All posts by Art Martens

Hedley Times, Inspiration

Canada Day: Remembering Our Forgotten Heroes

Leave a comment
Raising the flag at the Hedley, BC museum for Canada Day.

As an adolescent growing up in a rural British Columbia community, I was profoundly impressed by individuals who accomplished the extraordinary. New York Yankees center fielder Mickey Mantel was at the top of my personal list. Scientist Albert Einstein grabbed my rapt attention, as did best selling writers like Ernest Hemingway and John Steinbeck.

Examining my list now, I’m amazed at how little attention I gave to Canadians at that young age. With Canada Day approaching I decided it was time for a little re-education to fill in some of the gaps of my understanding of Canada’s history. I concluded that although to my young mind, Canadian achievements may not have seemed as spectacular as Mickey Mantel leaping high in the air to catch a fly ball at the fence, we have reason to celebrate our past.

I began with an obvious question. Who named our country? Lately I’ve heard some individuals say we should not call our celebration Canada Day because it likely is offensive to indigenous people. According to history texts, explorer Jacques Cartier heard the name Kanata referred to by indigenous people. It was the name of a village situated on the present site of Quebec City. Cartier assumed it meant the entire country and he named it Canada.

Indigenous people played a crucial role in enabling early Europeans to explore and exploit Canada, with its vast often treacherous terrain and harsh weather. They provided the light, versatile birch bark canoes which could more easily be carried on portages.

When greedy white hunters killed off the the buffalo herds and settlers stole the land, indigenous people became hungry and restless. It was a time of desperation and turmoil. The young men clamoured for war.

Chief Poundmaker of the Saskatchewan Cree recognized that the settlers would be able to eradicate his people with their superior weapons and numbers. A man of great dignity and honour, he was guided by a selfless desire to obtain a good life for his people. Rather than advocating violence, Chief Poundmaker asked the government to provide instruction in farming and other types of assistance in exchange for their land. With words and example, he reasoned with his people and averted much of the potential shedding of blood. The government moved people onto reserves, but reneged on the promises to provide the help they needed.

While indigenous people were being relegated to reserves, white settlers, mostly European, were setting in place the basics of this country. George Brown, a reform minded British Canadian established the Toronto Globe, which became Canada’s most influential newspaper at the time. He was active in the pursuit of national unity and attended the Charlottetown and Quebec conferences in 1864. In 1867 he participated in the forming of The Liberal Party. He was also a member of the Elgin Association, which purchased land for escaped American slaves to live on. He promoted westward expansion and opposed the policies of Conservative Prime Minister John A. Macdonald.

Kit Coleman, an Irish Canadian columnist has been largely forgotten, and yet her example inspired women to believe they could set more challenging goals and achieve them. Curious and willing to risk, Kit became the first accredited female war correspondent. She was elected president of the Canadian Womens’ Press Club. Throughout her career she shrugged off the disparaging attitudes of male co-workers who believed a woman’s place was in the home.

Bush pilots played a key role in the opening and development of Canada’s North. Of these pioneering aviators, Clennel Haggerston (1899-1995), better known as Punch, was one of the most daring and adventuresome. Flying more than a million miles across the uncharted North, often in treacherous weather looking for scarce landing strips, he became a legend among the hardy inhabitants of this rugged terrain. Indigenous people dubbed him “Snow Eagle.” He delivered the first air mail to the Northwest Territories. In WW1 he joined the Royal Air Force. A highly skilled pilot, he was credited with shooting down 7 enemy aircraft, a rare feat for bomber pilots.

Canada does have heroes. Some, like Terry Fox uplifted our spirits and will not soon be forgotten. Others, including Private Smoky Smith in WW1 inspired his comrades in arms, but his name probably is not recognized by many Canadians in our time.

Canada Day. It can be a reminder to pause at least for a few moments and honor our many unsung heroes.

Hedley Times, Inspiration

Choosing A Life Path

Leave a comment

 

In grade eight, I was profoundly stirred by Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road not Taken.” He wrote, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.”

Now, after observing individuals in my own life, and much pondering, I realize that the thoughts we think, the words we speak, and the actions we take, will determine what road we choose in life. One man, an elderly inmate serving a lengthy sentence at Matsqui Institution helped me understand that if we want adventure, fulfillment. and a sense of purpose, we cannot leave this decision to chance.

I met Albert at the Matsqui prison when I was doing research for a university course on inmate culture. For much of his 68 years, Albert (better known as Red) had experienced life from inside prison fences. Deeply addicted to heroin, he was doing time for possession and trafficking in drugs. He had been successful in the drug “business,” but not at staying out of prison.

Over many years, in dangerous prisons like St. Vincent de Paul in Quebec, Stony Mountain in Manitoba, St. Albert in Alberta and the BC Penitentiary, Albert had learned how to survive. He didn’t complain or annoy the guards, and he never hid a knife or steel bar in his cell.

If there was no one else in the hobby shop, Albert felt free to talk. Smoking was still permitted in the prison and usually he sat in his hard backed chair, blowing smoke rings or meticulously rolling a cigarette. His hair was always neatly combed. Wearing steel rimmed glasses, even in the grey prison garb, he could have been mistaken for a college professor. It was from him I learned the in-house language used by inmates so guards wouldn’t understand. I also learned about their values and attitudes, how drugs were smuggled into the prison, and much more.

Because he didn’t create problems, Albert had earned a measure of trust and had been given responsibility for running the hobby shop. He was at times awarded a “temporary absence pass” to go with a staff member to buy supplies. On one occasion I arranged for Albert and several fellow inmates to meet with a small group of men from the community for a “get acquainted” session. The owner of a local book store arrived late, and because the men were wearing street clothes, he didn’t realize they were inmates. Albert impressed him with his understanding of life and later the businessman said, “It sure was good of the Warden to come.” He was speaking of Albert.

Albert seemed so knowledgeable and self assured, it was only when he was released on parole that I realized he had a major deficiency. Although Matsqui had offered him several university level courses, extensive shop instruction, and counselling, he had chosen not to enrol in any of these. He had grown comfortable, safe, and complacent in prison and experienced no urging to prepare for the challenges that awaited him when he was paroled.

After completing his sentence and being paroled, Albert returned to the streets of Vancouver and resumed his drug selling. Like many inmates, he had developed few strategies for staying on the outside of prison chain link fences. Prison was the only life he knew.

When he was accosted by a plain clothes police officer, his formerly sensitive antennae failed him. Wearing the apparel of an unkempt street person, the man said, “you got?” Albert replied, “I got.” Upon producing the drugs, he was quickly arrested, handcuffed and placed in cells.

Albert’s attorney called me and I met him in his expensive Vancouver high rise office. It was immediately obvious to me this was a pricey lawyer. Instead of preparing for a crime free life, Albert had placed a lot of money with him, believing this was the best insurance against doing more time. Because Albert had not participated in prison educational programs, when the case went to court I was hard pressed to answer the judge’s questions. At age 71, Albert was sentenced to 8 years. Assigned to a work camp, he served faithfully in the kitchen until his passing at age 74. He never achieved a life of adventure or fulfillment, but from him I learned the importance of choosing a path that will prepare us for life’s next challenge. It will come.

 

My Story

Looking Back After Eighty Years

Aside Leave a comment
This brand new Mustang gave us a few thrills, but only for a few days. It was a courtesy car provided by ICBC when our car was totaled. We opted for other sources of adventure.

I still wonder about a memory that goes back to the first year Linda and I were married. The instant I woke that sunny Saturday morning, I was conscious of a thought that would shape my life to the present time. The thought was “stop living tentatively,” and seemed to have been deposited on a shelf at eye level, where I would be certain to see it. The experience was brief but so vivid I wondered if an angel might have swooped down and bequeathed it to me. I’ve grappled with the memory frequently, hoping to understand and apply it. When I attained an important life milestone last month, I decided to look back over the years with one question. Did the “message” have a significant impact on my objectives, decisions and actions? On my life?

I recall reading “The Shipping News,” by Annie Proulx at that time. At one point a minor character, Cousin Nolan, is in an institution. Poorly educated, he is in his sunset years, keenly aware he really hasn’t accomplished anything he deems worthwhile. “I always knowed I was meant for something important,” he says, “but I didn’t know how to begin. I never had no luck.” Although I was young and possessed little sense of direction, I considered this outcome as disastrous as having a doctor tell me I had cancer. I wanted to do whatever was required to dodge such a fate.

Like Cousin Nolan, I didn’t know where to begin, but when I was asked to sponsor an inmate at Oakalla Prison (still functioning then), curiosity compelled me to agree. I was in a group of a dozen men. A burly unsmiling guard carrying a large key opened a thick metal door. When it clanged shut behind us with an ominous finality, I actually wondered if we’d be permitted to leave. Seeing the listless, grey clad men confined to their barred cells, it was here I began to understand that just as an individual can be confined by steel bars, my life could be constricted by my thinking. It was a realization I took into life, and with time it matured.

Some years later an American company with deep pockets announced it would construct a gas fired power plant (SE2) in Sumas, just across the border from Abbotsford where Linda and I lived at the time. Environmentalists warned us the plant would shower dangerous levels of polluted air on our city. We were deeply concerned but knew nothing about combating such a threat. “We’ll have to leave this to the politicians and lawyers,” Linda suggested. “We wouldn’t know where to begin.” I agreed.

Apparently the politicians and lawyers did not comprehend the potential health implications of this venture. Initially the scheme’s promoters were welcome in the mayor’s office. Because the plant would need to obtain power from the grid on our side of the border, they would require support from local authorities. When the National Energy Board (NEB) invited applications for intervenor status, a few disturbed citizens found the courage to apply. The power brokers of our community sat on their hands, seemingly not knowing how to deal with this threat.

Now Linda had a change of heart. “There aren’t enough intervenors to impress the NEB,” she said. “We will have to get involved.” I’ve learned that when Linda says “we” in such cases, she means I will have to enter the fray, albeit with her full backing. Several months later, I and other citizens stood before the NEB with quaking limbs, urging them to quash the project. Some unbelieving individuals were convinced our cause was hopeless and wrote letters to local papers claiming, “You can’t win against the Yankees. Give it up!” In time more people became enboldened and several hundred applied to be intervenors. We developed the SE2 Action Group and initiated a letter campaign to the NEB. In spite of the naysayers, we prevailed and the NEB ruled in our favour.

Since those early years, Linda and I have partnered a number of times with others in seemingly hopeless endeavours. When we celebrated my 80th birthday last month, I looked back and realized that although I often trembled, I have sought to not live tentatively.

Hedley Times

Tap’s Car, Harbinger of Change in Hedley

4 Comments

When I walk past the home of our neighbors, Tap and Di, I experience a distinct twinge of envy. The twinge comes from the knowledge that Tap possesses an uncanny ability to take an ordinary piece of wood and turn it into a delight inspiring work of art. His workshop and yard are virtually bursting at the seams with his creations. What Tap and Di are doing is pretty indicative of the changes coming to Hedley.

Initially I focused on Tap’s exquisite bird houses, constructed with assistance from Di. A carved logging truck loaded with logs also captured my interest. This past spring I became aware he was constructing a car similar to Henry Ford’s famous Model T. Having a longstanding fascination with automobiles from that era, I was immediately smitten. I have visited his shop regularly to stay abreast of progress.

Being one dimensional, the car will never be driven on the streets of Hedley. It’s body, like that of the Model T, is constructed primarily of wood, but without the thin metal cladding affixed to Henry Ford’s cars. It has a single tail light, which is turned on after dark. As with many early vehicles, the spokes are of wood. Tap still intends to install a rumble seat.

The project exudes imagination, loving creativity, and meticulous regard for detail. While others wearied us (although not in Hedley) with noisy protests against pandemic restrictions, Tap laboured patiently and joyously to provide our community with a work of art that compels attention. In the four years since they retired and moved here, Tap has also constructed the most impressive gazebo in Hedley, possibly in all of B.C. Di also has an innovative bent and is usually on hand to offer help, suggestions and praise.

Until a few years ago Hedley saw little change, other than an occasional coat of paint on a house. With rising concerns about health due to air pollution, a desire to escape the increasing population density in urban centers, and the advent of covid-19, city dwellers began displaying an interest in small communities like Hedley. Having sold their more pricey properties elsewhere, they have generally come with at least some cash in their pockets and surprisingly often, the skills required to create interesting change.

A couple of years ago another neighbor began a project that interested me. Debra, who had recently settled in Hedley with her partner Johnny, decided to build a stone wall across the front of their property. With the advice, encouragement and prodding of Helmut, a fellow Hedley resident, she began assembling stones. Although no longer a young man and mostly confined to a wheelchair, Helmut faithfully showed up at Debra’s construction site and insisted on a high standard. He has a lifetime of experience with similar projects and offered prudent guidance.

Debra labored zealously for about four months, installing enough rebar to be a challenge for the new owners when she sold the property to them. It was a challenge for the new owners because they didn’t want the wall. Helmut’s focus had been on making the structure not only attractive but also incredibly robust. Many determined blows with a sledgehammer and power tools were required to dismantle it. In the meantime, Debra and Johnny acquired another property just around the corner from where Linda and I live. Lately she has been heard musing under her breath about erecting a second wall.

Walking around this quaint little town at dusk each evening, I rejoice at the creativity I see flourishing. Over approximately seven years, Terry and Valerie have applied a generous touch of magic to a decrepit motel at the entrance to Hedley. On the far side of town, overlooking 20 Mile Creek, a two story house, built with blond logs invites a second look. It is the creation of Bill and Pixie, recent additions to our community.

When Linda and I returned to Hedley some eight years ago, the town was pretty static, known largely for its gold mining history, the Hedley Historic Museum, a well received monthly pancake breakfast, and the yearly street dance on Scott Avenue. A wave of gifted and motivated “immigrants” to our community has brought colour and a greater vibrancy. In my opinion, and that of numerous tourists, Hedley is well worth a visit. If you’re interested, Tap’s car is now affixed to the front of his workshop.

Hedley Times

New Coffee Shop Has Touch Of Magic

2 Comments

In most communities it’s possible to find a coffee shop where patrons can sit around a table, enjoy a cup of java and chat. For approximately the past two years, citizens of Hedley have had only limited access to such a place locally. The brew drought began a few years ago when the highly respected Hitching Post restaurant burned to the ground in the middle of the night. Not long after that the Nickel Plate restaurant closed its doors.

Except when covid restrictions forbade almost every source of pleasure, we have been able to buy coffee and meet neighbours at the Hedley Hall, but only between 6:30 am and 8 am. This summer the Hedley Museum offered coffee and pie (lemon or apple) Friday to Monday. They have just closed for the season. The Country Market does sell coffee, but only for takeout. Other than the pandemic and the smoke from wildfires this summer, the main gripe in town has been lack of a place to meet friends and exchange ideas and gossip. I have at times been embarrassed when asked by tourists where they could find a place to relax with a cup of coffee and a muffin.

Last Friday Hedley citizens celebrated the cessation of these meagre offerings when Terry Leonard and Valerie Beckman opened the doors of their Grand Union Cafe. Located at the corner of Scott and Haynes, the name comes from a hotel once situated on that site. The hotel burned down in 1918.

Knowing both Terry and Valerie have an impressive streak of creativity, I walked into their premises a few minutes after their 8 am opening. My neighbor Sharon, and also Ralph and Lynne were already seated at a table, evidently with high expectations. Others soon arrived and there was an animated buzz of conversation and laughter.

When the initial influx of patrons had been served, Valerie led me to the rear of the premises and talked about the enterprise and how it had come about. She spoke with just a hint of an English accent and explained she had come from London at about age 17 or 18. “In 2008 I was manager in a doctors office on Salt Spring Island,” she began. “Terry was doing renovations upstairs in the same building. Our paths crossed frequently and we realized we had a lot in common.”

The cafe offers an impressive array of beverages, including cappuccinos, lattes, Americano and drip coffee. Customers were snapping up muffins, scones, cookies, cheese cake, cinnamon toast, pie and other tempting items. Some chose to sit in the sunshine outside where there are strategically situated chairs and benches, and a view of the surrounding mountains.

“We also offer local artisans an opportunity to place items on consignment,” Valerie said. Pointing to a display of embroidered jackets and mats mounted on a wall, she continued, “those are the work of Kate Todd.” Kate is well known in Hedley as a gifted artisan. I noticed an assortment of clothes on a rack and Valerie told me they sell quality used apparel and shoes. Plum ketchup and cherry barbeque sauce will also soon be available. They have lots of plans for the future, including an electric car charging station.

Glancing around it was evident to me that patrons were experiencing a sense of enchantment. I wasn’t surprised when Valerie said, “We think of ourselves as a family of imagineers. We like to add a little magic. The space next to the cafe is Terry’s studio, where he plays music and creates artwork.”

Although I’m not a committed coffee drinker I purchased a cappuccino and walked out just behind Pat, a longtime Hedley resident. “I enjoyed the coffee,” she said, “and I’m glad we finally have a cafe. We’ve needed it a long time.”

Community, Hedley Times

Hedley Street Dance Brings Joy

Image 1 Comment
The Big Buck Band

It was party time in Hedley this past Saturday night. People arrived in the afternoon from all over the Similkameen Valley and beyond. They came in cars, pickups, motorcycles and even a truck pulling a horse trailer. Fifteen to twenty exuberant partiers emerged from the trailer, anticipating a good time. There was also a bus from Princeton, with members of the Princeton Posse hockey team aboard. Side streets were lined with vehicles, the majority from out of town. After more than a year of covid warnings from Doc Henry, it was time to release a lot of pent up frustration and energy. A time to celebrate life, friendships and the end of the virus (which of course is still creating havoc in some places).

The annual street dance has long been a much anticipated event in our community. Organized by the Hedley Community Club, it was cancelled last year due to the pandemic. “The Big Buck Band had been scheduled to perform in 2020,” Cindy Regier, one of the organizers told me. “When group events were prohibited by the authorities, the band committed to being here this year.” Cindy estimated that approximately 300 people participated. My own guess was 500. “We sold about 150 tickets to the dinner,” Cindy said. “Doug Bratt prepared the chicken and a number of people helped with salads. We also delivered a number of meals to individuals living alone, some in poor health.”

The five Big Buck Band musicians come from diverse points in B.C., including Kamloops and 1OO Mile House. They set up their stage on Scott Avenue, Hedley’s main street, in front of the Country Market. Although I’m more than a tad older than many of the attendees, I enjoyed their tunes, which Cindy described as a mix of country and rock. They began their performance at dusk and the younger crowd quickly flowed to the areas nearest the stage. Several pretty teenage girls in brightly colored, flowing dresses led the way. Their fluid movements reminded me of monarch butterflies I had observed with fascination when I was a kid living in the country. The ecstasy of these young women was palpable.

The more mature crowd needed time, and in some cases a little “fortification,” to join the dancers. I drifted among those who were content to observe, watching for photo opportunities. Seeing three attractive young women sitting on the stone fence in front of Woodlie Park and chatting animatedly, I said, “I’m looking for photos for my blogsite. Can I snap a picture of you?” “Sure,” the nearest one responded without hesitation. They ceased chatting and posed as though this was for the Vancouver Sun.

Seeing two young couples standing away from the crowd indulging in a cigarette, I asked if they were enjoying the music. “Yes,” one said enthusiastically. “It’s good music.” Noting that they were making no attempt to social distance, I asked if they had accepted the covid vaccination. “I had an appointment,” one of the women said, “but I didn’t go.” They expressed concerns about possible side effects.

There likely were a few masks somewhere in this crowd, but I didn’t see even one. Also, there appeared to be no thought of social distancing. These were friendly, easy to like people and I do hope none will suffer for this evening of fun and freedom.

At midnight, after chatting briefly with Cindy, the band leader said, “I’m going to show my softer side.” The band began singing “Amazing Grace” in enchanting 4 part harmony. A hush fell on the crowd and it became a magical moment. People began joining the band in singing. For Cindy it was one of the highlights of the evening.

Although beer sales appeared to be brisk at The Country Market, I neither saw nor heard reports of untoward incidents. Someone suggested the trouble makers have departed from our community. Some cannabis use was evident but not extensive or a problem.

An event like this requires many hours of planning and often tedious work. In this case, the organizers went home at about 2pm, long after everyone else had departed. I’m personally pleased that the Community Club has revived the Street Dance. It’s a lot of fun and it brings a positive identity to our community. We owe the organizers a huge thanks for again making it happen. I’m sure they’d welcome the participation of others to lighten the load next year.

 

 

Inspiration

Lessons From The Pandemic

1 Comment
Larry’s house after a year of creative work.

Now that Doc Bonnie and her political overseers have loosened their grip on societal reins, we can look back and ask ourselves how we dealt with the pandemic. Did we respond with resolve, understanding and grace, or with a weak-kneed whimper? More important, are we prepared mentally and emotionally for the next crisis, whether local or global? Do we even acknowledge there will be another challenge to our sense of well being?

I continue to be puzzled by those who openly flaunted health regulations designed to protect us from covid 19 and its companion variants. For the better part of a year, some devoted their lives to protesting the restrictions. Were their efforts useful to themselves and society, or did they squander an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to contribute? Were they deluded and blinded by negative mental quicksand?

As we approach the end of the pandemic (in Canada), this could be viewed as a time to evaluate the thinking, assumptions and strategies we rely on in times of extraordinary challenge. There have been other societal emergencies, like the Black Plague in 1347 and the Spanish Influenza in 1918-1920. The world has also endured two global wars and the Great Depression. In 2011 parts of Japan were devastated by an earthquake and tsunami. Nearly 20,000 people lost their lives. According to Gilbert Gaul in The Geography Risk, “in the U.S. alone there has been well over half a trillion dollars in damages from hurricanes in the last two decades.” It has been said that “the reason history repeats itself is that no one was listening the first time.”

Hedley has seen no rallies protesting the restrictions. Protests have been on an individual private basis, like one neighbour who maintains the pandemic is a hoax. He refused to wear a mask unless it was absolutely mandatory, like entering a store to buy cigarettes or beer. Another is convinced the vaccines contain toxins and are a nefarious plan by Bill and Melinda Gates to depopulate the globe. A few have largely withdrawn into their private world and we don’t see them.

Do protesters believe that if they deny reality, it will cease to exist? Are they harking back to an earlier time when life was simpler, water and food tasted better, and there was a sense of purity in the land?

At the outset of my personal “look back” at the turmoil caused by the pandemic, I was reminded of the words of renowned Viennese psychiatrist, Viktor Frankl. He wrote, “Life is never made unbearable by circumstances, but only by lack of meaning and purpose.” He came to this understanding while lying naked on a cold metal table in a Nazi facility for medical experimentation. Frankl decided he would not relinquish control of his mind to Hitler’s medical goons. He focused instead on positive memories, such as lectures he’d delivered as a university professor.

Unlike the resisters, some individuals have used the approximately 15 months to create something of value. My neighbor Larry bought a house most people would have torn down. Larry had other ideas. He rebuilt the structure and added to it. “I have a compromised immune system,” he told me. “I avoid being close to people I don’t know. This building project keeps me from being bored.” From the outset of the pandemic, he has worked, pretty much alone every day, not taking a full day off even to celebrate Christmas. He has little patience for those who complain about restrictions.

Bill Carmichael and Trisha Mills also built a home. Their restaurant, the Hitching Post and their second floor residence, burned during the night a couple of years ago. With the help of a contractor, Bill and Trisha erected the shell of a quonset type structure, which will be their home when complete. They are now continuing to work on the project as they have means. In spite of considerable pain and the need for several medical procedures, they have carried on with great resolve. I haven’t heard a complaint from either of them.

For more than a year we’ve heard people say, “I can’t wait for things to return to normal.” Now we’re accepting it will be a “new normal.” Is the burning of Lytton an indication of what we should expect? Almost certainly, radical climate change will impact our future. Will we prepare, or will we deny and whimper?

My Story

Remembering My Father

5 Comments

My father operating the front-end loader.

(This blog was first posted June 12, 2019). After my father fell at age 89 and broke a hip, he never walked again. His previously robust body lost the capacity even to turn over in bed. Although he had long been a powerful force in my life, it was in his remaining 6 years that his values and approach to life most profoundly impacted me.

Dad was a cat operator and during most of my early years, he lived and worked in remote logging camps. I recall being awakened very early on a Monday morning to see him leave for work. I wouldn’t see him again for 2 weeks. In those years he was little more than a stranger to me.

When I was a teen, he brought the big red International TD 18 bulldozer back to the Fraser Valley where we lived and began clearing land for farmers. During my summer breaks from school, he took me along to his jobs. He wanted me to develop work skills and taught me to operate a bulldozer, drive a dump truck, use a chain saw and blow up huge old growth stumps with 20 percent dynamite. I began to understand that he possessed an uncanny ability with machinery.

Sometimes I shuddered inwardly watching him tackle a towering fir tree, or building a road down a precipitous hillside. I shuddered even more when he told me about constructing a logging road on the side of a mountain. “When I lifted the blade of my cat,” he said, “I could see the river a thousand feet below.” I knew that a slight misjudgment could have sent him and the machine hurtling down into the abyss. It seemed he harbored a need to taunt fate. Being young and impressionable, I respected his masculinity.

Although I wasn’t yet aware of it, my father was also influencing me at another, more important level. Only later did I understand he was a man of immense integrity. He didn’t lie, cheat customers, or complain when the going was tough. He reached out to people in need whether it was bringing a hitch hiker home for a meal or helping a non-mechanical neighbor replace a clutch in his car. He served on the executive of the parent group in my school and tithed faithfully to his church.

In my early 20’s our paths diverged when I attended S.F.U. Dad turned to music, playing first a bass fiddle and later a cello.

After he retired and mom passed away, my strong, self-reliant father wanted his family to draw nearer. He had for some years been battling prostate cancer and his PSA numbers were disturbing. He was living alone in an apartment when the life changing fall took away much of what had given him a sense of deep fulfillment.

Placed in a longterm care facility, he embarked on a disciplined exercise and stretching regimen, hoping to get his walking back. I asked one day if he needed to lie down and rest. Acutely aware the number of days he had left was shrinking, he replied ,“No, I don’t want to waste my time. I should be accomplishing something.” I marveled at how valiantly he pressed on, building a new life within the confines of the care facility.

Dad ready to play his cello.

A musician came weekly to help him again play the cello. I began plunking on the piano in the dining hall and together we made music for the residents. He asked the care aides about their families. They came to respect and love him. In time he became almost a local celebrity in the facility. Residents, visitors, care aides and nurses knew Jacob.

“I still like to live,” he said. But he was losing strength, the PSA numbers were creeping up and his hemoglobin was low. Near the end he was confined to his bed. I more often saw the pain lines on his face. Standing beside his bed holding his hand, I sometimes needed to turn away so he wouldn’t see my tears.

Dad didn’t complain. To the end he trusted God to see him through to “take him home” when he drew his final breath. I received the call from the facility at 5 am on December 9, 2009 telling me he had passed on. Even now I consider myself privileged to have been close to him during those last 6 years. It is still my desire to walk as much as possible in my father’s footsteps.

 

Indigenous People of Similkameen Valley

John Terbasket Learned From Elders

6 Comments

John Terbasket
                                 John Terbasket 

(This was first published Aug. 13, 2016) John Terbasket’s early life could have warped him to be bitter, angry, confused and addicted to alcohol. In a lengthy conversation with Linda and me in our home, he spoke candidly about his life as a member of the Lower Similkameen Indian Band, the people, experiences and understandings that made him a respected role model and leader rather than a disgruntled derelict. He expressed pride in his family and people, but didn’t attempt to gloss over the issues still confronting the band.

“My father was an alcoholic,” he told us. “When I was about 7, my mother died. I went to live with an older sister, then with an uncle and aunt. At age 10 I stopped going to school and started cowboying for my Uncle Barney Allison.”

Wanting John to get an education, at age 16 Uncle Barney sent him to a residential school in Cranbrook. “They ran it like a prison,” John remembers. “At night young children cried and I tried to comfort them. We weren’t allowed to speak our language. If we did, they gave us a toothbrush and made us clean 3 flights of stairs.”

Later the residential school experience gave him an understanding that helped him as a band leader. “I went to a reunion 15 years after leaving the school,” he said. “Many of my former classmates had become alcoholics. Some were dead. I saw that the residential school had left the survivors feeling lost.”

John married Delphine at about age 20. Many of their friends were enmeshed in an alcoholic lifestyle and for a time they followed the same path.

Fortunately he was blessed with several excellent role models. His uncle Barney Allison told him, “You don’t have much education. You will have to work. Take whatever job you can get and learn as many trades as possible.” John accepted this advice and for some years worked in logging, orcharding and cowboying.

At age 30 he agreed to take his brother and sister-in-law to AA meetings two evenings per week for a month. “When the month was over,” he said, “they stopped attending, but I continued. I remembered how it had been in our home because of my father’s drinking. Sometimes there were no groceries. I didn’t want our children to grow up like that. My wife and I both turned away from alcohol.”

His Uncle Bobby, also a successful rancher, told him, “things are going to change. We will need people with an education.” When the band offered to send John to the Cody International Institute in Nova Scotia, he accepted. Not long after, he was appointed to be the band’s first administrator.

“I came out of the orchard to be administrator,” he said. “I didn’t have the experience or knowledge to make things happen. The Elders helped me get a more clear vision of what was needed. Also, Uncle Barney had been elected band chief. He had a vision for our people. He got things started.”

John grew in the understanding that the residential schools, in denying children their language and culture, had stripped away their indigenous identity. “People were confused,” he said. “They didn’t feel they were part of either culture. They turned to alcohol to escape the memories of abuse in the schools. When they had children, they didn’t know how to be parents, so the confusion was passed to the next generation. There was dissension between those who had been in residential schools and those who had not.”

The Elders advised him “you have to help our people with sobriety before you start bringing in a lot of money. Then the money will be used for good purposes.”

Realizing he had much to learn, John listened carefully to the Elders. “Initially we emphasized education and jobs,” he said. “Then we began to understand that to become resilient and confident, young people needed to become immersed in the culture of our people. That would give them an identity they could be proud of. Five years ago we revived the annual Pow Wow at the Ashnola Camp Ground. A lot of our young people are participating.”

John Terbasket holding his great granddaughter Nia
John Terbasket holding his great granddaughter Nia

Now 78, John is grateful for his family and appears thoroughly grounded philosophically and emotionally. He credits his uncles and the Elders with enabling him to have a part in the positive band developments. 

A couple of years after our conversation, John passed and was honored at the 2018 Similkameen Powwow of Champions.

Inspiration, People

Adventuring On A Trike

Leave a comment
Rob & Catherine at Manning Park

I’ve long been fascinated by the sleek motor bikes that invariably streak by us on Highway #3 at this time of year. Sometimes they come alone. Sometimes in pairs. Occasionally there are half a dozen or more. Their riders remind me of intrepid Cree or Blackfoot warriors in the past, determinedly racing after a herd of buffalo. To me they seem a special breed. A breed that has thrown off many of the constraints that hold most mortals close to earth, where we feel relatively safe. I envy their sense of abandon. If they understand the hazards of their great adventure, they do not reveal it. Their powerful engines roaring, they seem engulfed in a shroud of mystique and charisma.

I recently met one of these fearless ones in the men’s room at Manning Park. His robust appearance and apparel suggested he owned one of the expensive bikes I’d noticed on the lodge’s vast parking area. A big man, I guessed him to be approaching age 50. “It’s a perfect day to be on a bike,” I ventured, wondering if he would deign to speak to a mere car traveller. “Yes,” he responded, “my wife and I are on our way back to New Westminster. It’s always a great day to be on a bike.”

We walked out to his bike together and I met Catherine. They were riding a Harley Davidson trike. “We bought it from the dealership in Chilliwack in December of 2019,” Catherine said. “It was the first one of this model sold in B.C.” It was truly an impressive machine and when Rob suggested I hop aboard, I didn’t hesitate. The comfort was superior to our 2004 Toyota Camry.

When Rob suggested I hop on, I didn’t hesitate.

“We traded in our two wheel bike for a trike because Catherine is losing her vision,” Rob explained. “She has only six percent left. She can’t see when a corner is coming so she doesn’t know when to lean. The three wheels make it much more stable and leaning isn’t an issue.”

“The passenger seat is raised,” Catherine said. “This gives me a better view. It also means I swallow more bugs.” She didn’t seem to consider this a high price for a comfortable ride and a great view. “We’ve travelled with it a lot,” Catherine continued. “We rode it to Vegas to get married. We actually ran away to escape the hoopla.” They both appeared to be in their forties, somewhat beyond the usual age for eloping, but certainly fitting for two individuals looking for a life of adventure.

I’ve talked with trike riders at Manning Lodge in the past. A couple of years ago two men well past age 60 stopped there for a coffee break. Their gleaming bikes were nearly new, a Harley and a Bombardier. According to a sales person in the Chilliwack dealership, trikes are ideal for seniors who want to continue riding. Because of their much greater stability, they’re a good option for someone with compromised hips or knees. Being larger, they are more visible in traffic. Also, the third wheel and additional weight makes them more difficult to tip. These and other features provide an increased sense of safety.

For anyone wanting all the bells and whistles, and there are many, the price tag on a trike can be intimidating. Rob and Catherine wanted it all and apparently were able to pay the $60,000. Their bike tells them if a tire is low or if they need to add petrol. It warms the seats and hand grips. It also permits Catherine to adjust the foot rests up or down, plus much more.

My friend Terry mentioned to me recently he plans to ride as much as possible this summer. “I’m in my late sixties and I still feel strong,” he said. “My bike is 600 pounds though and that’s a lot of weight to pick up if it goes down.” He acquired the bike in New Brunswick some years ago and rode it to Hedley, BC. I’m sure he’d be grateful for a trike if he needed to do that again.

For seniors who still retain a dream of cruising the highways on a motorcycle, have a strong body and a robust bank account, a trike seems a good fit. Just because we’re past our “best before date,” doesn’t mean we can no longer enjoy adventures. We just need to search for other options.