Seeking The Hedley Monk

A Buddhist monk.

Autumn had set in and brown leaves were falling freely from the trees when Anna told me about a Buddhist monk living in a cave somewhere in Windy Canyon. I had not heard of him previously and wondered if she was an imaginative storyteller. She was young and had recently come to Camp Colonial in Hedley to work as a cook.

I hiked along 20 Mile Creek yesterday and came upon his cave quite by accident,” she said. “He doesn’t come into town, and he doesn’t want visitors.”

This was the early 1980’s. Our organization, the One Way Adventure Foundation, had recently been awarded a contract by the Corrections Branch to work with 12 young offenders. Many of these youths had not had the benefit of constructive modeling in their homes. They had learned to function by lying, cheating, deceiving, stealing, being aggressive, avoiding responsibility and much more. Most had lived in foster and group homes. Whenever possible, I took the 4 most difficult ones, Phillip, Curt, Bert and Harry away from the camp so they couldn’t influence, intimidate or incite the others.

I was constantly alert for activities that might shift the thinking of these youths away from the street culture with which they were familiar. If this monk living in a cave was indeed real, it might be an opportunity to expose the boys to a radically different set of values and lifestyle.

Already the mercury was dipping to zero at night. For several weeks the mountains surrounding our little community had been bedecked by a mantel of white. On the third day of November, a skiff of snow covered the ground and we began seeing smoke rising from chimneys.

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By December 22nd the ice was thick enough to walk on, and I asked Anna to pack 5 lunches for the following morning. She suspected my intentions and again said, “he asked me to tell people he doesn’t want visitors.” I thanked her for the reminder.

A fine, wind blown snow was falling when I instructed the 4 boys to dress warmly because we’d be out all day, searching for a mysterious monk who supposedly lived in a cave. After breakfast we leaned into the snow and wind, walking determinedly along 20 Mile Creek.

Initially we followed the former mining road. When it turned up the mountainside, we were well into Windy Canyon, a deep mountainous gorge with space only for the creek and a narrow footpath. At the first crossing of the creek, we found a log with short boards nailed insecurely to it. After that the crossings were mostly on ice, water gurgling beneath us.

There were no complaints from the boys as we slogged laboriously in the deepening snow. After about 3 hours, Bert glanced up. “Look!” he exclaimed excitedly, “is that it?” We clambered up a steep bank, having difficulty maintaining our footing.

A short wooden wall covered the front of the cave. There was a door of rough boards and a small window. The monk had heard our laboured grunting and opened the door. His bespectacled face revealed no displeasure at our unanticipated appearance. He beckoned us to enter.

I looked around and concluded this man lived in unimaginably sparse circumstances. A small wood stove with a pipe exiting through the wooden wall provided some heat. A large chair and a mantel stood against the rock wall to our right.

Would you like coffee?” he asked, as though he had anticipated our arrival. His voice suggested a quality education and upbringing. The boys nodded and I said “we’d appreciate that. Please forgive us for showing up without prior notice.” He smiled at this, then filled a tin can with water and deftly ground coffee beans with a manual grinder.

Why are you living in this cave?” I asked.

I’m seeking enlightenment,” he replied. “Much of my day is taken up with doing prostrations.”

We talked for about 15 minutes, drinking his delicious, black coffee. The boys listened respectfully.

During our conversation Bert asked where he slept. The monk pointed to the large chair and said, “that’s where I sleep.”

Through the wooden wall we could hear the wind growing stronger. It was time to leave. Before walking out, each of the boys said “thanks for the coffee” and shook the monk’s hand. They seemed to sense they had experienced a bit of Similkameen history.

John Horgan Up Close

In conversation with John Horgan in Shades at Main, Penticton. Photo by Josh Berson
In conversation with John Horgan in Shades at Main, Penticton.
Photo by Josh Berson

When I called the provincial NDP office in early December to request an interview with party leader John Horgan, I considered it a “long shot.” With a provincial election looming, would he want to talk with a small market columnist? I suggested to his effervescent press secretary, Sheena McConnell, that he is well known as a politician, but not as a person. My interest was in writing about his non-political life. She said, “Let’s set something up in a couple of months.”

Sheena McConnell, Press Secretary
Sheena McConnell, Press Secretary
Photo by Joshua Berson

On his early February whirlwind swing through the Okanagan Valley, we met in the Shades on Main restaurant in Penticton. He turned out to be everything I had not expected in an NDP leader.

Upon entering the restaurant, he walked briskly to our table accompanied by Sheena. He had already been interviewed at 8 a.m. by CBC Kelowna, also by Kamloops and Victoria stations. He had met people in two Kelowna coffee shops and one in Osoyoos. In spite of the travel and interviews, he exuded energy and congeniality. I would learn that at age 57 he has the concentration of an NHL goalie.

In response to my question about family, he said “my father suffered a brain aneuyrsm on Christmas Eve and passed away a few months later. I was an infant and have no memories of him. My mom didn’t have a drivers licence or job. A few years later, I’d come home from school, turn on the tv and make myself a peanut butter sandwich.”

There were serious hurdles before he found sure footing. “I went off the rails in grade 9”, he said. “I started smoking and hanging out with a bad crowd. I skipped classes and failed math, science, typing and French. The principal, counselor, and basketball coach worked hard to keep me in school.” In grade 12 he was elected president of the student council and captain of the basketball team. “In basketball, soccer and lacrosse, I learned a lot about personal discipline. I came to understand the importance of working together.”

Along the way he got experience that seasoned him and helped him understand people with limited means. “I’ve worked in mills,” he said. “I’ve worked in construction. I know what it’s like to live paycheque to paycheque.”

On his first day at Trent University, he met Ellie. “She was gorgeous and she was kind.” They have now been married 33 years and have 2 sons. He rarely takes Ellie along campaigning. “I’m concerned for her,” he said. “It’s too distracting.” He needs to be away a lot so he doesn’t see her as much as he’d like. He says, “Even so, she’s my oasis in all this madness.”

John didn’t hesitate when I asked if we could talk about his bout with cancer. “Sure,” he said. “I was diagnosed with bladder cancer at age 49. I’ve had surgery since and it went well. It helped me understand that every moment is precious. We need to make an impact and try to help others.”

He had thoughts of social work when he began undergraduate studies as a psychology major at Trent University in Ontario. This changed when he attended a talk by Tommy Douglas. Then about 82, this iconic political elder kindled a flame in him. “He was a small, frail man, but I was impacted by the power of his voice, his speaking skill, and his message. He spoke of compassion and empathy, the importance of protecting the less fortunate. I shook his hand, convinced I could make a greater difference in policy development.”

John switched to political science and history, and went on to attain an M.A. in Australia. In 1983 he joined the NDP.

Having grown up in a politically conservative family, I’ve long been wary of NDP policies. I decided to ask a few political questions. His responses suggested he might be closer to median voters like myself than I had anticipated. He said, “A linear spectrum of politics doesn’t work anymore. The needs of business people and working people are the same. Seniors aren’t concerned about ideology. Students aren’t interested in manifestos.”

We need investment in industry. Workers understand that to have jobs, business must prosper.”

After 35 minutes he needed to hurry to a meeting with the Chief and Council of the Penticton Band. In his values, especially his concern for all people, John Horgan caused me to think of J.S. Woodsworth, respected founder of the CCF, now the NDP.

George And Christina, Still Valentines

George & Christina, with a couple of Christina's creations.
George & Christina, with a couple of Christina’s creations.

For me a relationship that has been tested by the storms of life holds a more riveting fascination than young, often transitory romance. Aware of the cloud overshadowing the marriage of George and Christina Thiessen, and with Valentines Day approaching, I wanted to hear their story. Last week they invited Linda and me to their spacious heritage home in Hedley.

For reasons that will be revealed, George did most of the talking. “We met in Reno,” he began. “Christina was a passenger on the bus I was driving for Maverick Tours. The Tour Guide asked me what I like to do in Reno. I told her I’d probably go dancing. I just needed a partner. She introduced me to Christina, and that evening Christina was my dancing partner.”

She told me later she had not expected to hear from me again, after we returned to B.C.”

George had been married twice. His first wife had borne 3 children, then died at a young age. The second wife had become a demanding, unruly alcoholic and the marriage had been a crushing failure.

Upon meeting Christina, George realized she possessed the depth of character he had been longing for. Smitten by her pretty, smiling face and evident kindness, he called her.

In time they moved in together. “Christina wouldn’t marry me though,” George said. “She had also been hurt in previous relationships and didn’t want to commit again.”

George continued to drive the tour bus, at times away for 11 days, with only a 1 day break between trips. Christina was working at the Surrey Memorial Hospital, cleaning operating rooms. George’s driving schedule and their history of hurtful relationships might have made this a rocky union. Fortunately George’s stability appealed to Christina and reassured her.

When I lost my 17 year old son in a bike/automobile accident, it was a difficult time,” he said. “Christina stood by me. Then my daughter passed away and again Christina was at my side, supporting me.”

They saw an ad for a spacious home in Hedley and called the realtor. Entranced by the house and the large yard, they bought it. The house needed serious updating so George studied magazines, bought tools and set to work.

George & Christina, in front of their Hedley home, Oct. 2015
George & Christina, in front of their Hedley home, Oct. 2015

He began experiencing severe sciatic pain and Graham Gore, pastor of the Hedley Grace Church, drove him to Kelowna for surgery. After recovering, George and Christina attended the church on a Sunday morning to thank the congregation for their support. Liking the people and the atmosphere, they continued to attend. On May 30, 2009 Graham married them in a small ceremony on their park like grounds.

About 2 years later the aforementioned cloud appeared on the horizon, scarcely noticeable at first. “Tests were done and we were told Christina had a slow progressing form of dementia,” George said, a note of deep sadness in his voice.

The diagnosis changed their lives. “Christina was always very talented in crafting,” George said. “One year she made 30 teddy bears to give away as Christmas gifts. She inspired me to take up woodworking.”

He pushed back his chair. “Come,” he said, “we’ll show you some of our creations. He led us upstairs to 3 rooms where we were greatly impressed by an array of Christina’s stuffed animals lolling on chairs and George’s intricate wood creations displayed on the walls. A beguiling aura of genius pervaded these rooms.

George with one of his wood creations.
George with one of his wood creations.

The dementia has caused this creative activity to cease. Their lives have become constricted. They still attend the church but participate only briefly in the coffee time afterwards. “Christina becomes anxious in groups.”

George paused. “Sometimes when I’m doing yardwork she wanders off and I don’t notice Fortunately, if she stays on the route we walk, she can find her way back. Usually when people see her alone, I get phone calls. People want to help.”

Christina playing the keyboard.
Christina playing the keyboard.

Not all is lost. Christina played the key board for us and her rendition of the Blue Danube Waltz was delicate and pleasing. Also, we had observed that while George was talking about the dementia, she sensed his distress and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. When they go out, she requests his assistance in selecting appropriate combinations of clothes. Although her comprehension is limited, she is able to engage in simple exchanges.

I love Christina and I’m committed to her,” George said. “I won’t place her in a home. We’re in this together to the end.” They’re still Valentines.

Ayrelea In India

Ayrelea Nimchuk
Ayrelea Nimchuk

We would likely not be surprised if a 15 year old girl decided to spend at least a portion of her summer earnings on designer clothes, jewelry and cosmetics. Quite possibly Ayrelea Nimchuk of Hedley was also tempted by these allurements. I was amazed to learn that she chose instead to pay for a trip to India where she volunteered for about 3 weeks at a school for underprivileged boys.

Sitting in our sun room she said, “I heard Dan and Olga McCormick talking about going to a boys school in India. I asked when they were leaving and said I’d like to go with them.”After several discussions and some research, her parents agreed. Ayrelea saved her income from working at the Hedley Museum to pay almost $3000 for the trip. The Hedley Seniors’ Centre gave her $200 and the Hedley Grace Church contributed $500 for a chicken dinner for the approximately 500 boys at the school.

Prem Sewa is a free boarding school for boys from poor homes,” she said. “They can start at age 5 and go to grade 12. Parents are eager to have their sons attend. They know there is no future for them without an education. In their home these boys often received only one meal a day. At the school they get 3 meals. She smiled and said, “the plates are really big and the boys go back for second and third helpings. They eat it all.”

In addition to Dan and Olga, there were 3 other recruits from Keremeos. “ We played football (soccer) with them. It’s a big game there. Also, they love volley ball. Their ball is very hard but they really smack it. They are good players.”

Ayrelea in India (3)

Another smile. “They all wanted us to take pictures of them. They’d say ‘one photo’, but they meant many. They’d look at the picture and burst out laughing.”

According to the school’s website, it’s purpose is “to give children from poor homes, orphans and semi-orphans, a chance to study in schools and institutions, which otherwise would be closed to them.” There is a computer lab, a wood workshop, a mechanics shop and land to grow crops. If a boy demonstrates special promise, Frank Juelich the founder, will personally pay for him to attend college.

Ayrelea in India, rolling dough to make chapattis.
Ayrelea in India, rolling dough to make chapattis.

The school, which has a sister school for girls about 650 kilometers away, actually was not begun intentionally. As a young man Frank Juelich traveled in India and wanted to learn a local language. He found 3 young men with a desire to learn English and they began studying together and helping each other. One of these men knew a boy who needed an education and asked if they could help him. Soon there were 40 boys attending sessions.

Frank became aware of the pressing need for educational opportunities among the very poor. He returned to Canada, raised $42,000 and purchased 17.75 acres in a rural area.

Now the school has a small medical clinic with a nurse on duty. A doctor comes in once a week. They also have an ambulance. The boys bathe 2 times each day and learn about hygiene. Since the inception of the school, dormitories and other facilities have been constructed. A settlement has grown up around the facility, and approximately 150 children are day students at the school.

The language of instruction is Marathi, with English also required.“We sat with them in the English classes and helped them,” Ayrelea said. “When we went to the market, we took along a few of the boys who were more advanced in English to translate for us.”

I was impressed to learn that most of the staff are graduates of the school, including the Director and also the President. Frank Juelich, now elderly, is continuing as a consultant. He wants to die in India.

Ayrelea returned with many vivid memories. Cows, pigs and chickens wandering unmolested, cow dung used to fill joints in walls. Markets with a rich array of offerings. Also, she loved the peanut butter. For her the experience reinforced a desire to be involved in humanitarian work somewhere.

Ayrelea dressed in her salwar kameez.
Ayrelea dressed in her salwar kameez.

She’s a pretty young lady and really doesn’t need the designer clothes and jewelry. Her decision has provided her with rich experiences and memories, and it brought smiles to the faces of the boys in India.

The Jar of Coffee

jar of coffee (3)

As we slid our heavily laden frontiersman canoes onto the cold waters of Isaac Lake that Wednesday morning, I didn’t suspect that this day the 5 young adult probationers would seriously test my leadership. We were on the second day of the Bowron Lakes circuit, a system of lakes and portages near Barkerville. Farther up the lake another group, consisting of 6 young offenders and 2 leaders, was also breaking camp.

Having been employed by the One Way Adventure Foundation only a month, I had not yet been able to develop relationships of trust with this motley crew of erratic misfits. At 21, Jim was the oldest. I had picked him up a couple of weeks ago from the Oakalla Prison Farm. Missing his front upper teeth from street fights, he was the toughest of the bunch.

Neither Jim or the others, Chris, Danny, Scott or Dave were settled enough to have a stable home. They mostly slept on someone’s couch and reported to our centre each morning. One purpose of this expedition was to provide workers with opportunities to develop relationships of trust and influence with them. They also had a goal. They just wanted to survive the 6 months in our program and successfully thwart all attempts to bring change into their lives.

From the beginning of this trip, I’d known there would be complications. These young men were accustomed to hanging out on the streets of Surrey, not to the rigours of paddling and portaging all day, constantly harassed by mosquitoes and horse flies.

This morning we had paddled in drenching rain the first 2 hours and I was conscious of a growing edginess in my crew. I realized now it had been there even as we were taking down our camp.

Increasingly foul language was flying unrestrained across the water between the other 2 canoes. I sensed a growing spirit of rebellion. As we neared the Bette Wendel camp site where we would stop for lunch, I grasped that Chris was deliberately stirring up discontent. This didn’t surprise me. All his life he’d been shuttled from one foster home to another, never experiencing the love of a parent. His face revealed the despair and anger that seethed just beneath the surface.

Bruce, our expedition leader, was with the other crew. He had wanted to separate the 2 groups. There was no one to back me up if this developed into a Lord of the Flies conflagration.

From the beginning I had been aware they were observing me, watching for weakness. I was in a position of authority over them so I must be tested. Maybe it’s human nature to probe the limits of authority.

Fortunately, my previous work experience had taken me into all the prisons on the Lower Mainland and the Fraser Valley. I had worked with hard core cons, like Albert, a chain smoking heroin addict doing time for trafficking. There was also Rod, who had accidentally shot his partner in crime during a botched hold up. I’d gotten to know Trevor, doing time for confining and raping a young woman. I talked at times about these men and prison life, never telling them how I had gained this intimate understanding.

Sometimes I overheard them speculating about my history. They eventually concluded I must have done serious prison time. Not at all sure how I’d react, they’d been cautious.

But now they were frustrated and angry. They slammed their canoes hard onto the gravel of the camp site.

I’m not paddling another inch!” Chris announced stridently.

Me either,” Jim growled, throwing his paddle down.

Let’s turn back,” Scott urged.

My mind scrambled madly for a response, and then I remembered the jar of coffee buried deep in the lunch pack. Beth, a senior wilderness skills instructor with our organization had said, “It’s only for staff.” I had not touched it.

I walked into the midst of my mutinous crew and said, “guys, how about you build us a fire and I’ll buy you a cup of java.” Their mouths dropped open as though attached to a common hinge.

“You have coffee?” Jim asked incredulously.

Yes Jim, I do,” I said. “Now, do you just want to stand there with your mouth open or are you going to build a fire?”

The rebellion fizzled. Ah, the magical charm of a jar of coffee.

Magic Of The Model A

Gordon & Sam with the 1930 Model A in winter.
Gordon & Sam with the 1930 Model A in winter.

When I was told Gordon Glen of Keremeos owns a very pretty, restored Model A half ton pickup truck, I was intrigued. Possibly my fascination stems from early experience. I was about age 5 when my parents decided to move from rural Manitoba, not far from Steinbach, to Abbotsford, B.C. Dad bought a Model A, which he was confident could weather this arduous trip via Stevens Pass in the U.S. There were 6 of us in the car, my parents, sister Vi, plus 2 paying passengers. Amazingly, we encountered no mechanical difficulties. For a couple of years Dad drove the Model A every 2 weeks to his job at a logging camp near Hope. Having this experience in my history, I phoned Gordon and invited him and his wife for a visit.

 

Sam Glen
Sam Glen

When they arrived, he introduced us to Sam. Sensing our puzzlement she explained, “My name is Joan but my Dad tagged me with the name “Sam” when I was a kid. It has stuck and I’m happy with it.”

Sitting around the table in our sun room, Gordon said, “We’ve both been married before, we both have a set of twins, and we both lost our spouses through illness. About 5 years ago, a mutual friend introduced us at the Keremeos Legion. We were married a year ago.”

Sam, a slim blonde, has her own experience with vehicles. At one time she owned a T Bird and still has a rag top VW convertible. Equally interesting, she drove semi trailer transport trucks all over Canada and the U.S. for 15 years. Having a Class 1 driver’s licence, she was qualified to drive the fire truck at the Williams Lake volunteer fire department. “Often the men were away at their jobs during the day, so I drove,” she said.

Gordon Glen
Gordon Glen

Our conversation turned to the subject of Model A’s. Gordon’s experience with the iconic cars goes back to his early years. “Our neighbour had a Model A,” he recalled. “One summer my two older brothers worked for him. At the end of the harvest he gave them the old car for payment. We used it to haul potatoes and bring the cows in from the field.”

Eventually the brothers tired of the Model A, parked it in a slough, and departed the farm. “When I was 17,” Gordon said, “I asked for the car and they gave it to me.”

Having heard there are still a significant number of the much loved Model A’s tucked away in garages across this continent, and even around the globe, I asked Gordon what is so special about the car. “They’re almost completely constructed of steel,” he said, “Dodge and Chevrolet used wood and they didn’t last as well. While other companies lowered standards to keep prices down, Ford continually raised the bar and still kept the cost of the car affordable to any working man. They have a simple design and are easy to maintain. Some farmers actually turned their Model A’s into tractors for farm work. Even today all the parts, including tires, are available.”

Then he added, “I’ve been surprised by how well the Model A runs. It’s intended to go up to 45 mph, but is actually capable of higher speeds.”

The Model A was in production from 1927 to 1931. “The first couple of years they were quite small,” he said. “I’ve heard that Henry Ford wanted them small so that couples could not comfortably have sex in them.”

In time, Gordon sold his Model A with the understanding the owner would restore it. Some years later he again wanted to buy one, but owners were not selling. He bought a 1941 half ton Dodge. “It was my answer to not finding a Model A,” he said. “When we moved from Moose Jaw to B.C., driving it was like driving a Sherman tank.”

The 1930 Model A in summer.
The 1930 Model A in summer.

Acting on a tip from his brother Al in Vancouver, he finally located a Model A for sale, a 1930 pickup. “I bought it on the spot,” he said. He also joined the Lions Gate Model A Club and is still a member. “I’ve done a lot of upgrading on the truck. Members share knowledge and tools with other members.”

I don’t golf, do sports, garden, or gamble,” Gordon said at the end. “For me the Model A is a good hobby.” Sam nodded and smiled. She’s just as hooked.

Keremeos Ukrainian Orthodox Christmas Celebration

This band entertained the crowd with a pleasant blend of tunes.
This band entertained the crowd with a pleasant blend of tunes.

A lively crowd of about 70 attended the Ukrainian Orthodox Christmas celebration hosted by the Keremeos, BC Senior Centre this past Sunday. The function featured a dance with live music followed by a Ukrainian potluck.

We’ve been doing this for about 17 or 18 years,” Kadia Schwetje, wife of the Centre’s President said. “There are quite a few Ukrainian people in Keremeos and the surrounding area. They come from places like Omak, Penticton, Princeton and Osoyoos. Snowbirds from other provinces also show up.”

A mellow, surprisingly pleasant blend of tunes was provided by the Centre’s house band, plus several extras. “The core band has been together for about 20 years,” Kadia said. “They play for our weekly dances.” It was evident that people were there to have a good time, and the dance floor filled up quickly. One white haired man was heard to say jokingly, “I’m looking for a woman to dance with me. Any woman will do.” Moments later he was on the dance floor with a trim, good looking woman.

By 4:30 the rich aroma of Ukrainian cooking turned the crowd’s attention to food. There were traditional dishes like cabbage rolls, perogies, and Ukrainian sausage with sauerkraut. Kadia, who is not Ukrainian, volunteered that there were a number of items whose names she could not pronounce.

According to Kadia, the Senior Centre has about 250 members. “We have exercise sessions, card games, floor curling, crafts and bingo. There are also other activities, plus services that we provide to the community. Everyone is welcome,” she said. “It costs only $20. a year to become a member.”

This crowd knows how to have a good time.

Looking For Grandfather

Richard Lindemere, a Self-Portrait (courtesy of Bill Day)
Richard Lindemere, a Self-Portrait (courtesy of Bill Day)

This year being Canada’s 150th birthday, I was pleased to receive “Looking for Grandfather”, an account of an epic motorcycle adventure in 2010 by two B.C. Seniors, Bill Day and cousin Michael Pease. Written by my good friend Bill Day of Hedley (part time), it’s a real life story of their 6 day, 3000 kilometer ride to learn about their mutual grandfather, painter Richard Lindemere. Almost in passing, Bill manages to skillfully weave in fascinating snippets of an earlier time in western Canada.

Bill notes that Grandfather Lindemere had been raised in a privileged environment in London and studied painting in Paris, where he had an apartment on the Champs Elysee. Also, “he spoke beautiful French.” This lavish lifestyle came to a tumultuous end when the family fortune was lost in the great London stock market crash of 1898.

Lindemere returned to England, acquired a very fleet Greyhound and began to gamble in dog racing. The Greyhound brought him some monetary success. Confident of the dog’s speed, he rashly placed a huge bet, for which he had no financial backing, in a particular race. All went well until the animal leapt over a fence to chase the rabbit the promoters used to motivate the dogs.

Unable to pay the gambling debt, at age 24 he fled to Canada. “Like a lot of young middle class Englishmen at that time,” Bill says, “he had dreams of becoming a cowboy, work for which life experiences had not prepared him.”

It was 1904 and only 19 years after the second Riel Rebellion. “Poundmaker, the great political and military leader of the native peoples was still in very recent memory. Gabriel Dumont, Louis Riel’s lieutenant and brilliant military leader of the Metis, was living quietly at his original homestead at Batoche.”

In spite of the sophistication of his life to this time, Richard Lindemere evidently possessed the pluckiness required to adapt to the more rugged western Canada setting. He did become a cowboy and worked as a drover, participating in 3 major cattle drives from 1905 to 1907.

It was a time,” Bill observes, “when the North West Mounted Police were a huge presence on the prairies, and were generally well regarded by the Aboriginal people.” Lindemere developed life long friendships with Mounties and they appeared in many of his paintings. Three great Chiefs, Poundmaker, Fine Day and Crowfoot captured his admiration and respect, as did Gabriel Dumont. According to Bill, “Grandfather systematically painted the Native and Metis leaders of the time, including Fine Day, who lived until the 1930’s and was Grand Chief of the Saskatchewan Cree.”

Painting by Richard Lindemere of Chief Fine Day -1926 (courtesy of Bill Day)
Painting by Richard Lindemere of Chief Fine Day -1926 (courtesy of Bill Day)

Lindemere established a homestead with his brother, “Uncle Bertie”. According to the family it failed, likely because he devoted his time to painting and his brother spent his time whittling.

At this point Bill’s narrative picks up the motorcycle trip. “The final 30 kilometers to Batoche was along the South Saskatchewan River, a step back in time. Family subsistence farms appeared, many with French names, obviously descendants of the original Metis settlers. They were laid out in strip fashion, characteristic of riverine settlements in Quebec.”

Obviously captivated by the political, social and military dynamics of those years, Bill now slips into a disquieting aspect of Canada’s relationship with indigenous people. “Despite superior generalship and brilliant tactics,” he says, “the Metis and Native forces were ultimately overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and fire power (Gatling guns and cannon) of the Canadian troops.”

After days of hard riding Bill and Michael arrived at their ultimate destination, the Saskatchewan Legislature. Here a number of Lindemere’s paintings are hung in the Prince Edward Room. The Security Officer told them the room was booked all day for a cabinet meeting. “We explained our desire to see Grandfather’s paintings and he looked at these 2 old guys in dusty leathers, then told us to wait. Shortly we were informed that the Premier had granted us10 minutes during their lunch break.”

Mesmerized by this segment of family history, they viewed Richard Lindemere’s 1928 painting of the Speaker of the House, commissioned by the Saskatchewan government. There were also 8 paintings of the North West Mounted Police. (Some of Lindemere’s paintings and sketches will be featured on my blogsite this month.)

Bill, age 77 at the time of the trip, says “Six whirlwind days, about 3000 kilometers, flawless machine performance, and we found Grandfather.” Richard Lindemere left a rich legacy for family and Canada!

The Flavour Of Our Community

I asked Lynn Wells for permission to post the following letter, because it says something about  the flavour of our little community of Hedley.

Hedley Christmas Dinner 2016
Hedley Christmas Dinner 2016

Dear Hedley Seniors’ Centre friends and members:

It was an outstanding Christmas Day dinner at the Hedley Seniors’ Centre. We were expecting around 75 people. We seated 90. Fortunately, we cooked six turkeys with stuffing, two hams, 30 pounds of potatoes, as well as sweet potatoes, turnips, brussel sprouts, carrots, peas, and dinner rolls, accompanied by buckets of gravy and cranberry sauce. The dinner ended with some delectable desserts including pumpkin pies, black forest cake, cookies, Christmas cake, and much more. Everyone had more than enough to eat, and we sent five dinners to residents who were unable to attend the dinner.

The biggest note of appreciation goes to all those who donated money, food and, especially their time. Santa has his elves, the Seniors’ Centre has its wonderful volunteers. A special thank you goes to Beryl Wallace, Peggy Terry, Ruth Woodin, Nancy Draper, Margaret Skaar and her son Fred, Robin Ford, Cherie Ruprecht, Joy Pillipow & her grand-daughter Sophie, Lynne Mackay, Patt Melville, Cindy Regier, Michelle Jacobs, Marie Jacobs, Russ Stoney, Dave Peers, and Gary Ross. They shopped for supplies, set up and decorated tables, prepared food, cooked, delivered food, served food, and helped to clean up afterwards.

The Hitching Post and the Nickel Plate Restaurants also contributed. I apologize if I have missed anyone. especially those who brought food to the dinner or who worked silently in the background. Thank you to all those people, too. This Christmas dinner is an annual event at the Hedley Seniors’ Centre. It is a way to bring the community together on a day of celebration and giving. Thank you, everyone.

And now, on behalf of the Board of Directors and members of the Hedley Seniors’ Centre,

We wish you a healthy and happy 2017!

Lynn Wells

President

Thoughts About New Years Resolutions

New Years Resolutions
New Years Resolutions

Like a lot of sensible citizens of the Similkameen Valley, I long ago ceased tormenting myself with New Years resolutions that really didn’t stir my imagination or my will to persevere. Looking back over my lifetime, I see that generally when significant inner change has come, it has not been the result of a New Years resolution. Although it required time, eventually I grasped the silliness of resolving to not eat chocolates or donuts.

In retrospect, I understand now that significant change for me has at times been born of necessity, as when I visited the Toastmasters club in the offices of Langley Township. Walking into that room I was much like a fearful, whimpering cur, tail tucked tightly between its trembling legs. Although I was conscious of what I was doing, it was nevertheless a reckless plunging into territory considerably outside my comfort zone.

I had long considered myself inept in front of a crowd of any size. Exposing my lack of training and inexperience before this group of pretty accomplished public speakers brought on a disquieting weakness in my knees. Gathering up my scant courage and paying the membership fee that day, I embarked on an arduous journey that has taught me some lessons about how to introduce positive change into my life.

The impetus for joining Toastmasters was a fervent desire to participate more effectively in the issues bedeviling our community. I was willing to take this initial step into unknown and dangerous terrain because I believed it was important. Not eating chocolates or donuts might be desirable but seemingly not important enough to make a firm, irrevocable decision.

Possibly bringing about change requires an element of adventure and even danger. Certainly for me becoming a Toastmaster, while not physically hazardous, did introduce a serious threat to my ego. Evaluators of my speeches began making me aware of habits that were distracting for the audience. One said, “Art played the accordian today,” a reference to my repetitive hand gestures. Another observed that “Art did a lot of pacing.” To become a more effective communicator I would have to listen to what these members were telling me. And I needed to apply their suggestions for improvement.

The Toastmasters program provides plenty of encouragement, but after 6 months I felt demoralized, my sensitive ego battered by a growing awareness of my seemingly myriad deficiencies. Much of the battering was coming, not from evaluations by fellow members, but from my own overly critical self-evaluations.

After much soul searching I began to understand that my negative thoughts were dragging me down. I asked myself a question that changed my focus. Was I willing to accept ignominious defeat, or would I dig deep and make a more serious commitment to my purpose in doing this?

I began altering my focus, reminding myself of my desire to make a constructive contribution to my community. This made it easier for me to hear the encouraging comments of evaluators, and to be aware of the progress I was making. In time I was able to turn the experience into an adventure. I set a goal of writing and delivering one speech each month, in addition to serving regularly in other roles. I attended meetings faithfully and made a firm decision to always follow through on my commitments to the club. Some of my distracting habits, like erratic, repetitive hand gestures began falling away.

In time it became easier, even enjoyable. I began speaking outside the club, a couple of times addressing the mayor and council of Abbotsford on environmental issues.

In my years as a Toastmaster, I saw some members grow phenomenally. Others though, became discouraged and drifted away. One member with good potential joined because she dreamed of becoming a professional public speaker. When she didn’t place well in her first speech contest she left, apparently forgetting her reason for joining.

The Toastmasters experience has helped me understand that to attain positive growth, it’s important to have a powerful reason. Affirming the purpose regularly is useful. In my case this provided the resolve to commit more deeply in the midst of perceived failure. Maybe the time will yet come when I’ll decide to dump the chocolates and donuts habit, but not this year. New Years Resolutions can be productive if they have the power to stir our imagination and our will to persevere.