Dan Twizell And His 1929 Dodge

Dan Twizell
Dan Twizell

At the recent Harvest Dinner in Hedley I introduced myself to a man with a luxurious, white beard. He said, “My name is Dan Twizell. I’m the owner of that 1929 Dodge parked across the street.”

A week later Dan came to our home for coffee, driving the Dodge. In response to my question he said “I chased the car 10 years. The owner didn’t want to part with it but I called him every 6 months. Finally he agreed to sell. It came with only the body, windows and wheels. No motor, running gear or interior.”

I had never done painting, upholstery or body work. My friend Leroy Fague and I spent 13,000 hours over 5 years. I drive the Dodge everywhere. I don’t want it to be a garage queen.”

Dan Twizell & his 1929 Dodge
Dan Twizell & his 1929 Dodge

Dan was born near Prince Albert, Saskatchewan where his parents were homesteading a small acreage. Family income was meager and at an early age Dan began learning the importance of making sound decisions and being independent. “There was always a 30-30 Winchester at the back door,” he recalled. When he was 5 his father instructed, “don’t fool around with it. If you’re going to hunt, be sure you don’t need to use more than one shell.”

One day his father said, “we’re going to starve to death here. I’ll have to go west to look for work.” Two months later he sent train tickets for the family to join him in New Westminster, BC.

For me it wasn’t good timing,” Dan remembers. “I was just completing grade one. The school made me repeat the grade. They considered us farm kids who didn’t know much.”

For a kid who supposedly didn’t know much, he had a lively and practical mind. “On my 8th birthday I was given a wristwatch.” he said. “I went upstairs to my bedroom and took it apart.” Like many boys, myself included, he wanted to know what was inside. However, unlike most boys, he put it back together and it worked!

At the senior secondary level he opted for the trade school, an indication of his preference for a career that didn’t require sitting behind a desk in an office. “I heard they placed students in practical work assignments, like a tire shop and a dairy farm. I wanted the experience.”

When his parents bought the popular take-out Snack Shack near Aldergrove, he got plenty of cooking experience. “My parents worked there all day,” he said, “so when I came home, I needed to prepare supper for the family. My dad told me to make meals from scratch. Even now I do most of the cooking. I’m a throw it together cook.”

Upon completing high school he demonstrated he was a “roll up your sleeves and go to work” type of guy. He went to a garage to apply for a job. Seeing that the owner was busy, he removed his jacket and began pumping gas. Two hours later the owner said “o.k. you’re on the payroll as of a couple of hours ago.”

As a young man he drifted into beer drinking associations. “In time, I saw that the crowd I was with was becoming dependent on the pub. I wanted to get away from the pub so without telling anyone, I moved to another town.”

In his mid 20’s, he applied for a job as a heavy duty mechanic. “I was the happiest guy in the world when they made me a field mechanic. Often I’d come to work and there was a note telling me a float plane was waiting to take me to a job. I’d ask the pilot where we were going. I stayed with the company 30 years until I retired at age 56.”

Asked about his greatest success, he replied, “my wife Judy. We attended the same school but I didn’t meet her until we were both at a mutual friend’s Christmas Eve party.” They’ve been together 36 years, enjoying lots of camping, hunting and fishing.

In 2004 they moved to their present property, which they named Crazy Goat Acres, on Old Hedley Road. It was here he rebuilt the Dodge. Regrettably, the goats needed to be sold recently. Judy has MS now and walks with a cane. Even so, with chickens, ducks, 3 dogs, a horse, a donkey, and the Dodge, they’re pretty content.

World Series Provides Lesson For Life

Original caption: General view of Forbes Field, home of the Pittsburgh Pirates. October 1966 Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
Original caption: General view of Forbes Field, home of the Pittsburgh Pirates. October 1966 Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA

With baseball’s World Series approaching, hordes of loyal Canadians are once again placing faith in the hometown Toronto Blue Jays. I’m not one of them, even though I’m aware die-hard Jay fans may deem me to be unpatriotic, possibly even treasonous. I just can’t dredge up the fervour of my friend Abe who complains to his wife when they are invited out on a Jays game day.

For me baseball lost much of its mystique when the Brooklyn Dodgers moved to L.A. at the end of the 1957 season. Almost since childhood, I experienced a sense of awe and near reverence for them. Each year I hoped Duke Snyder, Jackie Robinson and Roy Campanella would lead a winning crusade against the hutzpah of the mighty New York Yankees. I got my wish only once, in 1955.

Recently my interest in baseball was somewhat rekindled by Jim Reisler’s, “The Best Game Ever”, an account of the 1960 World Series that matched the fabled, trophy rich Yankees against the underdog Pittsburgh Pirates. “Cinderella” teams like the Pirates still excite and inspire me, even though they aren’t likely to win the championship. I like them for their grit and unwillingness (or inability) to acknowledge that their soaring hopes will be dashed in the end.

The Yankees came with a proud history. Their teams had already won 18 Series, beginning in 1923. The Pirates had last reached the famed pinnacle of baseball success 35 years ago. They had no players of heroic stature to give them the resolve to battle legendary superstars like outfielders Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, catcher Yogi Berra, and pitcher Whitey Ford. The magical Yankees had a reputation for finding a way to win. The lowly Pirates could have wondered if, in placing them in the hands of this formidable team, fate had decided to punish them for some forgotten misdeed in their less than stellar past.

In spite of the intense psychological pressure that came with playing New York, the Pirates refused to quake or crack. They didn’t think of quitting even when they went scoreless in two games. They didn’t despair at the knowledge Yankee sluggers were hitting more home runs, 10 in total, compared to their 4. At times the lethal bats of the Yankees were driving in runs almost at will, seeming to portend impending disaster for the less powerful Pirates. Still they refused to fold.

I pay attention to the world of sports, at least in part, because at times there are lessons I can apply in my own life. In this David and Goliath contest, I’m impressed by the Pirates’ capacity and will to battle tenaciously against a vastly more talented team. I’m reminded of the words of a black actress who had grown up in a big city ghetto. Personal experience had convinced her that “it’s always too soon to quit.” This is particularly true when we face challenges in health, relationships, finances or employment. As a friend once told me, “something unexpected can happen to change the odds.”

In this epic contest the Yankees had 91 hits to the Pirates 60. Their team batting average was .336. The Pittsburgh average was a meager .256. Mantle’s personal average was .400. Berra batted .318 Howard’s average was .462.

The Pirates hit a lot of singles. They benefited from solid pitching and fielding, and an unflinching determination to battle on to the last inning and the umpire’s final “out!” At the end of the sixth game, the series was tied at 3 games each. Compared to New York’s hefty margins in their wins, the Pirates margins seemed anemic.

Now, in the seventh and final game, the Yankees had tied the score in the first half of the ninth inning. The pressure was intense as the Pirates’ second baseman Bill Mazeroski strode purposefully to the plate. He was not known as a home run threat, but his bat connected solidly and he smashed a rising line drive toward the left field fence. Fans watched, scarcely breathing, as the ball soared upward and over the wall, the only game 7 “walk off” home run in World Series history. The Pirates erupted in wild jubilation at having won. The shocked Yankees stood in disbelief.

Later Mickey Mantle said, “We scored 55 runs to their 27. The best team lost.” In baseball, and in life, “it’s always too soon to quit.”

Mazeroski's Home Run
Mazeroski’s Home Run

Candace Has Run!


During my years working with young offenders at the One Way Adventure Foundation in Hedley, we at times had students run away, especially from the Residential Attendance Program (RAP). The students in RAP were sent by a judge and were deemed among the most difficult and devious. When they arrived, most were burdened by a history of failure, a gnawing sense of despair.

Pretty 15 year old Candace was in this program and when I heard on my 2-way radio that she had just run, I was disappointed but not particularly surprised. Possibly the prettiest female student ever assigned to RAP, at times she was also the loneliest and saddest. The referring probation officer had expressed concern she was drifting inexorably into drug using associations and a criminal culture. The judge said, “By sending you to Hedley, I’m giving you a chance to think about your life.”

From the beginning, Candace exhibited a volatile emotional state. In her happy moments she brushed her black shoulder length hair until it shone in the Hedley sun. At such times she wore clean jeans and usually a white blouse. Her effervescent laughter lifted the spirits of those around her. In these happy moments, she sparkled and could have been a successful beauty queen contestant. On group outings to Penticton, men sometimes gazed at her unabashedly.

Now dusk was already approaching. She must have hoped she could elude us in the coming darkness. Almost certainly her plan was to get to the # 3 highway, which passed through our community. With her attractive face and pleasing figure, any trucker would be quick to stop.

Fortunately she didn’t get that far. “She’s on the rock bluff overlooking the highway,” the voice on the radio announced. “Threatening to jump.”

Already I saw her slim figure high on the bluff, facing away from me toward the other side where several staff were gathered, anxiously looking upward. From this high perch I faintly heard her voice, tinged with desperate despondency. “You come up and I’ll jump!” Strenuous urging to come down might cause her to become unhinged mentally and emotionally. She needed time. I realized though that even if we waited, inner turmoil might compel her to leap.

Intent on keeping those on the other side of the bluff under surveillance, she had not noticed me. Realizing I was out of her line of sight, I began climbing up the unstable shale, proceeding carefully so I wouldn’t send chunks of rock clattering down.

After climbing steadily for about 10 minutes, my upper body was at a level where I could see her standing, no more than 4 meters away. Not wanting her to think I might attempt to seize her, I didn’t ascend higher.

When she ceased shouting down at the workers, I said quietly, “Candace, I’m here. I won’t come closer.”

Surprised, she turned to face me, then sat down resignedly on a large rock. “It’s no use Art,” she said. “I’m tired of trying. It’s too hard. No one cares.” A tear trickled slowly down one cheek. I knew the workers closest to her cared deeply, but we were not her family. “My mom and sisters have come once in 3 months. The farther away I am, the better they like it.” She brushed away the tear.

You’re very special to everyone here,” I said.

Without my family, I have nothing.” She turned toward the darkening valley. “Don’t come close,” she warned. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Although I felt she had come to trust me somewhat during the past 3 months, she was now shutting me out. The workers below realized someone was attempting to engage her and had grown silent. I was concerned that once darkness settled in, her gloom would become more intense. Sensing she had drifted into a realm beyond my reach, I whispered a desperate silent prayer. Even now I don’t know if I expected an answer. “Candace,” I said. “I’ve been asking God to put his arms around you and keep you safe.”

She sat unresponsive for a long moment and I wondered if she had heard my words. Then, in the fading light I saw her rise and silently come in my direction. Not knowing what to expect, I stepped aside on the shale. She passed and cautiously began descending. Candace had found hope for another day.

Through An Artist’s Lens

Harvey Donahue, artist
Harvey Donahue, artist

I’m convinced local Similkameen artist Harvey Donahue views the world through a very different lens than most of us. Where we might see only an abandoned house bleached by the sun, or an ancient, decrepit logging truck left to rust in the woods, Harvey is likely to see unique beauty. For him these relics of the past could be worthy of an honoured place on his canvas. “Old houses can be beautiful,” he told Linda and me. “When I see one, I’m inspired to paint.”

Photo of Bill Robinson's cabin, taken Jan. 2015
Photo of Bill Robinson’s cabin, taken Jan. 2015

I first heard from Harvey almost 2 years ago after I wrote about Bill Robinson’s iconic cabin along the Sumallo River in Manning Park. “I painted that cabin and the outbuilding before they fell into disrepair,” he said. “I’d like to send you a copy of the original.” That was the beginning of a phone relationship until he visited our home two weeks ago. On that occasion he surprised us with the framed, original painting of the snow bedecked Robinson cabin and outbuilding. For some reason known only to himself, he very generously presented it to Linda and myself. It is likely the best representation of that scene in existence today. It’s a gift we prize highly.

Being raised in Lac Ste. Anne, a Metis village in Alberta, very likely played a key role in the formation of how Harvey views the scenes and people around him. Now age 80, he retains vivid memories and images of those early years. He recounted them as though talking about individual mental snapshots from his past. “I started trapping when I was about 7 or 8. When my uncle moved away, I took over his trapline. Mostly I trapped weasels and sent the skins to a company in Edmonton. There was an annual pilgrimage of Metis people to our village. Some Cree came too. I attended school only until I completed grade 10,” he said. “Metis youths were encouraged to drop out after grade 8. We were called half breeds. I grew up feeling shame at being Metis. I used to tell people I was French. I remember that my dad had a few cows, some chickens and a garden.”

Although there wasn’t money for art lessons, he began painting at age 10. “When I was 14,” he remembers, “I painted a mermaid luring a ship onto the rocks. I still have that painting.”

His negative view of the Metis heritage began to shift at about age 20. “I decided I should be responsible for my existence. I began studying my Metis heritage and learned that my grandfather Gabriel Balcourt supported Louis Riel. He is listed on a plaque naming supporters.”

Harvey’s first wife was Metis and they had 4 children before she passed away. As he matured, his appreciation of the Metis heritage blossomed. “I became proud of being Metis,” he said. After moving to the Lower Mainland, he started a Metis organization and built it to 500 members. He is gratified that it is still functioning.

Harvey Donahue with Metis flag in the background
Harvey Donahue with Metis flag in the background

Harvey believes the Metis heritage shaped him. His life experiences, including the early discrimination, seem to have given him an understanding that we should not be quick to discount or discard our past. I sensed he has come to a deep realization that a historic structure or event represents what was important to people at an early time and place. It tells us about their culture, values and life experiences. It’s a connection with our past.

When I see a scene that is likely to disappear, I take a picture and paint it,” he said. “I paint heritage scenes so they won’t be lost to the next generation.”

As an example he told us about one painting that depicts an old truck standing near a grove of trees. “Shortly after I completed that painting,” he told us, “the trees were cut down.” Sometimes he adds something to a painting. One of my favourite scenes is of the one way bridge in Princeton. He placed his own pickup truck in this picture.

Painting by Harvey Donahue of Princeton Bridge, with his Dodge pickup in the foreground.
Painting by Harvey Donahue of Princeton Bridge, with his Dodge pickup in the foreground.

Harvey views the Similkameen Valley with the watchful, observant eyes of an artist. “When the sun rises in the east,” he said, “you see subtle colours in the west.” He paused and then added, “art and music are important. They help us appreciate life, the past and the present, that exists all around us.”

Len Roberts’ Vision Changed Lives


Len Roberts at Camp Colonial Lodge
Len Roberts at Camp Colonial Lodge

When I received the message early last week that my friend Len Roberts had made his final exit from the stage of life, it was as though my personal world shifted on its axis. He was one of those rare, larger than life individuals whose words and actions shape the lives of people around them.

I first met Len when I applied for a job with the One Way Adventure Foundation, then headquartered in Surrey. He wanted me to receive training in the organization’s wilderness skills program in Hedley. On June 30, 1974, he picked me up at my home in rural Abbotsford. During the 3 hour drive he introduced me to the history, philosophy, and methods of the Foundation.

Jean and I had a booth at the Cloverdale Fair, promoting Bowron Lakes Canoe Expeditions,” he began. “A probation officer asked if we’d take a group of their young clients. We agreed and for 9 days we had a bunch of devious, rowdy teens in the wilderness, away from the city and their friends. When we returned with the kids still alive, the probation officer invited us to develop a program for their toughest cases. Soon 20 or more untamed youths were arriving at our home every morning and we began noticing our neighbours anxiously peering through slits in closed curtains. This convinced us we needed to get the kids away from our neighbourhood.”

The Roberts established the One Way Adventure Foundation and bought 3 acres with a house and small barn. That was the beginning of an effective and fairly unique approach to working with teens who were no longer welcome in their own community, school or home.

In time they realized they required a more remote setting, so they purchased Camp Colonial on the outskirts of Hedley. They added vehicles, canoes, back packing equipment and more. This enabled workers to take students away from familiar street haunts and associations. It permitted students to participate in adventures that developed an awareness of their potential. It also fostered relationships between students and workers.

That first summer, under the leadership of a wilderness skills instructor, my 5 boys and I canoed the Bowron Lakes circuit. We were bitten by horse flies and hordes of mosquitoes, felt the pain of canoe yokes digging into our shoulders while portaging between lakes, paddled all day in rain, and took turns doing bear watch at night. In the evenings around a campfire, I read to them from Jack London’s wonderful book,”Call of the Wild”. On the 9th day when we landed on the last shore, the students spontaneously formed a victory circle. As predicted by Len’s teaching, it had been a relationship and character building adventure.

Throughout those years Len and Jean were a potent team. Len had the vision and unassuming charisma that attracted workers. He looked for individuals willing to descend into the trenches and do what was needed. During my time, 2 former students who had completed their program returned and entered our one year training for new staff. Both became valued leaders in the organization. Sometimes less educated staff demonstrated a wonderful sensitivity that allowed them to develop strong bonds with the students. Again and again, Len reminded us that relationships were key.

While Len was bringing in new workers, buying vans and small green 4×4 toyotas (toads), and acquiring buildings needed for programs, Jean tightened the organizational nuts and bolts. She kept the wheels on the rails.

That the system changed lives is attested to by Hedley’s Post Master, Ruth Woodin. She told me that since the doors of the Foundation were closed in the early 1990’s, a number of former students have come into the P.O. and said, “I was a kid here years ago. It changed my life.” Not all have achieved success, of course, but we know of many who now have families and are holding jobs.

In a quiet way, always trusting God for guidance, Len stirred our imagination and spirit, imbuing us with a sense of mission. His compelling presence and unwavering commitment drew us to the work. We wanted to be part of his vision. We wanted to give young people a more optimistic understanding of who they were created to be.

For many Len Roberts was rare and special. For me he became a valued friend.

Art Martens with his friend, Len Roberts
Art Martens with his friend, Len Roberts

It’s A Race Car!


Fred Bell & his race car.
Fred Bell & his race car.

I’ve known for some time that Fred Bell races cars in Penticton. A few days ago I noticed a beat up vehicle on a trailer in front of his home. When I met him and Linda on the street yesterday I asked, “what are you going to do with that wreck on the trailer in front of your house?”

Almost in unison they replied, “that’s not a wreck. It’s a race car!”

I apologized for insulting what they obviously considered a very special car. “Come over and have a look,” Fred offered.


About 15 minutes later I showed up with my camera for a close up inspection of the car, which I learned is a 1972 Monte Carlo. I still thought it appeared extraordinarily trashed and wondered how it could possibly race.

He won a trophy in Penticton with it last weekend,” Linda assured me. “He posted the fastest time in the Heat Race.”

Fred told me with understandable pride he broke a 14 year record in the quarter mile event. “My time was was 16.33,” (seconds) he said. “I’m in 5th place overall for the season.” It’s not surprising he wins. He started racing at age 15. At that time, his father owned the Big Horn Speedway in Keremeos.

I was amazed to learn the car has only 2 forward gears. “It’ll go 80 mph in first,” Fred said.

The car is so banged up because of the “hit to pass” rule. “I’ll have to do some repairs before I race this weekend,” Fred said. “It costs me $7,000 a season to run it. There is no prize money so I’m looking for sponsors to help with the cost.” To raise funds he offers rides at the raceway to all comers. Cost per ride is $20.00. Be sure to turn off your hearing aids though. The roar of that powerful motor will shatter your ear drums.

Fred told me he races because “it’s fun.” It’s definitely not the prettiest car in town but it may be the fastest.

Three Donuts

Left to Right: Jeremy (my son), Neil (a friend) & myself. The donuts were already consumed.
Left to Right: Jeremy (my son), Neil (a friend) & myself. The donuts were already consumed.

At the wedding of our grand daughter Jordana this summer, the caterers provided large platters piled high with freshly made glazed donuts. This apparently was in deference to the groom, a Mountie. Because I find donuts virtually irresistible, we don’t have them in our home. I later confessed to Linda I’d eaten three. She didn’t express even minimal empathy when I had a restless night.

Half a dozen beer might have been more beneficial than the donuts, but Dr. Rashid Buttar would not approve of either. In “9 Steps to Keep the Doctor Away”, he offers an extensive program for optimal health. Admittedly, he’s somewhat of a “no fun guy.” “Cut out all pastries,” he admonishes the reader, then adds, without apology, “also no processed foods, no sugar, no soft drinks.” He would disapprove of virtually every food that rates close to a 10 out of 10 on my personal list of favourite meals. Pyrogies, for example, and mashed potatoes. Both with gravy. Add to this mix Linda’s home made buns and cookies. And frozen Wild Black Cherry yogurt. See what I mean when I say he’s a no fun guy?

According to Dr. Buttar, by faithfully staying away from his forbidden list we promote the cleansing of the body and achieve more robust health. As should be expected, he unabashedly advocates eating only organic and drinking no coffee or alcohol.

A very small percentage of individuals possess the wisdom and discipline to live in the manner prescribed by Dr. Buttar. I do not qualify for membership in this elite minority of Super Persons. For me, healthy habits are difficult to develop. Unhealthy ones are difficult to discard. However, last year I was becoming aware of the excessive toll time was exacting on my body. This prompted me to pick up Dr. Buttar’s book. It was time to cease being complacent, believing my body could single handedly cope with the various additives in our food and toxins in the air and water.

In spite of grumbling about Dr. Buttar’s stringent program, I quickly realized he does offer interesting and helpful counsel concerning exercise, meditation or prayer (he isn’t fussy about which form we choose), cleansing the body of toxins, drinking plenty of water, and more. He also urges us to laugh often, so maybe I’m unfair in saying he’s a no fun guy.

I noted that some prominent U.S. physicians have roundly condemned Dr. Buttar, but I wasn’t troubled by this. How could I argue with an approach that preaches prevention rather than waiting for an illness to strike and then being given a prescription that might have unwelcome side effects?

An experience about a dozen years ago helped me give the 9 Steps a fair evaluation. My back was seriously injured in a case of medical malpractice and the medical profession had no remedy. My MD prescribed powerful pain killers that induced suicidal thoughts. At night I sat on the floor of our livingroom, thinking about throwing myself under the wheels of a dump truck. My other thought was a desire to break the legs of the man who had so cavalierly performed a maneuver whose disastrous outcome he should have foreseen. “We didn’t know what to do with you,” the MD told me later.

By the time the problem was somewhat corrected, permanent damage had occurred and my physical strength was depleted. I pretty much needed to start over.

A personal trainer convinced me to get serious about stretches and exercise. Linda joined me in this. Now, before breakfast, we stretch and exercise with the fervour of an 8th century monk. Well, that may be embellishing somewhat, but we rarely make exceptions, even on Christmas morning and on our birthdays. I don’t claim we enjoy it, just that for us it’s necessary.

Why the emphasis on exercise? “It causes a more efficient use of sugar,” Dr. Buttar says. “Also, it decreases blood pressure and heart rate. It increases lean body mass and strengthens the immune system. It increases range of movement, recovery and stamina.” Oh yes, it also enhances sex drive.

It’s generally accepted by medical people that nutrition and physical activity play a significant role in preventing cancer, stroke, heart attack, diabetes and other health issues. I am careful, but also human. If there is another Mountie wedding, I may still establish a new personal donut consumption record.

He Still Lives Mightily

John Merriman of Keremeos, BC
John Merriman of Keremeos, BC

After our conversation with 97 year old John Merriman in his Keremeos home, Linda was reminded of counsel offered by the ancient Israeli King Solomon. In his Old Testament book Ecclesiastes, Solomon urged “whatever your hand finds to do, do it mightily.” John has certainly packed a lot of living into his years. He lived in a time when men doing physical work often needed to contend with daunting expectations and challenges. His lean, still robust frame and resolute attitude suggest the inner steel required in those early unforgiving decades.

John was born near Des Moines, Iowa, then at age 5 was taken by his parents to England. In 1927 the family emigrated to Canada and settled on a farm in Birch Hill, Saskatchewan. Here he developed a rugged work ethic. “I clipped sheep, castrated hogs and worked on machinery,” he said. “I was mechanically inclined.”

Later, as a young man I got a job on a farm working for $100 a year.” According to “Stories by John Merriman”, a book written by a great grand daughter, he had a deep religious experience during this time and it shaped the rest of his life.

He subsequently worked on a road building operation. “We were cutting spruce timbers into cord wood, using swede saws, cross cut saws and axes. This is where I first saw a man working with a chain saw. Two men with a cross cut saw could buck logs faster than he could.”

They were working in muddy terrain and often up to 4 layers of logs needed to be laid down. “The earth sucked them under,” he explained. “Somewhere there is probably still a D6 cat buried in the mud out there.”

On a sawmill job he displayed resolve and steady nerves. “A man had his hand cut off by a big saw,” he remembered. “We applied a tourniquet and bandaged the wound. I put him in my car and we set off to the nearest doctor. Every few miles my car came to a stop. The points were corroded so I’d file them. When we met a police car, I stopped in the middle of the road so he couldn’t pass. We put the man in his car and I returned to the mill. All work had ceased because no one would go near the hand still lying there. I buried it.”

In 1942 he enlisted in the Canadian army and was assigned to the Signal Corps. “They paid me $1.10 a day. The food wasn’t so good though, mutton day after day.”

They were each given a “house wives” kit and expected to darn their own socks, or pay for new ones. “As a boy I had watched my mom darn,” he said, “so I could figure out how to do it. Most of the men smoked. I chewed snuff which cost me 10 cents a can. It damaged my teeth and gums though and when it went up to 75 cents, I quit.”

In Italy the truck he was driving was hit by German artillery. It burned up and he suffered burns to his face and arms. “They covered the burns with vaseline and put me in a tent with other disabled men. The tent smelled so bad the food was delivered to the door in a tub and left there. Some men had lost their arms and we helped them eat.”

While John was away, his father lost the family farm due to medical bills. John had saved his army pay, and upon discharge he bought another farm so his father could be on the land again. John began putting together a mill business and also a very successful trucking and construction company.

In March 1945 he went to the local improvement office to pay his taxes. Here he met Doris. “I never had time to fool around, so I married her in June,” he said. They had seven children, and enjoyed 60 years together before she passed away.


Now, deep in retirement he remains active. In 1989 he began driving for the Citizens Patrol. In recent years he has been driving people to medical appointments, to buy groceries, etc. He looks after the 50-50 draws at OAP functions. “After you’re 90,” he said, “they give you a free membership.”

Today John Merriman’s strong hands continue to find things to do, and he does them mightily.

Similkameen Pow Wow 2016

Once again the Similkameen Pow Wow at the Ashnola Campground was a spectacular, uplifting event. The big drum boomed almost constantly, dancers in colourful and elaborate regalia swirled with energy, often with ecstasy and joy. Superbly organized, it honoured the culture of the people. Lauren Terbasket, a member of the organizing group described it as a celebration of life. Certainly the upbeat atmosphere suggested an attitude of celebration on the part of participants and spectators. Most of the action was on the dance floor but on the far side of the open structure, Linda and I were surprised to see numerous booths. Small time entrepreneurs were selling clothes, beads, jewelry, food and various momentos.

One of our purposes in attending was to record the Pow Wow for the blog. We found the dancers very willing to be photographed, as though this was a recognition of their efforts in producing their splendid regalia. Without exception they gladly and unhesitatingly answered our questions, in some cases smiling as they spoke. For us, dialoguing with a number of the dancers was one of the highlights.

Rod from Merritt
Rod from Merritt
Damen from Mount Currie
Damen from Mount Currie
Nightrunner from Kootanie
Nightrunner from Kootanie
Deanne & Beai from Kelowna
Deanne & Beai from Kelowna
Cheyenne & her daugter, Samore (age 3). From Agassiz.
Cheyenne & her daugter, Samore (age 3). From Agassiz.
A group of "young warriors".
A group of “young warriors”.
Grand Entry begins.
Grand Entry begins.
A Drumming Circle
A Drumming Circle
Snapshot of the audience.
Snapshot of the audience.
Enterprising entrepreneurs set up tents & booths to display and sell their wares.
Enterprising entrepreneurs set up tents & booths to display and sell their wares.



Fulfillment From Service To Community

Art at anti-SE2 rally
Art at anti-SE2 rally

 With children back in classrooms and the benign sunny days of summer largely a fond memory, autumn is a good time to make a decision that will reward us with deep satisfaction and fulfillment. Experience has demonstrated to Linda and myself, and to many others, that being active in our community can stir up a surprising sizzle of adventure. Of the approximately 80 individuals with whom I’ve had conversations for this space over the past 2 years, most have been, or still are ardent contributors to their community. Whether helping in a thrift store, driving seniors to appointments, or rallying to a larger issue, whatever their age, I have found them to be upbeat and vibrant.

Linda and I have learned that being active in our community brings useful insights, powerful memories and lasting friendships. While living in Abbotsford in the 1990’s, a U.S. corporation proposed to construct a highly polluting gas fired power plant, Sumas Energy 2 (SE2), just across the border from our community. Due to the prevailing air flow, most of the plant’s dirty emissions would migrate to our side, endangering the health of humans, animals and crops. Citizens were aghast.

SE2 applied to the National Energy Board (NEB) for permission to build a power line across Abbotsford to access the B.C. Hydro power grid. Our provincial government could have opposed this but in spite of many promises during the election campaign, it remained on the sidelines, mute and indifferent.

With hordes of SE2 and NEB attorneys ready to advise and direct the proceedings, Linda and I, like most in our community, decided this issue was well beyond our experience and capability.

The NEB invited citizens to participate in the hearings as intervenors but when the local newspaper published the list of those who had signed up, there were only 17. Linda said, “that’s not enough. We’ll have to get involved.” She meant I would have to sign up and she would support me.

Several letters to the local newspaper expressed the prevailing gloomy sentiment. “Don’t waste your time. The Yanks always win.”

Linda and I invited 8 friends to our home to discuss the issue. I asked city Councillor Patricia Ross and future mayor Mary Reeves to come and tell us what they knew. Several concerned individuals we didn’t know phoned and asked to attend. At a subsequent meeting a week later, we had 21 people, mostly strangers, in our livingroom, some sitting on the floor. Desperate to create some momentum, I said, “would anyone object to setting a goal of 10,000 letters from this community to the NEB?” I offered to write a form letter people could use.

The group enthusiastically endorsed the idea. We came to be known in the media as the SE2 Action Group. MLA John van Dongen supplied paper and the use of his photo copier. Several businesses made the letter available. Attendance at the meetings in our home swelled, with many people willingly sitting on the floor or standing. Our little group became a potent catalyst that gave people hope. Many citizens picked up copies of the letter and distributed them. The Berry Festival provided a booth, and there were line ups to sign the letter. This also happened at a huge community rally. The big city media took notice and showed up.

In the SE2 Action Group, close friendships were developing. We were coalescing into a tightly knit bunch, growing bolder in our strategies and tactics. For Linda and me it was fascinating to observe the community gaining hope and coming together. Defeatist letters to the editor ceased.

The NEB came to town and hundreds of citizens crowded into a large hall. So many had signed up as intervenors, the hearings required several days. We had reached our 10,000 letter goal but even so, NEB staffers cautioned us not to expect a favourable decision. To everyone’s amazement and SE2’s consternation, the Board ruled in our favour. Then the Federal Appeals Court also sided with us.

Countless citizens had worked tirelessly to accomplish what many had considered impossible. We were rewarded with feelings of deep satisfaction, fulfillment, and incredible exhilaration. Also with lasting friendships and an understanding that the impossible is possible.

Autumn is a great time to get out of the eddy of our own complacency. A time to begin reaping the rewards that come when we do something positive for our community.