescent. Perfect for Halloween actually and when I'm in it, rather pumpkin-shaped.

I work part-time at an employment centre in a town of 10,000 people. The only thing worse to do for money in a small town (if you prefer anonymity like I do) would be to be a shrink. I've realized that I really MUST get over being seen by every single person who has ever passed through our office looking for work or I can just hole up, order in, duck and cover. I've tried that. It's hellishly boring. Being seen in a bathing suit is the ultimate "get over it" test. Well, next to being naked.

I get to the Rainbow Road Pool.   I peer inside. Nobody I know is there. Thank you mother of Mary. Well, nobody except the former Olympic swim coach whom I met earlier yesterday who needs to talk to me about something. Is there no mercy? Not now!!!

When it's time for the class to start, I put on one of those foam belts that helps you float (or not drown) since it's a deep water class.  It helps me float so well I feel like I might just begin to levitate over the water the way the good year blimp floats over major sporting event. Note to self: Might not need the flotation device. How about a body fat test instead?

Apparently, my flotation device also doubles as a homing device that works better than a cruise missile. It's target, however, is any body bobbing next to mine. I'm like a big pale white rubber duckie bobbing and teetering and uncontrollably bouncing towards any other wet body near me. Trying not to collide with another means my legs must kick so hard under the water, I begin to picture one of those  old fashioned egg beaters making cupcake icing.

If that isn't bad enough, when I turn my attention to the rest of the class, I'm even a little more horrified.
I'm not sure what it is about these classes but regardless of where you are in the Western Hemisphere or what the instructor on the deck of the pool is doing, it has little resemblence whatsoever to what is happening in the pool. She's got one of those microphones that's attached to a plastic head band and I think, if you're air traffic control, we're in trouble. Remember that Kelly dearest? Kerrisdale. Circa 1996. Aquafit laugh-a-thon.

These women take their aquafit exercising seriously. Well, some of them. The others act as if they're not even in a class or in a bathing suit or in a pool. They're in a coffee shop. They're catching up on their children's  teenage dramas, other people's pet traumas and the obituaries in last week's Gulf Islands' Driftwood. We're not in Tim Hortons Ladies. Hellloooooo! That comes later. Except, there isn't a single franchise of anything here and we do indeed love it like that. (Actually that's a lie, I didn't know that Canadian Tire owned Marks WorkWearhouse).

And, that was that. I did it. I've done it twice now. And I'm gonna do it again. Anyone care to join me?

Not a Green Thumb? Aim for a Green Tongue!

 

A few links:

Recipes

Salt Spring Seeds

Seed Savers Exchange

Agchat

Organic Consumers Association

 
I've been deliciously devouring the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, A Year of Food Life, by author Barbara Kingsolver perhaps most well known for The Poisonwood Bible. Her eldest daughter Camille Kingsolver ads in her observations with research back-up contributed by her husband Steven L. Hopp.

She wrote the book in 2007 detailing her family's move from Tuscon, Arizona to her husband's small farm in the Southern Appalachians. It's full of interesting and alarming facts about food sourcing and their decision to grow everything they eat, to find it locally, to align their food choices with the growing season.

It's the American version of The 100 Mile Diet but with more research behind the politics of food sourcing and convincing enough to smack an unconscious mouth into forming a small hesitant question mark before popping in the next bit of artificial sweetened, trans-fatted, square food morsel.

Now, just in case you're a slow learner, I'm not an "early adopter" (do ya think?) and it's quite ridiculous to admit this considering where I now live but coming from the city, I'm used to sleepwalking into a grocery store and practically sleepeating what I've hunted and gathered from the place. That's a slight exaggeration of course. I did shop at Capers which, in hindsight, is a halloween costume of organic lies.  But, I've never eaten an organic piece of meat because I always get this picture of a gentleman farmer chasing something all over the poperty, getting it in a headlock, wrestling it to the ground and just doing an allround messy job of the finale. Crazy I know.

I've never grown anything. Not even a single pot plant. When I buy garden plants, they're already started. Seeds? Huh? Do they still make those? You may not know that humans, in our illustrious history, have eaten 80,000 plant species. Now we eat about eight with even that number heading in a reduced direction to genetically modified corn, soy and canola and who knows, perhaps just a single pill a day by 2040.

I've lived here on Salt Spring for two years now and I'm surrounded by locally grown food whether it be available at farm stalls, at the Saturday and Tuesday Farmer's Market in the Park, at the various farms that open their gates to hungry locals, the gardens growing behind restaurants (Harbour House and Hastings House come initially to mind), in neighbour's backyards, on apple trees, the mushrooms and fungi growing wild beside forested trails, rosehips and blackberries.

I'm at the market almost every Saturday as a result of selling my photographs and only recently have I become a little adamant about eating the locally grown greens, vegetables, fruits that are bulging out of the booths of the farmers who live here.

So, here's my goal and a challenge for you in case you're slow like me.  Try and pay attention to where the food you're buying comes from, how far away that is, whether it's possible to buy locally grown and to eat "in season".

Maybe if I do that, I'll be more motivated to open a cookbook, have someone for dinner,  find recipes that befit the bounty all around. Baby steps. Everything in moderation. What's for breakfast?

Have you changed something about the way you purchase food or what you eat in the last couple of years?