Category Archives: Inspiration

Winnie the Pooh, Antidote to Anxiety

Two years ago on my birthday, our neighbours Tap and Di gave me a hand crafted plaque with the inscription, “AN OLD BEAR LIVES HERE …WITH HIS HONEY.” Tap is a gifted artisan and I greatly value the gesture. To this day the plaque reminds me of the time when our children Jeremy and Vivian were age 5 and 7. At bedtime, Linda read for them a chapter from A.A. Milne’s “Winnie the Pooh.” Invariably there were bursts of delighted laughter and many exclamations of surprise. The children are adults now and have families of their own. For Linda and me the memories linger, with more than a touch of nostalgia. Now another birthday is looming on the horizon, and last week Linda and I again read the story.

Winnie the Pooh and Piglet, E.H. Shephard Illustration
Britannica, Image: Advertising Archive/Courtesy/Everett Collection

At the outset of the narrative, we are introduced to the Hundred Aker Wood, an environment uncluttered by television, computers, the internet or hectic social lives. Pooh, his special friend Christopher Robin, Piglet, Rabbit, Owl, Kanga and Roo, are blithely unaware of the larger world beyond the wood.

We find Pooh, frequently referred to by his friends as “a bear of little brain,” sitting at the foot of a tree with his head between his paws, trying to think. “That buzzing noise must mean something,” he says, “The only reason I know for making a noise like that is because you’re a bee. The only reason I know of for being a bee is making honey. And the only reason for making honey is so I can eat it.” Pooh’s thought processes are pretty basic, often centred on obtaining honey. In this case he borrows a balloon from Christopher Robin and it lifts him to the top of a tree where the bees are. One stings him and he decides these are the wrong kind of bees, and they probably make the wrong kind of honey. Having not thought about how he and the balloon would descend, he remains suspended near the top of the tree. Finally he asks Christopher Robin to shoot a hole in the balloon with his gun. Christopher Robin does this and Pooh floats slowly to the ground.

Although Pooh is a bear with little brain, at times he is very practical, even insightful. When he visits Eeyore, the donkey who lives in a corner of the wood where there is an abundance of thistles, he notices his friend is gloomier than usual. Hoping to discern why Eeyore is so sad he says, “Let’s have a look at you.” He walks around him, then says, “Why, what’s happened to your tail? It isn’t there!” Eeyore had not been aware of this and thought Pooh must be mistaken. Pooh tells him, “Either a tail is there or it isn’t there. You can’t miss it. You can’t make a mistake about it, and yours isn’t there.”

Eeyore, a chronic pessimist says, “Somebody must have taken it. How Like Them.” Wanting to help his friend, Pooh sets out for Owl’s place. “If anyone knows anything about anything,” he says to himself, “it’s Owl.” Fortunately he does find the tail and when Christopher Robin has nailed it on in its right place again, Eeyore frisks about the forest.

Pooh’s love for “a little something” at times creates a dilemma from which only Christopher Robin can deliver him. This happens when he squeezes through the narrow burrow into Rabbit’s home. Here he accepts Rabbit’s offer of honey and milk. He indulges enthusiastically and when he attempts to exit through the narrow opening of the burrow, he gets stuck and cannot move forward. “Oh bother,” he says. “I shall have to go back,” but he can’t move.

Rabbit fetches Christopher Robin who says, “Silly old Bear” in such a loving voice that everybody feels quite hopeful again. He declares, “There’s only one thing to be done. We shall have to wait for you to get thin again. That will take about a week, I should think. I’m afraid no meals, because of getting thin quicker, but we will read to you.” So, for a week Pooh grows thinner and then Christopher Robin says “Now.” He and Rabbit pull and all of rabbit’s friends and relations pull. Suddenly Pooh says, “Pop!” and he’s ejected like a cork out of a bottle. That’s Winnie the Pooh, more able to relieve pandemic anxiety than a session with a psychiatrist.

When Difficult Days Come

The decrepit truck which Jim rescued from a wrecking yard during his difficult days.

About 25 years ago a chiropractor performed an “old school” maneuver on me for which he should have done jail time. It severely disturbed my sciatic nerve and for 6 weeks the pain in my back was so intense I couldn’t walk except by using powerful, suicide inducing pain medications. My mind sometimes returns to those difficult days when I think of my friend Jim.

Until about 6 months ago, Jim worked in the woods. An elite faller with a muscular frame, he had the strength to handle a large chain saw in steep terrain. I always enjoyed the visits when he came into our community. With alert blue eyes, long blond hair and a quick optimistic smile, he attracted people wherever he showed up. He bought a new Ford pickup every two years and kept it in immaculate condition. I felt deeply disappointed when I learned he had begun associating with a group of young individuals who slept during the day and partied at night.

As I was walking along Daly Avenue in Hedley one day, Jim pulled over in a battered red Toyota pickup he must have rescued from an auto wrecker. His morose expression told me something had changed. “I was let go by my employer. The finance company repossessed my pickup,” he said, turning off the ignition. “My wife got fed up with me hanging around the house, then leaving her to put the boys to bed while I went and partied. She told me to move on and not bother coming back. I really miss my boys.” He paused for a moment, wiped a tear from his cheek, then said, “I need to change my life.”

In subsequent encounters the smile was gone, replaced by an expression of deep despair. Several times he again said, “I know I need to change my life.” Initially, I thought he would make the effort to turn his life in a better direction. The pain was searing his soul. I said more than once, “Jim, your friends are eroding your understanding of who you are. You need to break from your associations.” He agreed, but seemed unable to unfetter himself from the devious forces accelerating his slide into futility.

Reflecting back now on my own experience, I realize that like Jim, I had little hope my circumstances would change. I didn’t know how long I could live with the pain. I was eating mostly green grapes and flavoured yogurt and shedding weight, Linda feared my body was going into shock. Many nights, after she went to bed, I sat on the floor of our livingroom, seeking a way out of this frightening cauldron of physical, mental and emotional misery. The doctor who prescribed the pharmaceuticals had not troubled to warn me they might bring on thoughts of suicide. Although weak with pain, I considered dragging my body to Clearbrook Rd. and throwing myself in front of a big truck. The thought holding me back was that it would not be fair to Linda.

After about 6 weeks of crawling on the floor on hands and knees, I began getting help from a different chiropractor and a personal trainer. Now, to retain my ability to walk, I still do stretches and exercises to strengthen my body core. Since then, I’ve come to realize most of us will at some time need to grapple with a potentially life shattering circumstance. Several of my friends have lost their spouse, a few have been cut down in their prime by cancer or a debilitating illness. Others have been overtaken by financial loss. I’ve wondered what enables some to battle fiercely and again thrive, while others, like Jim, remain bogged down in mental and emotional quicksand, unable to extricate themselves.

From age 89 to 95 my Dad had to cope with difficult days while living in a longterm care facility.

I’ve concluded that one factor is the thoughts we have entertained over the years. My Dad was always generous with time and money. He sought to uplift people whenever possible. His thoughts made him optimistic, even in difficult times. At age 89 he fell and broke a hip. For the next five years he was in a long term care facility, unable to walk, get in or out of bed, or even turn over in bed. I asked him if he was hanging on to life for his family. I assured him if he wanted to let go, we’d miss him but we would be o.k. He replied, “No, I still like to live.”

Lindsay Fairweather, Advocate For Cold Water Swimming

Lindsay Fairweather on the bank of the Similkameen River, preparing her mind for a plunge into the cold water.

My idea of a preferred activity on a December morning differs vastly from that of Hedley resident, Lindsay Fairweather. For me, it’s sitting in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace with a cup of steaming coffee, reading a John Grisham novel. In a telephone conversation with Lindsay last week, I gathered she’d be just as happy swimming in the frigid water of the Similkameen River. She began swimming in the river this past May and now takes the plunge once a week. She seems to agree with Jim Whittaker, Mt. Everest mountaineer who said, “if you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.”

Lindsay has long been prone to living closer to the edge than most of us. “When I was about 15,” she said, “I had an experience that scared me. I was floating down the Similkameen on a tube. At the Slaughterhouse Rapids I was bounced from the tube and was suddenly under the water. I reached the surface but the water sucked me down repeatedly. All I could do was hold my breath and crawl along the bottom from rock to rock until I was past the rapids and able to pull myself up on a rock. I was pretty shaken up, but there was lots of adrenalin.”

More recently when she learned about the benefits of cold water swimming, she felt a tugging to try it. “I began swimming in the river this past May. To acclimatize my body to the coming winter temperatures, I ended my showers with five minutes of cold water.” Now she and a friend swim once a week. “She wears a wet suit. I wear my bathing suit and neoprene gloves.”

Lindsay Fairweather swimming underwater.

Prior to current winter temperatures, she did a two kilometer swim. “I was becoming aware of weariness and cold setting in so I made for the shore. Seeing it was overgrown with poison ivy, to which I’m severely allergic, I returned to the river. To deal with the weariness, I reminded myself that I’m much stronger than I give myself credit for. The Ford slogan, “built tough” came to me and I told myself, that’s how I’m built.” She began repeating to herself, “Built tough! Built tough!” It became a mantra. From this and other experiences she has learned it’s important to not under estimate the power of the mind. “Sometimes you have to think of another option,” she said.

Lindsay returned to the river and kept swimming, repeating “Built tough”.

Several potentially life ending episodes have convinced Lindsay she can’t be blasé about what she is doing. She recognizes that cold water swimming is inherently hazardous and she must be constantly aware of how the cold is impacting her physically. One website stresses the importance of understanding the dangers. “When entering cool water,” it says, “the muscles tighten. Breathing can become erratic and shallow. Overcoming a game ending panicky feeling starts and ends with the breathing.”

For Lindsay breathing is an essential aspect of her preparation. “I take a number of rapid breaths,” she said. “I also practise holding my breath. I can do that for three minutes. When I enter the water, I breathe calmly and walk until I’m in up to my neck. Learning to stay calm also helps me in challenging circumstances I encounter in life. People suffering with depression and anxiety disorders can benefit from this.”

Lindsay has derived a number of life altering positives from cold water swimming. “I love the thrill,” she said, “but there are a number of mental and physical benefits. Injured muscles heal more rapidly. Cold water immersion also quick starts the immune system and increases the number of white blood cells. I’ve found that it impacts my mental state. I feel happier, more awake and clear minded. It’s like a kind of meditation. I think more positively about myself. It helps me overcome negative self talk.”

By the end of an hour long conversation I concluded that much of Lindsay’s enthusiasm stems from the way cold water swimming is changing who she is and how she perceives herself. Each time she immerses her body in the river, she must steel herself against the cold. Experience has taught her there is potential unseen danger lurking beneath the surface. Her words suggest that for her cold water swimming is an inner exploration. It is creating in her a fuller understanding of who she is and what she is capable of accomplishing.

Hedley Saga Continues To Unfold

Trisha Mills and Bill Carmichael at the entrance of their future home.

When the iconic Hitching Post restaurant went up in flames the night of October 23,2018 it marked the beginning of a Hedley community saga that is ongoing to this day. Since the fire, the story of Bill Carmichael and Trisha Mills, the loss of their business and health, and their courage in the midst of calamity has been unfolding mostly behind the scenes. Also largely behind the scenes has been the response of some in our community. It’s an intriguing and inspiring chapter in local history and deserves to be passed on to the next generation.

When Linda and I visited Bill in the Penticton hospital shortly after the fire, we were appalled at his multiple serious injuries. Trisha had been taken to the Kamloops hospital with equally devastating injuries. Although Bill expressed hope for the future, we feared they might both be confined indefinitely to wheelchairs. Many in Hedley rallied to their cause, contributing to a gofundme site set up to help them with initial living and medical expenses. The insurance company has been resistant and for most of two years Bill and Trisha have lived in a 22 foot motor home with their dog Dexter.

In spite of significant continuing pain, they have struggled to regain their ability to walk. Often I have seen them hobbling down the alley behind our home, steadying themselves with their walking sticks. Unless asked, they don’t talk about the extreme discomfort, or the loss of income and possessions. “We talk every day about our plans for the future,” Bill said. “We want to again provide a food service to Hedley,” Trisha added. “How that will look will depend on what our bodies allow us to do.” This summer they purchased a food truck business as a first step toward achieving that goal. This helped sustain them financially over the summer but with colder weather, they have suspended the business until next year. “My body requires double digit temperatures to function in the food truck,” Trisha said.

Putting the food service on hold doesn’t mean they will relax over winter. Needing a home, they decided to erect a metal structure on their lot behind the restaurant site. “It’s less expensive, and it won’t burn,” Bill said. “I put one up about 25 years ago, with the help of a rugby team. There was lots of scaffolding and quite a few ladders. I was planning to do it again. Several men from the community offered to help.”

He’s amazingly gritty but much more limited physically now. Realizing this would be an extremely difficult project for Bill, Dennis Matson, pastor of the local church, suggested he bring in a contractor with a mechanical lift. “We don’t have the funds for that,” Bill said. Dennis talked with a Princeton contractor and obtained a considerable reduction in price. The church contributed some funds, bringing the cost down to an affordable level.

Dennis Matson, pastor of the local church, suggested Bill bring in a contractor with a mechanical lift to erect the structure.

Prior to erection of the metal structure, I visited Bill at the building site. With a shovel and wheelbarrow he was distributing a large pile of coarse gravel fill around the perimeter. For about an hour I loaded the wheelbarrow and he pushed it and dumped the fill. The terrain was uneven and I saw that he needed to call on deep inner reserves of determination and perseverance to do the work. He didn’t groan or complain, but admitted that he and Trisha have “clenched bodies” at the end of each day.

When I showed up the following morning to help complete distributing the fill, Trisha was there and had already finished the project. I expressed concern that she was pushing her injured body so hard. “It’s o.k,” she said. “It needed to be done.” The metal portion of the structure is now in place, but it needs to be insulated and the ends enclosed.

Bill and Trisha both live with pain every day. Bill still needs three more surgeries. I consider their story important because they are showing our community it is possible to call on deep inner reserves and forge ahead in spite of adversity.

Their story is also a reminder that in this time when communities are struggling with increasingly complex issues like covid-19, opioid deaths, homelessness, poverty and much more, we need to stand by individuals and families in distress. When the people of a community reach out to those in need, everyone benefits.

Grant Warwick, An Imperfect Hero

The 3 Warwick brothers (left to right) Grant, Dick and Billy. They did play as a line on occasion, but often were split up. (photo supplied by Ivan McClelland).

Sitting in the sun room of our home in Hedley, Ivan McClelland shared a deeply personal account of his relationship with Grant Warwick, player coach of the 1955 World Champion Penticton Vees. “When Grant arrived I was only 21, playing goalie for the Vees,” Ivan recalled. “I knew he had played in the NHL and could do amazing things on the ice. He had been named Rookie of the Year with the New York Rangers, played on an NHL All Star team and won numerous other awards. I was in total awe of him and didn’t speak to him, unless he spoke to me first. I also knew he had been sent down to the minors because of his troubling, free spirited lifestyle. While playing for New York, and also Montreal, he had sometimes disappeared into the city for days and no one knew where he was.”

Prior to his career in the NHL Warwick had been a gifted boxer, endowed with an exceptionally strong upper body. Ivan described him as tough minded, a player who could fight if he needed to. “In spite of his great talent, after about 11 years the people in control of hockey considered him damaged goods, washed up,” Ivan remembered. “They were glad to be rid of him, but I had seen what he could accomplish on the ice. When he became player coach of the Vees, he didn’t make speeches in the dressing room, he led by example. On the ice he dominated and in his first year with the team, he took us to the national championships, where we lost to Kitchener.”

Grant’s brothers, Billy and Dick, were also on the Vees roster. “Billy looked after Grant when he stepped outside the traces,” Ivan said. “He ensured Grant got home safely after a night of partying.”

In 1954 Grant seemed to get a hold of his life. There was no alcohol and his brilliance again became evident. That year he took the Vees to the National Championship where they defeated Sudbury. This qualified them to represent Canada in the World Hockey Championship in Germany the following year.

Canada’s hockey moguls now came to Grant and said, “You’ve got a bunch of inexperienced kids and over the hill pros. We’re going to give you 5 top NHL players, including Rocket Richard and Jean Beliveau. Also, we want you to take out Ivan McLelland and put Harry Lumley in goal.” The pressure was intense, but Grant refused.

In retrospect, it’s evident a special relationship was developing between this veteran player coach and his young goalie. Unlike many net- minders, who wax hot and cold, Ivan had proved to be consistent in temperament and play. In the dressing room he was given a seat next to Grant. Possibly Warwick drew strength from his calm demeanor.

In Germany, at the World Championship the following year, sports writers criticized Warwick relentlessly for bringing “a weak team.” Remarkably, the Vees won the first four games, against teams Ivan considered more skilled and experienced.

For Warwick the pressure became overwhelming. After the fourth game he disappeared into the night. He spent the next day, Saturday, in his room recovering from intense partying. Not physically ready to play against the Soviets on Sunday, he did only a few shifts. Even so, the Vees routed the Soviets 5-0 and were crowned World Champions.

“Later, in the bus returning to Dusseldorf,” Ivan recalled, “Grant was sitting alone at the front. The players were celebrating at the rear. No one spoke to him.”

Ivan moved up to sit beside him. “I’m sorry I let you down, ” Grant said.

“We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” Ivan replied.

For Grant Warwick, it was the end of his hockey career. His life deteriorated and for about 10 years he lived on the streets of Edmonton. He remembered his goalie though. Every year at Christmas he phoned Ivan, still calling him “kid” as he always had.

Then his circumstances changed. In one Christmas call he said, “I found the Lord. I don’t go to church, but my life is totally changed. The Lord is giving me strength.” He was now helping others who were less fortunate.

In their final phone call, when Grant was about to die, Ivan said, “How are you approaching this?” Grant replied, “It’s going to be wonderful.” Then he surprised Ivan with the words, “I love you.”

“He was a good man,” Ivan said, “an imperfect hero.”

My Friend’s Battle With Covid 19

Robert & Jennifer

Living in Hedley, where we have no known cases of Covid 19, there seemed little reason to be concerned. That changed when Linda and I received an email last week from our friend Robert Billyard. At age 76, he had still been working at a company with 300 employees. “A lot of them were young and not worried about the virus,” he said in a telephone interview from his home in Mission. “Those young bucks believe their bullet proof. At my age I knew I was vulnerable. I decided to retire a couple of months earlier than I had planned. I was too late.”

Robert is a big man endowed with a powerful physique. He and wife Jennifer met when they were participants in a cycling group. They have long been active in various sports, including swimming and kayaking. They seemed too healthy and vibrant to be taken down by the coronavirus.

In early April he began experiencing chills and fatigue and his behaviour was becoming eccentric. “I’m going to book a room at the Best Western,” he told Jennifer at dinner one evening. “I’m not feeling well.” A pragmatic, no nonsense lady, she kiboshed this idea. “I’m taking you to the Emergency right now,” she said.

Tests revealed he had the virus. “They put me into an induced coma,” he recalled. “That was so my body wouldn’t fight the ventilator, and to prevent brain damage.” While in the coma he had vivid dreams, some terrifying. “In one dream I was taken hostage by a drug cartel,” he said. “I thought they planned to kill me so I was very nice to them. I gave them all kinds of reasons to let me live.”

He feels fortunate that Jennifer stayed in close contact with the medical team and with his daughters in Denmark. “It was a tough time for her. Gardening was her therapy.”

In late April a doctor told Jennifer Robert was no longer responding to treatment and not coming out of the coma as expected. The medical team started questioning whether he would survive. Also, they cautioned Jennifer that if he did wake he might suffer a heart attack or stroke. Robert had told Jennifer he never wanted to be placed in a facility for the aged and disabled.

She reluctantly signed a “do not resuscitate” order. “It was the loneliest day of my life,” she told him later. Desperate and not a quitter, Jennifer read him the riot act on Zoom. “We have too much on our bucket list,” she told him. “You can’t die yet.”

When I did wake after 5 weeks in a coma,” Robert said, “I thought I was in a pub. I ordered a beer.” His body had deteriorated and he didn’t have strength to stand. Initially the nurses needed to feed him. Even now he is dealing with shortness of breath. Looking back on the experience, Robert said, “It’s pure hell when you’re in the midst of it. At my age I’m lucky to have survived. I feel that I cheated death.”

I wondered if the Covid experience had changed him. “I had been struggling with the age thing,” he replied. “Covid has helped me understand that we don’t fully appreciate life until we are close to death. Surviving the virus has made me more positive and grateful. It has also deepened Jenny and my relationship.”

He paused and seemed deep in thought, then continued. “I’d like to make more friends and go for coffee with them. I’m not strong enough yet for demanding physical activities. Jenny and I have done a lot of kayaking. Maybe I’ll get back to that. I used to play badminton, but that’s a young person’s sport. At my age, it’s too fast. I do feel rejuvenated though, younger than a year ago. Probably because I’m not working and my body is getting more rest. I’m not as strong as I was, but even so I feel like I’m winding back the clock.” His perspective on the Covid scare, and most things is surprisingly positive.

Jenny is ready for a more uplifting adventure next time. She put it pretty succinctly, telling him, “Robert, you’ve burned all your health credits. You can’t have another crisis for ten years.”

Hearing my friend’s account, I now understand that Covid 19 is more real and dangerous than I had thought. It leaves no room for complacency.

Not Our Usual Trip On Highway 3

The line of cars stretched around the corner and probably beyond.

When Linda and I departed from Abbotsford last Thursday, we anticipated the usual uneventful drive back to Hedley. Stopping in Hope for coffee to go, we received our first indication things might be different this trip. Two ambulances with sirens screaming rushed by to the east at race track speed.

By the time we passed through Manning Park we had forgotten about them. Then, approximately 50 km. west of Princeton, the traffic slowed markedly and came to a full stop. The line of cars stretched to the next corner and probably beyond. People were already emerging from their vehicles, stretching bodies stiff from prolonged sitting.

An elderly man with a long white beard stood beside his pickup, agitatedly scanning the rugged terrain. On the right side of the highway he faced a precipitous drop to the river below. On the left the rocky mountain rose abruptly. I wondered about the source of his evident discomfort until he determinedly set off at an awkward, hurried gait toward a sparse clump of bushes at the edge of the roadway. He disappeared from view. After a few moments he reappeared and jauntily returned to his vehicle. Next a woman of about 40, in a pink party dress skittered toward the bushes on high heels. The bushes quickly became a popular source of sanctuary. Most ladies apparently were reluctant though and demonstrated remarkable forbearance.

We had come somewhat prepared to weather any short term wait. We ate the sandwiches, bran muffins and fruit Linda had assembled. For some time we listened to John Grisham’s “The Rain Maker.” Then we joined others walking along the side of the highway. Initially the conversations between all these strangers consisted mostly of “heard anything?” A young man on a skateboard had gone to the head of the line. “A transport truck rolled and struck a van and there are injuries,” he reported. “Police are there and a chopper has flown out the casualties. We’ll be here a couple of hours.”

I was reminded of the Hope Slide in 1965 in which several vehicles were crushed and 4 people died. On that occasion Highway 3 was closed several days. It occurred to me our situation would be difficult if this was winter, with freezing temperatures and abundant snow. It was a reminder we need to prepare more fully for future trips in mountainous terrain. I wondered if the woman in the party dress and high heels was having similar thoughts.

Yann-Allegre on Unsplash

The skateboarder returned and said, “They’re going to open the road in one to five minutes.” We scurried to our vehicles and waited hopefully. No movement. Fifteen minutes later the skateboarder returned and said, “Sorry, now they expect it will be another three hours.”

Some people were becoming impatient. Cars and pickups began leaving the line and turning back, probably to access the Coquihalla. A semi just ahead of us could not turn on the narrow strip of highway. Once again people emerged from their vehicles. Conversations became longer. There seemed to be a sense that we might as well use the time profitably. When Linda met a woman from Taber, Alberta, she said, “I was born in Taber. Do you know my cousin Merv Craddock?” She did and they were instant friends. A woman from Princeton told me she and her husband had recently bought a small ranch in the area. “Do you know Don and Thalia?” I asked. “Yes,” she responded. “We’ve helped them on their ranch.”

At about 5 pm, we were again told the police were going to open the highway. Hurrying to our car, we passed the man with the long white beard, slumbering peacefully behind the steering wheel of his pickup. A little farther along, the lady in the pink dress had not heard the news. She was pouring herself a drink from a large brown flask. Back in our car, I was reminded that along the highway of life we are certain to encounter adventures and challenges. How we respond will depend on our thinking.

Traffic control wouldn’t let us stop to take a photo, so this was taken as we were driving passed the accident scene.

As we passed the accident scene we saw the semi lying on its side, the dark underbelly exposed. It occurred to me that compared to the unhappy event that had overtaken the people in this accident, our little ordeal was no more than an insignificant hiccup. I did hope the lady in the pink dress would arrive at the party or wedding on time.

Food Trailer, Building For A Future

Bill Carmichael & Trisha Mills, Courage for the Future

Almost two years after the iconic Hitching Post Restaurant burned to the ground in the middle of the night, people in Hedley continue to hope it will rise from the ashes. Visitors to our community still ask if it will be rebuilt. It’s a question owners Bill Carmichael and Trisha Mills have been grappling with since that fateful night when they jumped from the second floor into a void of darkness. In a conversation in our home last week they talked about their life journey since that night, including their ongoing battle with serious, life changing injuries sustained when they jumped. To this day they live with pain and an uncertain financial future. Some individuals would have been driven to their knees by the misfortune that has assaulted them. Many relationships would have floundered. Amazingly, Bill and Trisha have found the inner resolve to carry on together.

They spent much of this past winter in Mexico, living in their small car top tent. I had noticed upon their return that their walking seemed easier. “It wasn’t as warm as we expected,” Trisha said. “Much of the time we wore winter clothes. It was warmer than Hedley though and this contributed to the healing of our bodies. Walking on the sandy beaches increased our muscle strength. We couldn’t use our walking sticks on the sand.”

“We both still have nerve pain,” Bill continued. “Some days are better than others. I use my walking stick more than Trisha.”

They know some of their physical issues will likely never completely leave them, but they aren’t grumblers. “That’s just life,” Bill said. “If you want to survive you make decisions and move forward. We don’t mire ourselves down. There’s never been a time when we came to a full stop. In Mexico we talked a lot about our future, “ Bill continued. “It’s still our desire to one day offer Hedley a year round food service. We’ve drawn a floor plan for a restaurant, but we know we won’t be able to replicate the Hitching Post experience. The extent of our recovery will determine what we can do.”

A year ago they were urged to consider a mobile food service as a beginning. “We thought maybe in a year we’d be able to do that,” Trisha said. “We didn’t feel physically strong enough at the time, but we needed an income so we began looking into possibilities.” Several months ago they bought a food trailer with an established customer base in Penticton. “It’s pushing our bodies to the limit,” Bill noted, “but we’re getting an understanding of what we’re capable of. We’re happy to have a sense of direction.”

Each Friday, Saturday and Sunday they are on location in Penticton at the Indigenous Bloom cannabis store across from Super Save Gas, west of the channel. In the evening they drive into the surrounding mountains and sleep in their tent. “Dexter, our dog, absolutely loves it in the mountains,” Bill said.

On Thursdays they set up in the heart of Hedley, on the former site of the Hitching Post. “People seem happy to see us here,” Trisha said. “It’s very encouraging to have their support.”

Trisha is preparing a delicious breakfast sandwich.

At this time Trisha is more involved in food preparation and serving customers. Bill sets up and maintains the systems to ensure their fledgling enterprise functions smoothly. Both are on their feet a lot. “Being physically active does exact a toll,” Trisha observed. “Nerve damage causes pain. Sometimes when I’m sitting down and want to get up, my body screams “no, no, no!” “We deal with the pain when no one is around,” Bill added. “Usually at the end of the day.”

Their menu entices. Linda and I have both sampled the breakfast sandwich and the smoky hotdog. This Thursday it may be bratwurst or a black bean burger. Then likely the pulled pork sandwich. Knowing the food trailer will be in town, we look forward to Thursdays.

Since the loss of the Hitching Post, Bill and Trisha have lived in a small motor home or their car top tent. In spite of the cramped quarters, ongoing pain, being together almost continuously and having only limited funds, they have retained their resolve to move forward. Listening to them and observing their actions, it seems possible that one day some version of the Hitching Post will rise from the ashes.

Bill & Trisha aren’t just operating a food trailer, they’re building for a future.

Responding to the Headwinds of Life

A tree responding to headwinds (Pinterest, a quieter storm)

Over a lifetime of celebrating numerous birthdays and drinking too many cups of strong coffee, I’ve become intrigued by the ways humans respond to various types of adversity, especially loss of freedom. Having set foot in more than a few West Coast prisons, and some long term care facilities, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to observe people who have lost the liberty to move as they please. In prison they are often constrained by chain link fences topped by razor sharp berka wire. Within high security prisons there are cells with sturdy locks on steel doors. Even seniors care facilities often have locks on perimeter doors. Seeing television coverage of crowds on the streets of large cities protesting covid related restrictions, I began thinking of the various ways in which I’ve seen people respond when their freedom is eroded.

One individual I liked to observe was incarcerated at Matsqui Institution. A 67 year old, chain-smoking veteran of the provincial and federal prison systems, Albert had invested at least half his years in prison. Addicted to heroin, he had long been a street level trafficker, at a time when our courts were still sending even small scale drug dealers to prison. Albert had never had a vision for more. When I saw him in court wearing a suit and tie, I thought he could have passed for a banker, college professor or even a prison warden.

Albert had long ago made a decision not to fret at being behind that high chain link fence. Rather than become bitter, complain or attempt to escape, he concentrated on building relationships. When I met him he was in charge of the hobby shop at Matsqui. Prison staff at times came for a chat, and within the confines of his assignment, life appeared surprisingly normal. Like the Bird Man of Alcatraz, he had found meaning within what was a harsh reality for most inmates.

At the B.C. Penitentiary I met Jim, a soft spoken burly man in his late twenties. His powerful physique might have given him entrance into the world of professional wrestling, if an inner void had not prompted him to seek solace in alcohol and drugs. He had murdered his girl friend while in a substance induced stupor. In the sombre grey world of concrete and steel bars, he could not find any meaning or purpose to sustain him. At night he was tortured by troubling images. He did reach out to our organization for a citizen sponsor, but the forces of darkness and despair overwhelmed him. When I phoned to arrange a second visit, the prison switchboard operator said, “I’m sorry, but Jim is no more.” He had hung himself in his cell.

At Menno Hospital in Abbotsford, I met Gladys, a former airline hostess. At about age 40, her face still retained vestiges of former beauty. Now confined to a wheelchair by MS, she wasn’t able to adjust to her dismal reality. Angry and bitter, Gladys refused all overtures of friendship. I attempted to engage her in conversation several times, but she just lashed out at the unfairness of life. When she was transferred to another institution, she left without saying good bye to anyone. Life had become something to be endured.

Eighty-three year old Anna was a resident in the same facility. As a young woman she had lived with her husband and two children on a collective farm in Ukraine. After Communist agents took her husband away, she never saw him again.

Anna was endowed with a streak of daring. During WW II she escaped to Germany, then emigrated to Canada. Here she created a good life for her family. Then, at age 82, shortly before I met her, she climbed a cherry tree to enjoy the fruit. A branch broke and she fell. Her aged body never recovered. Now in a wheelchair and totally dependent on others, she spent her days in the dining room, always wonderfully cheerful. One day as I was about to leave, she grasped my hand firmly and spoke a blessing over me in her native German. I wondered if she knew she wouldn’t see me again. A few days later this cheerful elderly saint went to meet the God she trusted.

Headwinds along the path of life are inevitable. We can complain, cringe or buckle. Or we can choose to dig deep for the resolve to persevere.

It’s “Yes” In Keremeos

Sarah Martin, Executive Director of LSCSS

When I was much younger, I worked one year for a flourishing community services society in the Fraser Valley. Since then I’ve observed that quite often these local organizations have to scramble to attract financial resources and volunteers. Knowing this, I was deeply intrigued by what the Lower Similkameen Community Services Society is accomplishing in Keremeos and surrounding communities. “We have wonderful volunteers and staff,” Executive Director Sarah Martin said in a conversation last week. “Also, the people on our board are amazing.” She attributes the organization’s success to the skills, energy, time and compassion of committed people. By working collaboratively, they have developed a vibrant network of services.

Sarah’s enthusiasm about the society’s programs is palpable. Her voice is animated and her hands at times wave in sync as she talks. She still seems a little surprised at her leadership role. “My family moved to the Yukon when I was six months old,” she said. “We did a lot of hunting and fishing. My husband Karl lured me to this area with a promise of warm water and fresh peaches. We moved onto the farm of his mother, Lee McFadyen, where we still live and help. I attended the Okanagan College, mostly by the Distance Education program, with an emphasis on Business Administration.” She probably earned enough credits for a diploma but apparently this wasn’t important to her and she didn’t apply for it. “I knew I had an affinity for numbers,” she said, “but I wasn’t aware of any leadership potential.” She began working for LSCSS in 2008.

After a thumbnail biographical sketch, Sarah turned her attention to the people and programs. She gave full credit to Walter Despot, former Keremeos mayor and current board member. “Walter was one of the individuals who mentored me,” she said. She recalls vividly his observation that, “some people have to plan for longer than their own lifetime.” She also benefited from the counsel and guidance of Eileen Oliver- Bauer.

“We benefit from having many services under one roof,” she said. “In some communities there is competition for resources and volunteers. Here we are all part of the same organization.”

They receive funding from the United Way and OneSky Resources. “There are also small pots that provide funds. About 55 % of our income comes from housing projects. This provides a measure of stability and permits us to pay our office staff, cooks, care aides and others. Our budget is over 2 million.”

“Our services address needs from cradle to grave,” Sarah said. “Mother Goose and Friends is an early literacy program. It features stories, games, music, fun and community field trips for young children. PEACE provides short term education, information and supportive counselling on an individual and group basis to children and youth who have witnessed or experience violence. The program also supports youth up to age 19 in developing healthy relationships and independent living skills.”

An impressive number of services enable seniors and persons with disabilities to stay in their homes. The Volunteer Drivers program transports people to medical appointments, grocery shopping and other activities needed for health and well-being. Meals on Wheels provides hot lunches three times a week. Better at Home, a provincial program, allows seniors to remain in their homes by assisting them in day to day tasks. Recently they have added housekeeping and light yard work.

Tumbleweed Terrace in Keremeos

Some years ago there was an awareness of a growing migration to this area from the coast. Seniors, individuals with disabilities, and others with limited income needed affordable housing. In 2008 they applied to have Tumbleweed Terrace constructed. “People are happy at Tumbleweed,” Sarah said. “One woman told me when she moved in it was the first time she could afford new linens for her bed.” She smiled, then added, “Tumbleweed Terrace and Mountain View Manor give people a sense of safety and security. They no longer need to impose on their children and grandchildren for a place to live. We have a long waiting list and currently we’re building 24 new units.”

Sarah understands that often when people apply to a government office for assistance, the answer is “no.” “Because of the wide range of services and committed staff, people who come to us are likely to hear “yes.” We’ll find help or support for them. A provincial official told us our program is amazing and should be replicated throughout the province.”