Doral's photo from the past

In an email, I received this picture and text from Maxine Easthope today, a picture she had saved. She thought some of you might like to see it ... take from a newspaper column called Gord's Gallery.

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Gord’s Gallery

With all the hype we have been subjected to lately about the Olympic Games in China 08-08-08, I thought that we should enlighten you all about a Cardstonian that played in the Olympic Games.

Doral Pilling entered and won the championship in both the Provincial and the Dominion games as a Javelin thrower in 1927. He held the record at 202 feet, 4 inches .... If you want that in the metric system ... figure it out yourself.
The very next year he was chosen to represent Canada in the 1928 Olympics in Amsterdam, Holland. In 1930 he entered Track and Field games in Edinburgh, Scotland. At that time he set a new Canadian record at 212 feet, 4 inches. In 1930 he entered the British Empire Games in Hamilton, Ontario and won second place (silver medal) in the Javelin throw. At that time the British Empire was virtually half the world. His win was the first medal awarded to a Cardston sportsman in International sports.

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Thanks, Maxine.

Arta

Restocking cupboards ...

In a former life (which only ended a few months ago), I drove a van. 

Vans make shopping easy.   When going into a store, there is no question like “can I take this shopping cart load of goods home” in the back of my mind.  And it is easy to add into the back of the van, the full shopping carts of a couple of friends as well.  But now that I am down to my little Honda and the three guys who live here want a Costco run (since I am going there anyway) ... now the question of space is foremost in our minds.   

However since there is an engineer, a medical doctor and a philosophy student in the mix, I was sure they could get everything into the car.  I must not have been that sure that we could get everything in, for I only purchased one small package of Laughing Cow Cheese while they were having their Costco spree and laughing about what an adventure it was for them, and how good the process and quantities were.

I was as amused at watching, as they were in buying, filling their carts -- putting their six 24 pop-can cases into the bottom of the car first, and then following that with the cases of tomatoes, packages of slices mushrooms and the bottles of canned pears.  Then two of them sat in the back of the car while the third packed the rest of the groceries around them, packing good to the side of himself in the front seat, and just leaving a little room for me to both operate the gear shift and to see out of the back window.

“What was the advice the counsellor gave you, when you went for family counselling?”, Mak had asked me earlier in the morning.

“I don’t remember both words,” I said, “but I do remember that I was told to try being incompetent”. 

This conversation was in regard to Mak’s previous request that I help him figure out what to do with his bean sprouts that were just on the edge of being passed peak.  A few more hours and they would be absolutely gone.  I agreed to be competent just one last time.  I told him to rinse them in baking soda, and that we would rescue them in some egg foo young.  All the men in the kitchen cooperated in the cooking adventure, and in 20 minutes we had 6 lovely egg foo young pancakes made from an onion, a red pepper, crab meat and 8 eggs.  Oh, and yes, the bean sprouts. 

But that feast wasn’t enough.  We talked about the prime rib elk that Richard had brought over the day before – done in a slow cooker with some broth and garlic – a meal fit for a king.  We had been eating his gift together, investigating the texture of the elk, and the stunning absence of any fat marbling in the sinews.  Only Mati, the vegetarian, had resisted taking a taste.  

“We don’t get it,” we told him.  “The elk has only eaten grass, so in a twisted way, it is all vegetarian.”

“I will take my vegetables in their primary form,” he laughed.  “I am just a simple guy.”

And now no more talk about food ... until there is space in the fridges and cupboards again.

Hello Bear, Hello Bear

Re scat identification:  if there are cherry pits, you probably have bear

A sighting of bear scat doesn't really count.

But seeing a real bear?

Yes.

That counts.

Moiya saw the first bear of the fall trying to climb into her black compost bin on Wednesday morning.  She also saw the mess the bear made around her apple tree -- getting ready for hibernating, I think.

I wish I had gone for a walk before she sighted the bear.  I just didn't have it in me to go for a walk after her phone call.

The bear was also sighted at Glen's hot tub -- "just a one year old" said Glen.  "No worries.  I just said go bear, go and he left."

More on Old Sicamous Road / Cross Country Ski Trail Walk

Our goal? To find samples of moss.

Tonia had never walked Old Sicamous Road Trail.

Friday morning seemed like the last chance to do so with her before she returned back to Manitoba.

Along the way are some incredible lake shots to be had.

The day before, she had been out capturing pictures of light on moss at Skunk Cabbage Reach of Campbell Stream.

I know that along the Sicamous Road walk are some pristine examples of moss on rocks growing there for at least fifty years or so -- large expanses of it

False Soloman's Seal

Joaquim and I joined her on the walk – later than we wanted to get away, but early considering that we had played bridge until well past 1 a.m.

The Old Sicamous Road / Cross Country Ski Trail begins by walking up Old Pillings Road to the Trans-Canada and then clipping along the highway until the passing lane ends.

Ten yards before the cement abutment ends are two carefully placed boulders, marking the place that hikers should hop the barrier and begin the Old Sicamous Road portion of the trail.

Baby Landon has done the walk twice – so if a stroller with good shocks can do the trip, so can a senior and two first-timers (Tonia and Joaquim). When two out of three people have cameras, there are multiple long stops.

I just saw that woodpecker a minute ago!

Tonia kept positioning herself for just the right angle.

She was leaning at a forty-five degree angle while sitting on a log, down on two knees and finally right down on her stomach, and noting that she still couldn’t get the camera to get an image that was right up the bell of the tiny blue flower she had spotted on the ground.

She had  better luck with the woodpecker she is catching here.

"However did you see that?", I asked.

"I heard it first," she answered.  "That tap, tap, tap, incessantly tapping."

Joaquim spotted a tree down on the power line, just as we were 50 yards or so from getting to the bottom of the Ski Trail – a place where the CPR has a marker with 489, a signal box and two propane tanks. We scouted out the position of the tree in relation to that spot and then determined to phone BC Hydro when we got home. I didn’t think about it again until just before leaving to the festival when I thought to myself, “I wonder which of us was going to make that phone call.”

“Can you describe the location,” the man asked on the phone.

At this point, I began to sound truly Sicamousian – you know, with phrases like, “ it is just before the tunnels”, “look half way between the ramp and Johnson’s point”, “a short way past the 49 sign”, or “just at the bottom of the ski trail”, segments of directions that are clear to me, but that wouldn’t mean much to the person on the other end of the phone who was saying, “Can you tell me where abouts this would be in relation to Pilings road”.

“Pillings”, I said, correcting him twice in the conversation and in that split second, also wondering, why is it important to me that he get the name of the road right, when all he is trying to do is get the exact location for his crew to come in and take care of the tree.

"Looks like the beginning of nature's teepee poles," said Joaquim

Wyona reported that the crew did come, and knocked on her door since I had explained to him that everyone else on the property would be at the Roots and Blues Festival.

The crew reported to her that they had enough information to get there from the information on the form they had been given, and judging by the length of the time it took the truck to leave the property, it took them some time to take care of the job. Nicely done, BC hydro, since the fear of fire was high given that in the last lightening storm, over 2000 strikes of lightening hit the ground between Sicamous and Salmon Arm – so someone reported.

And, speaking of Roots and Blues ...“How was the roots and blues?”, Joaquim asked this morning.

If a person didn’t have a ticket to go in, just a drive-by to see the art installation at the gate would not be a waste of gas. A lovely proscenium arch onto which had been hammer old trumpets, saxophones, trombones, flutes, guitars – it was all there.

But more about Roots and Blues later ....

Old Sicamous Road Trail, On the Road Again

...end of the Cross Country Ski Trail with the RR tracks in view...

I am trying to make Old Sicamous Trail by own by walking it until I know every curve and bend.

Last year was my first real walk along the trail.

To continue learning about it, my first walk of the year began by dropping by the Pillings House at 6 am -- hoping that Laynie could slip out for a bit of exercise with me before her baby woke up.

... over the stile ...

Landon was already up, as was Glen -- and Patrick and Morgan Carter, so away all of us went on the walk.

The group of us were walking as fast as possible along the Trans Canada until we came to a couple of large rocks will positioned on a highway cement abutment, a signal from Glen telling us that this was the spot where we should climb over the cement to the lake side of the road and begin our walk through the forest.

I thought this was the place that we were setting the pace for the whole trip, but that would come later, when Glen increased the speed so that he could be in front, even if he was lifting the baby over newly fallen logs or giving him a lesson in derby-stroller riding.

... look up, Arta, look up ... take off that hat and look up

Old Sicamous Road Trail is easy-peasy. The homeward walk, where we take the ski trail swiftly downhill involves deft manipulation of the baby's stroller.  "Look up, remember to keep looking up.  That is what they were always telling us in Forestry School," Glen kept saying.

It wasn't until I looked at this picture that I could tell why I wasn't getting that view he was always telling me to catch.

Impossible to keep a brimmed hat on my head and see the top of the tree cover at the same time!

This hat gets me full points when I got to the dermatologist and he comments on my perfectly preserved skin.  "How have you done it?", he asked

Yes, I think to myself, I have had that hiking hat on my head for the last 20 years, but I have been missing the view of the tops of the trees all of this time. 

The route on this day was a carefully timed walk.  There was no slowing us down!

 ... ya gotta love the good shocks on this stroller ...  now over we

No time for taking pictures.

No time for talks about mother logs nor for talking about the evidence of creatures in the forest.

Not even any time for a discussion about good hiking practice as in lectures about wearing sturdy shoes or keeping one's arms covered.

"You will know for next time what to wear," our guide says when anyone stops to nurse a blister or rub the sting out of a scratch.

...slow down ahead, boy ... we don't want a bear
to eat that tasty morsel you are pushing in front of you ... 

The truth is, I have been on this walk so many times this year ... this walk and other walks through the woods, and taken so many face plants because vines have trapped my feet when both of them wanted to get ahead and were wrapped in forest undergrowth, that I am getting new lenses on my glasses next week, ordered today because I have so many scratches on them.

"Don't you want to check my glasses to see how bad the scratches are?", I asked the technician today.

"Don't worry about taking them off to show us. We can see them here from the other side of the desk," the second woman responded.

... close to home ... and Landon has not so much as let out a peep

We made it all of the way to the Guest Register at the Sicamous End of the Trail, and then back again, taking the railroad tracks as the quickest way to get home and breakfast on the table.

... a sign alerting trail walkers of danger ...

Monotropa uniflora [Lt] / Corpse Plant / Ghost Flower / American Ice Plant
We know it as Indian Pipe

I've walked by this sign so many times -- always wondering who was there before me and asking myself what is the danger I am being alerted to.

There are parts of the trail where I want someone's shoulder ahead of me -- like the little crevices, deep from the overflow of spring water, of like the places where the tree branches not held long enough by the person ahead of me, slip back and lop me with their surprise swing.

And what is not to love about stopping by the Indian Pipe, bending down low and seeing if their beauty will come into focus for me.

That beautiful whiteness with the shades of grey is fading now -- spots of brown appear and the heads of the pipes are hanging low.

Signs that summer is on the wane.

The List for September

View of the Shuswap from Old Sicamous Road Trail

September is slowly crawling into full view: the LaRue AGM; then to hang out with Doral and Anita’s kids while the parents go to a conference in Vancouver.

What I want to do next is come back to the Shuswap for two weeks, for the end of September.

What is it that is stopping me?

In the back of my mind is that list of Neglect -- what it is that I haven’t done for fifteen years and that has risen to the top of the list and now is in not just in disrepair, but bordering on derelict—and that would be the sills of the windows at home which need paint.   

When Joaquim heard this he said, “I have an idea. Why don’t you pretend you are leaving here one week early, and on that day, give me the list of things you still need to do here, so I can get a handle on what those items ... are a little earlier than just 15 minutes before you leave.”   

Oh yah!  I always try to get it done myself, and failing that, the top five on my quickly scribbled and horrifyingly long list does get put in his hands.  For a starter, we dug up the geraniums that need to be kept alive over the winter (7 pots of them, instead of the 30 we tried to keep alive last year).  How is that for cutting back on expectations for next year.

Having made that list and having put it into his hands, I am now back in Calgary!

Three cheers for list making.  And still planning for one bullet trip back to the Shuswap.

Arta

Ice Cream Cone Lessons

David Camps hasn’t quite learned how to get his tongue into the little pockets in  his mouth that collect food. 

I wanted the ice cream to the top.

He was on assignment this week to eat ice cream cones and learn how to chase that food out of his cheeks and down his throat.  Every job needs appropriate materials and in this case they involve a lot of sugar. 

Bonnie bought waffle cones, sugar cones, and both cone based and cup shaped ordinary cones.  As well we had the standard flavours of ice cream. 

 I wanted the D Ductchman Icecream but I was told that in this case, it would be too cow.

Sucking a vanilla cone. Sweet vanilla!

I thought eating ice cream cones just comes naturally, but we practised taking bites out of the cone instead of sticking our fingers down into the cone to get the last bit of ice cream into our mouths.  I didn’t know that a person has to turn the cone from vertical to horizontal, sometimes, to get a good grip on the edges of the cone. 

As well, doesn’t sucking the ice cream out of the hole in the bottom of the cone just come naturally.  Apparently not.  This ended up being the subject of one whole lesson. 

 David likes his ice cream pile high – one or two scoops, but in order to practise eating the cone, we started with ice-cream packed cones and no lovely mounds to lick – so that we could get right to the business at hand.

Can I blow this out?

Even the texture of the cone had to be explored, so David, sacrament like, broke the cones into four separate dishes and we took turns identifying which of the cones we were tasting – a blind fold test where we had to describe the taste of the cone:  beige-y (that person must have been peaking through their blind fold), caramel, super-sweet

Getting right into this game, I discovered the waffle and sugar cones are difficult when it comes to snipping off the end of the cones with my teeth so I can suck the ice cream through the bottom.  “The cheaper cones are so easy to do, a gummer could have success,” I said.

“What is a gummer?”, David asked.

“Oh someone who has no teeth,” I said, lisping and pursing my lips over my teeth to make me look as though I were toothless. “Haven’t you ever seen someone who has no teeth?  I will show you someone.  Grandfather, take out your teeth and show David,” I said and began to sing, “...he took out his teeth and his big glass eye ...”

When David looked at Kelvin who had begun the process of denture removal, David’s face grew still, his eyes grew wide, his skin turned to ash.  He looked at his mother to see what was happening to her.  She was just quietly watching.  A high pitched scream came out of his mouth and he bolted to his mother’s bedroom, running in circles at first and than right back to her lap where he threw his now shut eyes into her shoulders, looking for relief.

“What are we going to do now,” said Bonnie.

“David, you look at me, not at Grandfather, just at me, and no peeking at him.  Do not look at him, only at me.  Even if you can see him in your peripheral vision, do not look.”

 David could look at me for a second, but he furtively cast his eyes in Kelvin’s direction, just taking one more short look, drawn deeper and deeper into the depth of that horror.

And then another look and another and yet another.

Hey!  I am through my first cone.  Now to my second.

Kelvin’s magic trick ruined the end of the “how to suck the ice cream out of the bottom of a cone” lesson.

But David had made progress as you can see.

Oh the joys of the childhood pleasure of ice cream cones, mixed in with the first horror of seeing someone who might have eaten so much ice cream that they are now toothless.