Walls and Windows (or Treeplanter For a Day)

Treeplanter in action by Hugh Stimson

While doing some driving around on Mother's Day afternoon, I was enjoying a radio program called The Vinyl Cafe on CBC.  The Vinyl Cafe is a weekly variety hour hosted by Stuart McLean, who, as well as reading aloud letters from all over Canada, reads his own stories and welcomes a wide range of musical guests. It's an old fashioned concept which works very well on radio (think Garrison Keelor), and like so much of what the CBC does, serves to connect people from all corners of this vast country. This past Sunday, the theme of the stories was treeplanting, a job thousands of tough, young Canadians do to put themselves through school or to make their next adventure possible.  Stuart first read out a wonderful letter written by a man from Winnipeg, whose adventurous 62 year old father-in-law spent a summer with a treeplanting crew, and while he wrote home despairing at his lack of treeplanting ability (it has got to be one of the toughest jobs out there) he proved to be a wonder at keeping up the spirits of the rest of the crew with his fireside stories and encouragement. After the letter, Stuart read one of his own stories about the fictional family of Dave and Morley and their two children, Stephanie and Sam.  This week's tale was an uplifting and comical one about Stephanie's summer (and great success - a final daily tally of 2600 trees - after much perseverance) treeplanting in the blackfly-ridden bedrock of Northern Ontario.The story was so good and brought back so many memories that I sat parked outside the video store until it was over.

The following post is an edited version of the fifth one I ever wrote. I'm posting it because it has a bit about my own experience with treeplanting, and also because, in our recent Federal election the Conservative Party won a majority government for the first time in years and there are rumours they want to do away with, or greatly cut back on funding for the CBC - something which concerns me greatly. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this reposting.

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Last week I was rifling through my CD collection, looking for something different, when I found Paul Simon's Graceland album. I put it on and was struck by the colourful imagery of the lyrics. I listened to the album every day for a week and each time I listened I heard more and more in it - a far cry from my response in 1986 when the album first came out. Back then I was carried away by the African rhythms and the words were, to me, more of a prop than anything. The fourth song on the album, called 'Gumboots' has a particularly fantastic line. I even posted the line on my Facebook page:

"Believing I had supernatural powers I slammed into a brick wall."

I think the song is about love but the line stands alone for me like a mantra. A few Facebook friends, one now in Toronto, one in Salt Lake City, one in Vancouver recognized the lyric and responded like the album really meant something to them too. I love when that happens - when a little community comes together for a moment over a joke or a shared passion for something. I guess that's the beauty of these social networking things.


Anyway, last week, after I had found the album I put it on and started cooking dinner. (My kids, who had never heard the album, asked if it was some of my 80's music- and then scattered.) That line about slamming into a brick wall jumped out at me and I've been thinking about it ever since. Now I think I know why. When I was younger, a lot younger, I didn't exactly put bath towel capes over my shoulders and leap off the shed roof, but I did want, like many kids, to be, to do, so many things. In many ways I wished I had been born a boy, because I believed they had much more fun than girls. My closest sibling in age was a boy, two years older than me, and he and I played together most of the time. I always got along well with boys because I found them much less complicated than girls. When I was a skinny, undeveloped eleven and twelve year old I used to wear cut off jeans and baseball shirts and kept my fine hair short. I remember going into Woolworth's to use the bathroom, and when I asked for the key, the woman at the counter said, "Um...would that be for...um...the girl's bathroom?" She really wasn't sure. Not too long after that, when I was walking with my friend, Toni, who was extremely pretty, some boys called out, "Toni's got a boyfriend!" That was my first brick wall. I knew that even I could not be both a girl and a boy, and since I was getting to 'that age' I was pretty sure I preferred to be recognized as a girl. When my mom took me shopping for grade eight clothes I let her buy me a flowered blouse. Even so, my young life continued to include a series of attempts to be something I was not destined to be. Granted, I had many successes, but I would invariably take on too many extracurricular activities, and then crash hard when I could not handle my superhuman efforts.


After my high school graduation I took a twenty-eight hour trip by train to visit my sisters in Winnipeg. Travelling alone was so unnerving that I stayed with my food basket in the one car the entire time, even though I knew one could move around most of the train - so I did what came easily. I introduced myself to the only person my age on the car and he and I stayed up almost all night talking quietly. During my third year of post-secondary education (I was still living at home with my parents) I decided that I should go to Europe. After all, everyone else was doing it, my friends were all well travelled, and it seemed like a rite of passage for college students. My sister Clare and her friend had recently come back from four months in New Zealand and Australia and I wanted to be able to do what she had done. I began saving money and looking around for someone to travel with. When none of my friends proved available, I began to think about going alone. The more I thought about it, however, the more I knew I couldn't do it. Every fibre of my being told me it was a bad idea; I just knew I did not have the confidence and worldliness necessary.


The travelling given up I decided to try treeplanting - my brother was making loads of money at it, and I had university to save up for now. I was hired immediately by my brother's crew boss on recommendation alone. We rookies were to be bused in and out each day during a two week trial.  The first day we left at 5:30 a.m. I had my new caulk boots and shovel, a plaid shirt and cargo pants, so I looked the part at least.  We were given our heavy shoulder bags of pesticide soaked baby trees, given some instruction and a plot of slashburnt slope and told to go for it.  I had never been one for hard labour and I wasn't sure how holding a treeplanting shovel in one hand and a baby tree in the other was going to change that, but I was willing to try.  The girls around me were encouraging, but it seemed they already knew what they were doing, particulary one European girl who was built like a brick #$%*house.  I planted tree after tree, about 500 by the end of the day.  That doesn't sound bad for a beginner except for the fact that I planted at least a hundred on the wrong line and the European girl came to my rescue and helped me replant them.  One day of the two week trial was all I managed in my very short career as a treeplanter. I came home after the first day with badly stretched achilles tendons, which had been shortened by being a dancer for several years, and could barely walk for a week. Oh, the humiliation of having to quit after one day! And yet another brick wall. A few days later, however, my mother's friend offered me a job working for her at the Kootenay Lake Summer School of the Arts as an administrative assistant. She had told my mom that if she had known I was going to try treeplanting, she would have talked me out of it. She had once owned a treeplanting company and knew it would not be the right kind of work for 'someone like me'. I was a bit choked when I heard that, but relieved about the arts admin. position, a job I loved and held for three summers, and a field I continue to feel at home in.

Brick walls are, undoubtedly, hard to face up to and extremely humbling, but in the end, can prove to be our greatest friends. There is that old saying after all: "When a door is closed, somewhere a window opens," usually a window into our own natures and our limits, with a better view of the path we are meant to be on.

Click here to see Gumboots performed live by Paul Simon

What More Can I Do for Haiti?

When I was a child I prayed the prayers of a child. I would kneel down in the white, Greek-revival Victorian cathedral in my hometown and think, "God, please help the poor people, especially the children who have no parents to take care of them." In my mind's eye I would picture the swollen bellied children with flies buzzing 'round their heads that I saw in the reel-to-reel films every Wednesday during the season of Lent in my school. These children broke my heart until other prayers took precedence ie; "God please give my parents more money, and please bless my friends. Oh, and I would really like to be a ballet dancer when I grow up..."

When I was getting to the age when my mom thought I could reasonably begin to understand the concept of Christian charity, she began to say many things which would stick with me as I grew up. One of these gems was the phrase, "Offer it up". It took years before I understood the meaning of this mysterious maxim, and until I did understand it, it irritated me to no end.

I could never comprehend what possible use it would be to offer up my miserable little trials to God. What could He want with them? In my literal, immature mind I could see myself throwing my difficulties (like being one of only three in my class NOT invited to Jennifer's party) up in the air where they turned into dust and landed who knows where. To me it was a pointless exercise. I wanted tangible solutions, revenge, gratification, the downfall of my classmates. Most of all I wanted my mom to feel as sorry for me as I did myself.

Mom may have known of my incredulity at the time, or she may have had incredible faith in my powers of perception. Most likely she sent out these three little words knowing with hope that somehow, some way, I and my brothers and sisters, would eventually apprehend their meaning and make use of them in our lives. That a person could use her trials to better the lives of others was a concept I was slow to grasp, but when I finally did the meaning became profound to me. To pull oneself away from one's misery, to take that misery and release it is an incredibly liberating experience. It's not a giving up of a material possession, but of a possission we tend to hold onto, and one that can drag us down. As I grew up I began to see that to offer up my difficulties was a skill worth seeking because it not only had the potential to benefit others, but also benefitted me in the act of giving.

I can think of one example that may serve to illustrate my point, however poorly. About ten years ago, when I had started running again - I say 'again' because I did a fair amount of running in my childhood and teen years - my widowed brother's second marriage was falling apart, and I was taking it very hard. I remember the course I ran was a hilly one and there was one hill in particular which was almost impossible to get to the top of without stopping to walk. I remember telling myself that if I could push myself to make it to the top of the hill without stopping, maybe my brother and his wife could make it over the impasse in their relationship. I suppose I thought my offering, no matter how silly it sounds, might count for something, might help, since there was nothing else I could do to remedy the situation. As it turns out my brother's marriage was beyond repair and he and his wife separated; despite this, however, I never thought of my efforts as pointless, because I had come to believe that no prayer, no offering of the self was ever wasted, especially when it helps us reach the top of whatever hill we are attempting to conquer in our own lives.

So how does this relate to Haiti? My children, my husband and I have given all we can financially afford to give, for now, to the recovery efforts. I cannot go to Haiti to physically lend a hand, nor can I find the energy to do any fundraising when I have an arts project to begin fundraising for this month. What I can do, is to continue living simply - buying and consuming only what I need; I can try my hardest to put all my challenges in the proper perspective, and I can dedicate myself to fully appreciating all the good things, like running, walking, and the ability to give of my time, that I enjoy due to good health and a loving group of family and friends. It puts me in mind of another phrase heard in school: 'living in solidarity', and it is my prayer, my offering, my ongoing act of charity. I owe it to the people of Haiti and to all vulnerable people in this world of ours.

Not Just Another Night at the Library

"Oh Come on," I say to myself, "you aren't going to win a free book just because you have a feeling you are going to win one."

It is 6:40 p.m. Thursday evening and I am on my way, on foot, in the almost balmy weather we seem to have traded with Northern Arizona, to my local library. The day before I received an email invite to an author's talk, and since this is a rare event in my town and I happen to have a free evening I decide to go.

I am one of the first to arrive and find a seat in the middle of the small room set aside for author readings, children's storytime, workshops, etc. in the library. Up at the front of the room a man leans against the wall. He has fine, dark hair to his shoulders, a graphic t-shirt a little tight in the tummy, and jeans - one of your more casually attired authors, but it seems fitting; he is Mark Leiren-Young who has recently won one of Canada's top literary awards, The Stephen Leacock Medal For Humour.

Just before Leiren-Young begins his presentation, the librarian hands around a few one-page evaluation sheets and pencils and announces that those who complete the sheets will be entered into a draw for one of two books by the author. I put the sheet and pencil under my chair and prepare to enjoy the talk. I am not disappointed. Leiren-Young tells about his nine month stint in 1985 as a rookie reporter in Williams Lake, a place up in the Cariboo that is about as Wild West as a town these days can get, and where he endured enough wild and crazy adventures to fill an extremely entertaining book. Leiren Young tells us stories ad lib, and reads a few chapters from his award-winning book, Never Shoot a Stampede Queen. He also talks about the mockumentary film he made called the Green Chain which is about the demise of the logging industry on the West Coast of British Columbia. He tells us about the international film festival tour he took with the film, and how people believed it was a real documentary until they saw Battlestar Galactica actress Tricia Helfer giving a monologue in her character as a Pamela Anderson-type activist.

Leiren-Young speaks at top speed and packs a lot into his one hour presentation. By the time the Q&A is over my face hurts from laughing, and I notice the two piles of books-for-sale at the front of the room, wondering which one I should buy and if Mark will take a cheque. After the applause dies down, the librarian reminds us about the evaluation sheets and the book prize. I have already handed mine in - it was easy to answer five questions about an event I had enjoyed so much - but have neglected to put my name on it. There goes my chance, I think. The librarian shuffles the papers and hands them to the author to pick from. He averts his eyes, pulls one from the fan of white sheets and hands it to the librarian. After a few quiet seconds she announces, "I'll have to hold it up, and if anyone recognizes their handwriting, they can speak up and win a copy of Never Shoot a Stampede Queen." I can't be sure...it sort of looks like my writing, but it is a bit hard to be sure from back here...the ladies on either side of me say, "Isn't that yours?"...it is. "That's mine!" I call out. I admit, there is a small disconcerting moment when I realize that the librarian is showing everyone what they will know is my evaluation. Fortunately, I have assessed the event favourably and have written only one slight criticism:

"The author spoke too quickly, but I got used to it."

The librarian hands me my prize, I wait in line for Leiren-Young to sign it, chatting with a few people I know, and then step out into the warm night air. I feel strangely connected to my sister-in-law, Lea, as I make my way home. Twenty-seven years ago I attended the wedding of Lea and my brother Francis in Williams Lake, where Lea grew up. As far as I know, Lea was never a Stampede Queen, but she certainly could have written about one, or played a song about one on the piano; she was intelligent, funny, and extremely talented. Four months after my own wedding, Lea died after her transplanted lungs became infected. I think, if she had been with me tonight, she would have had a few stories about Williams Lake of her own to tell Mark Leiren-Young. I am happy to have won the book, but it feels a little 'otherworldly' to have my premonition come true. I guess it was just meant to be.

Walls and Windows

Last week I was rifling through my CD collection, looking for something different, when I found Paul Simon's Graceland album. I put it on and was struck by the poetry of the lyrics. Each song painted a different picture and every day, when I listened to the album I heard more and more in it - a far cry from my response in 1986 when the album first came out. Back then I was carried away by the African rhythms and the words were, to me, more of a prop than anything. The fourth song on the album, called 'Gumboots' has a particularly fantastic line. I even posted the line on my Facebook page: "Believing I had supernatural powers I slammed into a brick wall." I believe the song is about love but the line stands alone for me like a mantra. A few Facebook friends, one now in Toronto, one in Salt Lake City, one in Vancouver recognized the lyric and responded like the album really meant something to them too. I love when that happens - when a little community comes together for a moment over a joke or a shared passion for something. I guess that's the beauty of these 'social networking' things.

Anyway, last week, after I had found the album I put it on and started cooking dinner. (My kids, who had never heard the album, asked if it was some of my 80's music and then scattered.) That line about slamming into a brick wall jumped out at me and I've been thinking about it ever since. Now I think I know why. When I was younger, a lot younger, I didn't exactly put bath towel capes over my shoulders and leap off the shed roof, but I did want, like many kids, to be, to do, so many things. In many ways I wished I had been born a boy, because I believed they had much more fun than girls. My closest sibling in age was a boy, two years older than me, and he and I played together most of the time. I always got along well with boys because I found them less complicated than girls. When I was eleven and twelve I used to wear cut off jeans and baseball shirts and kept my hair short. I remember going into Woolworth's to use the bathroom, and when I asked for the key, the woman at the counter said, "Um...would that be for...um...the girl's bathroom?" She really wasn't sure. Not too long after that, when I was walking with my friend, Toni, who was extremely pretty, some boys called out, "Toni's got a boyfriend!" That was my first 'brick wall'. I knew that even I could not be both a girl and a boy, and since I was 'at that age' I was pretty sure I preferred to be recognized as a girl. When my mom took me shopping for grade eight clothes I let her buy me a flowered blouse. Even so, my young life continued to include a series of attempts to be something I was not destined to be. Granted, I had many successes, but I would invariably take on too many extracurricular activities, and then crash hard when I could not handle my superhuman efforts.

After my high school graduation I took a trip by train to visit my sisters in Winnipeg. Travelling alone was so unnerving that I stayed in the one car the entire time, even though I knew one could move around most of the train - so I did what came easily. I introduced myself to the only person my age on the car and he and I stayed up almost all night talking. During my third year of post-secondary education I decided that I should go to Europe. After all, everyone else was doing it, my friends were all well travelled, and it seemed like a rite of passage for college students. My sister, Clare and her friend had recently come back from four months in New Zealand and Australia and I wanted to be able to do what she had done. I began saving money and looking around for someone to travel with. When none of my friends proved to be available, I began to think about going alone. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn't do it. Every fibre of my being told me it was a bad idea. The travelling given up for now I decided to try treeplanting - my brother was making loads of money and I had UBC to save up for now. One day on a slashburnt slope - seven hours of pure torture - was all I managed. I came home after the first day with badly stretched achilles tendons and could barely walk for a week. Oh, the humiliation! And yet another brick wall. A few days later, my mother's friend offered me a job working for her at the Kootenay Lake Summer School of the Arts as an administrative assistant. She had told my mom that if she had known I was going to try treeplanting, she would have talked me out of it. She had once owned a treeplanting company and knew it would not be the right kind of work for 'someone like me'. I was choked when I heard that, but relieved about the admin. position, a job I loved and held for three summers.

Last week my 19 year old neice, Hailey took a train trip to Toronto with a friend. Her friend stayed in Toronto and Hailey flew to Prague. She was going to travel around Eastern Europe and even had some family connections to visit in Croatia and Italy. I had just seen her in August and knew she was very nervous about her upcoming trip. I even laughed and reassured her that if she wasn't nervous about travelling by herself in a foreign country there would be something wrong. After landing in Prague, Hailey discovered she was unable to use her credit card anywhere, and Prague was packed with visitors in preparation for a Papal visit. She must have found an internet cafe because she updated her status on Facebook with "What the heck am I doing here?" Having not slept in days she called relatives for help. Another aunt came to her rescue, and offered her own credit card number so Hailey could fly back to Canada. This morning I read Hailey's newest facebook status update: "defeated...but in an odd way, relieved." Do I know that feeling! 'Brick walls' are hard on us but in the end, can prove to be our greatest friends. There is that old saying after all: "When a door is closed, somewhere a window opens," usually a window into our own natures and our limits, with a better view of the path we are meant to be on.
Thank you Paul Simon.