Life's a Stitch

The end of the camping season was signalled as we descended from summer in the mountains to autumn on the coast. It seems the colours of fall now includes the all too familiar orange smoky conditions from forest fires with resulting air quality alerts.

The fires we passed last year were tame compared to this out of control blaze . 

The Hope/Flood fire grew to ten times this size with seven full time helicopters employed to dump their buckets of river water high on the mountain’s ridge. 

 

On the positive side, the change of seasons on our second trip this year to Lake Pinantan, gave us spectacular sun rises. 

Wildlife-wise is was the quintessential Canadian camping trip as we saw bear, beaver, deer, and were awakened in two locations to the howls of large packs of coyote. We successfully fished for trout and Kokanee. 

 

In between the two lakes we spent two days in Kamloops visiting friends, Mack and Rika, who toured us around and hosted us at their beautiful home.

Winterizing the trailer is next on the agenda, unpacking the food and linens, filling the water lines with non toxic antifreeze. In denial, I’m scheming one more quick trip out. 

Summer stories from the water, first one is a fish tale. Logan Lake has become our camping home, the place we stop between our house and BC's interior. It's a pleasant small municipal campground with a stocked lake. Chuck spends a fair amount of time on the dock, meeting other campers and exchanging fishing experiences. He put his rod down and turned his back for a brief moment and splash! His rod and reel was pulled off by a trout and away it went. Not the Walmart equipment, but the Cabella's rod and reel that was a Father's Day gift.

Along came two guys in a boat who pointed to the general area where they saw it on the bottom of the lake. Thank goodness for BC's crystal clear water. With the his largest hook and a heavy weight, he started casting and dragging. On the third try, voila! Up came the rod and reel and attached to it a good sized trout! You might think this uniquely near impossible, but  SIL Sean had the same experience last year. Add in the few traditional prayers said to Saint Anthony, the patron saint of lost objects…

The second story belongs to SIL KC, trying out his new inflatable paddle board from the beach, a ten minute walk from our house. While on the water, he discovered his sunglasses no longer on his head and his fitbit missing from his wrist. Luckily a swimmer with goggles was nearby, and after estimating distance, was able to retrieve the glasses. The fitbit wasn't to be found. Three days later KC was determined. Unbelievably he located it on the rocky portion of the beach. Three days of tides and wind had washed it ashore. 

Two happy guys!

Another happy Wilboe man cooking on the beach:

Sausages on the beach have become a tradition when the kids are here.

 

We’ve just returned from our yearly camping trip with the Edmonton contingent. This Oregon coast trip was previously cancelled due to Covid border restrictions, so it was two years delayed. On the ferry from Whidbey Island, Wa to Port Townsand:

The beach at Nehalem Bay Campground, our ultimate destination:

The highlights:

– Two successful crabbing expeditions, one in a rented boat and one off the beach in a kayak, yielded two Dungeness dinners in a row for six.

– Picnic table painting:

Three snags amongst a foxglove field, the view on an early morning hike in search of painting subjects.

The calmer river side of the campground.

 

The term for outside painting may be in French, but I did these little paintings on our recent Canadian camping trip.

I’ve never particularly enjoyed watercolours outside: the wind, lack of space to spread out supplies and the hazards produced by birds flying over. This happened in France:

These were painted for Opus Art’s Plein Aire Challenge. I needed motivation to try again and was lucky to both avoid pooping birds and win a prize in their participant’s draw.

Top: painting from our picnic table at Lake Pinantan, BC

Bottom: same tree from two sides, Nicola Lake, BC

Don’t even know where to start. I have an excuse, I really do. Since my last post I was informed that a space had become available for David Smith’s watercolour tour in the southwest of France. A sudden cancellation, a fluke, I was meant to take it.

Here’s a preview of my first finished painting while there.

It'a been a long pandemic. I write as if it's over, but statistically speaking it's not. Looking at the North American population data I was surprised at the differences. In Canada, 1 person in ten caught Covid, in the US it was 1 in 4.  Amazing considering we were months behind in the ability to obtain vaccines. It probably has to do with population density and the relatively greater numbers of people concentrated in US urban centres, along with higher rates of poverty and those lacking access to medical care. Somebody's got to think about these things and leave it to the former sociology, anthropology and counselling psych student to do just that. It was the US hitting a million Covid deaths that motivated the statistical exploration. In America one in 336 of the overall population died of Covid, in Canada it was 1 in 946. 

I was going to write about reemergence as I finally started the process a couple of weekends ago, taking my first in-person painting class after two long years. It was back in the saddle again with Marney-Rose Edge (@edgefineart) reinforcing what I've learned with her in the past – deliciously rich, multi-layered deep, dark backgrounds and transforming ordinary flower photos into watercolour backlit beauties. This one, 11×14, is based on my own reference photos.

Now that our fourth dose of vaccine has taken effect, I'm going to walk on the wild side. Masked, of course. We've been inside a restaurant only three times in two years, as this particular Japanese place has the equivalent of dining in your own little room. We're lucky that outside eating starts early in our neck of the woods. Tonight, though, we'll venture inside to a place more conventional. 

On Monday this butterfly will continue her emergence from the cocoon. We will be part of an audience for the first time in ages. We're breaking our fast with a Pink Martini concert, our fourth or fifth over the years, but the first one in three. I'm trusting that the days of hacking audience members are over. I remember going to see the Three Tenors on one New Year's Eve, where the stadium sounded like a TB ward. It even merited mention in a review. I hope those days are gone and that we all learned something about viral spread. 

 

 

There are far worse in the scheme of things, but this was a series of closely timed annoying events. After an enjoyable, but snowy Easter with family in Edmonton, I flew home while experiencing a combination sinus and ear infection. Not. A. Good. Idea. Landing was particularly bad pain-wise. The next day, Friday, I had a virtual visit with my doctor, who called in antibiotics. My mistake was attempting to pick them up after 5:00 pm. There was a glitch in the system and no prescription arrived, with no hope of one through the weekend.

Off I went to urgent care where I was informed that their definition of urgent "drop-in" care means to line up upon opening for an opportunity to book a visit, which are usually fully booked during the morning. Next stop: the ER. Luckily I qualified for the fast track section. While waiting I received a phone call from the coordinator of the art society weekend show, the first in over a year, informing me that my feature framed and hung painting had fallen from the wall and smashed to the ground. The framing wire had frayed and broken. I took deep breaths and reminded myself to think like a Buddhist. There was nothing I could do until the morning.

Meanwhile back at emergency, my eardrum was near bursting, indeed requiring another antibiotic prescription. We found a late night pharmacy and dropped it off, only to discover the resident on duty at the hospital had incorrectly filled in the form. The pharmacist reassured me that a phone call could fix it, but would require time. Off we went to the only open restaurant for dinner on the heated patio, the best part of the day.

Although in the heat of it I felt like Alexander, in the book about his no good terrible horrible very bad day, all's well that ended well. The medication appears to be working and although the glass in the frame was in a million pieces, the painting survived for the next show. Appropriately the title of the painting is "Sunnier Days."

 

 

I’ve blogged in the past about the rules of gifting that have developed in our family over the years. Something that plugs into the wall is generally not a gift. And it truly has to be a gift for the recipient, not something the giver has wanted. We’re finding the older we get, the more we appreciate gifts that are consumable and not likely to collect dust.

 

A couple of months ago, in a rare moment, C shared something online that he found quite uplifting. The Jerusalema Challenge was a positive break from the pandemic and recent news. Having issues with the video links, but I think this will work:

https://youtu.be/YDE9mdberHM

 

As soon as I saw it I knew what I wanted for my quickly approaching birthday, our own Jerusalema challenge. C took over and surprisingly the kids accepted with minimal complaining. Even good friends wanted in.

 

There are plenty of Youtube Jerusalema tutorials and I pictured a Zoom birthday party with simultaneous dancing. Instead we all recorded our bits and sent them off to our family filmmaker for editing, a better approach. So I present to you the Wilbo dance challenge. Give it a bit to download:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1bpK7_qma7I7SyD932Ixrg6GMhF1_GwSI/view

Although its exact history is unclear, the fable of the rainbow crow evolved from Native American mythology, telling how fire came to earth. 

 

Crows used to have beautiful voices and brightly coloured feathers. One harsh winter all creatures were cold and buried in the snow so they elect the colourful crow to fly and ask the creator for help. She’s given a sprig of fire to take back to earth. The fire melts the snow and saves the other animals, but crow arrived injured, with charred feathers and a hoarse smoky voice. Once healed, though, her shiny feathers shone a rich, deep black with all the colours of the rainbow. It’s a fable of selflessness and service.

I thought of rainbow crow on a recent walk at the beach. I bet there’s a story here.

 

Forgive this blog, that seems to be functioning eight weeks in the past while we deal with real life in the present. Just didn’t want to miss these, a random account of our time spent down south.

Let's take, for example, a most unique Christmas from C.  It was the first gift of our lives that elicited a look of horror on my face. I wish I had a picture, but M and KC assure me I conveyed my feelings adequately. He gave me three sessions for us to meet with a voice coach to learn a romantic duet. Susan, next door, is an opera singer who gives lessons. She told him the rules: no wine ahead of time. Strike one. Also no dairy, chocolate or peppermint. Who knew? And who could have predicted the torturous exercise of finding an appropriate song, which included a major argument in which the words Moon River will never be uttered, much less sung, in our house. Ever.

So we went, fortified by sheer bravery, raw nerves and a bottle of water. Susan told us, when working as a voice teacher at a music college in LA, she described herself as a dream quasher. So long story short we chose A Kenny Rogers and Sheryl Crow duet version of Let It Be Me. Three long sessions later I can say we accomplished something, even successfully, and the only thing quashed was perhaps C's idea of a romantic gift.

A highlight was a trip back to Painted Canyon for an alternative route of the ladder hikes. Along the way we accomplished an earth geocache, studying the area’s unusual and varied geography. 

The official Earth Cache photo, proving we were there:

I learned what I had been missing by delaying my morning walks until 8:00 a.m. An early morning zoom class gave me an opportunity to appreciate dawn’s golden hour.

Finally I have an unreasonable amount of photos taken from flights at 35,000 feet. This view of Mt. St. Helen’s crater was exceptional. 

And now we’re home, the house well taken care of during extraordinary cold and snow.