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Considerations...

by Deborah Greaves

September 20, 2006 - Remember the Night

Years ago, I had a medical emergency that left me demoralized and exhausted. As the mother of three young children, one just a baby, I felt that I should be able to restore myself and toughen up right away. When it became obvious that I was actually in the grip of a long, tediously slow recovery, I was mortified.

That mortification spread across many seasons, invisibly contaminating the childhoods of my children and deeply affecting my opinion of myself. Oddly, it was in great part the seasons that assisted with the healing that did, at last, arrive.

My mother laughs at me now, saying, “You’ve always loved Weather.”

I love it even more now. I feel that we humans are meant to be connected to the elements and the seasons, to have an intimate, soul deep association with them. When we lose the connection to the feel of the wind, the scent of the earth or the sound of bubbling water, we’ve lost a little of ourselves as sensitive, sensing members of the earth’s community. For many of us, allowing the elemental connection to deteriorate is a subtle, all-too-easy process.

Most of us routinely bundle ourselves into personal vehicles, cutting ourselves off from the wind, cold or heat, textures and scents of the landscape we traverse. As we whisk past, the land and its features are blended into a soundless, odourless and seemingly unfeeling single plane. From inside the vehicle we hear no birds, are oblivious to a snake slipping under the rocks, feel no heat from the asphalt.

Outside, riding a bicycle or standing beneath a tree at a bus stop, we experience the warmth or chill, the breeze, the smell of pine or grasses, the hardness or sponginess of the ground that’s alive under our feet. Sun makes sweat trickle down our backs and gain reverence for the shade offered by the trees. Cold wind and rain biting into our cheeks gives us a sense of relief- maybe even gratitude- for the shelter given by the bus or a friend’s open door.

If you’re one of the people who has slipped away from intimacy with the elements, I urge you to renew the acquaintanceship. Science is proving out our instincts - human beings live more happily and heal better when they’re in contact with nature. Nature includes the elements, and the magic of the night.

I feel that the night deserves to be revisited regularly. Maybe it can be thought of not as a ‘reality check’ but a reminder of possibilities. Particularly if you’ve been unwell or unhappy, I recommend you indulge in Night Therapy at least once a week. Here’s how I like to go about it:

Put on a warm coat or wrap a blanket around yourself. Take a cup of hot something with you if you like. Go outside.

Hold on to the porch railing, a banister or a tree trunk for balance, or if you're really tired, sit down on a chair, stairs or a tree stump. Get comfortable, hang on so you don't wobble, and look up at the sky. Look high into the night sky, even if it is raining or snowing.

If it's raining or snowing, you're excused from looking straight up for more than a few seconds. You can pull something warm over your head and look ‘over there...'

The night is Cover of Darkness. It's shelter for the animals who are hunted. It's both challenge and respite for the trees and plants. It carries the wind, starlight and soft sounds. It creates art as clouds move across the moon and stars. On very special Okanagan nights, you may hear the call of an owl.

The night speaks of the absence of the sun, and reminds us of our good fortune. You may feel the bite of the cold while admiring the sky, but you know that in a few minutes, you can go back into the house, find light and more blankets, boil a kettle, and be warmed.

The night offers contrasts. If not for the dark, how would we enjoy the full moon, the golden glow that our lamps create in windows, or the pool of welcoming light on the porch by the door?

The night sky is filled with messages. Some nights we can read thousands of them as shooting stars, human-built machines and clouds make their way across the indigo canvas. The night lends a different light to the solid earth beneath your feet, the feel of the wooden stair rails, the texture of the bark on the tree.

The meeting of earth with the sky is elemental. So when you can, for a few delicate minutes or for an indulgent, sensuous hour, visit the night to watch.

September 1, 2006 - Teens in Transit

An old friend of mine contacted me this summer. Way back in 1970, when I was in grade twelve, he was the steady boyfriend of one of my best friends. We graduated, and after a while lost touch. Almost everyone in our little group went on to find other partners not yet known that long-ago graduation year. Some of us became parents of girls - girls who are now women, with university educations and careers.

Now, there’s another girl in my life headed into that fateful Grade 12. My one and only niece is embarking upon her own senior year. I am close by, watching and wondering along with my sister how these challenging ten months will go for her.

Perhaps because of my old friend, I find myself considering my niece’s upcoming journey in a different light. I’m not thinking so much of my own daughters’ trials and tribulations as I cheered and fretted along with them through their senior high school years, but of another girl’s journey through that last grade, over thirty-six years ago.

My niece decided to try on some Firsts all at once this year. She moved to the Okanagan for the first time. She got her first job. She exposed herself to numerous challenges. She volunteered her help at a new local business. She tested out the transit system on her own. She took the Greyhound to various friends’ summer cabins in other towns. She walked into a new school that is four times the size of the one she left.

My first job was at the age of sixteen. I wanted to buy a horse, as the neighbours who owned the acreage next to us in the “Burbs” said I could keep a horse in the pasture as long as I mended the fence. I got a job at A&W. I didn’t know how to count out change- and my mother’s efforts to teach me weren’t very successful. After I found a horse I could afford on part-time “car-hostess” wages, I was laid off. The manager said my cash was always wrong at the end of the shift. Humiliated, I still had a horse to feed.

I too fell into the ‘transfer to a new and strange school’ category. As I turned sixteen, ready for grade eleven, we’d left Vancouver- for me a city of frequent buses, treed streets with sidewalks and Friday evenings ice skating with friends- for a small town on the outskirts.

There were no buses, no ice rink near by, and certainly no friends. It took half of the grade eleven year before a girl beckoned me to come and sit with her group at their cafeteria table. I didn’t feel I had anything in common with these kids, but from the sounds of things, they certainly had wild parties. Very wild parties. Lucky for me perhaps, I found another job and had to work most weekends. I needed to care for my horse.

Many people think large cities are all hell’s kitchens, cauldrons of corruption for old and young. I’m here to tell you- and so are my three daughters – that smaller towns and suburban neighbourhoods are in many ways deceptive. Since there are fewer town squares, central commercial areas or other traditional gathering places in subdivisions that sprawl across entire mountainsides with nary a corner store, young people often find their own, more remote places to gather. Ever heard of a bush party?

“Back in the day…” kids in the Port Moody/Coquitlam area on the Lower Mainland often piled into cars and sped off down narrow country roads to “the Pits”. These were rocky gravel pits or river side areas that provided plenty of privacy for partying. Now and then, a drunk kid wandered into the river and drowned. I didn’t go to the pit parties, but in 1969, a world away from my Vancouver friends and city buses, I did participate in numerous joyrides along winding mountain roads. We’d pack a bunch of laughing kids into belt-less cars rescued from junkyards and driven by boys who’d had plenty of beer. We used to literally ‘hit the road’- several cars lost their oil pans on Saturday nights. Luckily, we didn’t lose our lives.

I’m glad my niece is exploring the transit system here. We’ve talked about the times she may want to leave a party on her own – in a taxi, if necessary. These conversations are important. Many people over the age of 35 have vivid memories of long-ago parties we wish we’d left much sooner…

Thank heavens most kids these days aren’t shy about sharing a cab, or designating a non-imbibing driver. The odd one still gets killed, but I suspect that compared to kids in the 1960’s, more are getting home in one piece. “Back in the day”, two of my friends had trouble while hitchhiking. One got away from an attempted rape. The other didn’t make it home from a concert, as he and his girlfriend were murdered by the driver who picked them up.

I believe young people need to feel free and in control in communities big and small.

We shouldn’t be ferrying them around all the time as though they’re still toddlers, but we need to give them as many options as we can. We can meet them at a transfer point or the end of the bus line. They should have the ability to summon and pay for a cab. If they manage to get a car, we should advise them on making and keeping that vehicle safe.

I grumbled once to a friend about driving my teenagers and their friends around on weekend evenings. Instead of joining in on the grumbling he surprised me by saying,

“I welcome those trips. If I wasn’t driving some nights, with the kids almost forgetting I’m there, I’d know almost nothing about my kids’ friends.”

As we give our high school kids the freedom to explore, to make mistakes and gain independence, the young ones certainly aren’t the only ones who are learning.

August 15, 2006 Okanagan Seasons...

There’s a bite in the air in the mornings now, and the Okanagan Valley is hinting at its next seasonal shift. It’s one of the things I’ve come to love best about this valley. The seasons force us to be agile.

The seasons here are often wildly inconsistent, yet rarely so harsh as to be daunting. Though the valley truly broiled for many weeks during the summer of 2003, the following spring was wet, cool and green.

The physical aspects of this area helped me make my way through some difficult times after we first arrived. Our kids struggled in a new school, my husband was on the road for a week at a time, employment was uncertain and there were unending hassles with appliances and cars. I had my tawny dog, though, and together we went outside for some effective Nature Therapy.

For many, the most difficult days to endure in the Okanagan are those of subtle, pearl-grey overcast, with clouds that hover high enough to screen out the stars at night and low enough in daytime to push down the spirits of those from the blue-sky prairies.

Coming as I did from the Wet Coast and oft-silvery Vancouver Island, I’ve come to look forward to the next capricious twist in the Okanagan weather. I learned how to cope with days of intense heat in summer and some impressively low temperatures in winter. It may seem impossible to think of in the middle of August, but there were days that were cold enough to make my dog attempt levitation to get her paws off the frozen ground. The weather changes were stimulating; they helped keep me busy.

Since most writers are curious, I often wonder what will happen next. Some years we broil. Some years there’s suddenly so much rain that flooding is a problem. One year a windstorm came and toppled a fifth of the trees in West Kelowna Estates. The first year my family was here featured the heaviest snowfall in 22 years. The loveliest Northern Lights display I’ve seen was viewed from the top of our street in Shannon Lake.

The Okanagan is a place of beauty and lively meteorological diversity. If you don’t like what you’re experiencing along the highways or on the local sidewalks, it’s because you need to go beyond. Take a companion and travel into the forested areas or across the remaining meadows. Watch for tall cattails and stroll at the edge of the ponds and streams. Take the example of the many playful people who grab sleds, plastic sheets and kids when it snows to go outside onto local hills. In summer, even if you don’t have your bathing suit you can wade along the shore of Lake Okanagan.

And for heaven’s sake, remember the night sky. Many of the subdivisions on the Westside have soft, low-level lighting. The night sky is often riveting- on some clear winter nights, the stars are so bright over the snow that you can walk the trails without turning on your flashlight. The Okanagan night is sensuous. Even the hottest summer days usually end with a cool breeze, yet in winter it’s rarely so cold that you can’t get out to enjoy the refreshing pinch of frosty air on your face.

I maintain that those who find most of their entertainment while indoors ‘cocooning’, or within the lined confines of courts, tracks and playing fields, are not fully experiencing the Okanagan. When vacations end, fall commences, and children go back to school, we need to revisit the super-natural regularly and often - even for just a few minutes at a time.

Within the natural areas that remain here on the Westside, I’ve found beauty, laughter and peace. My friends and I are alternately astonished at how few souls we find on the trails some days, and delighted at the obvious vitality of the fellow walkers we do meet while we’re out.

The natural side of Westbank and surroundings is cherished by those who feel the value of the grasses, creeks and trees. For those who have forgotten or never explored it, it is a treasure, waiting and priceless.

August 1, 2006 Company Time: mad flurries and magic

Those of us lucky enough to live in the Okanagan and other lovely areas accept the fact that friends and relatives share a collective consciousness. Like other creatures, many human beings are cyclically migratory. Thus, while in some years householders may be almost bereft of guests, other years will find the hosts inundated with visitors.

On migration years, your household suddenly looks different. When anticipating visitors, you notice all the flaws in your facility. There aren’t enough linens. You’re missing Margarita glasses. Cobwebs festoon every light fixture in the house. The hot tub lid needs cleaning. The back lawn needs mowing and the shrubs look shabby. After a period of racing around attempting to right all that seems wrong now that other eyes will gaze over your homestead, the householder must somehow find that zen moment.

The zen moment is when you throw your hands into the air, grab a cool beverage and admit to yourself that perfection is unattainable. While gently administering some sip therapy, even the most enthusiastic host or hostess must come to this moment of surrender.

Now, it’s time to charge up the camera with film or power, set out as many clean towels as you can launder, and wait to see what pleasures your guests will bring. Each guest comes with his or her recent experiences. They may have been thrilled –even desperate- to get out of their home town. They may have hit the road full of energy, and see your neighbourhood with fresh and observant eyes. Just as likely, they’ve been through a variety of traumas just to get time off, organize and get onto the road, maybe to meet a number of social commitments they’re madly trying to juggle.

If they’ve been traveling for a while, guests are often glad to simply collapse when they get to your place. If they’ve been driving for hours with anyone younger than 19 in the vehicle, they’re only too happy to abandon whatever music or arguments they’d endured in the confines of the car for the semi-public, neutral ground your home provides. These travelers are the easiest to care for, at least until the fatigue wears off.

After the initial flurry of preparation and the actual arrival, we find that one of the nicest times is when everyone simply lounges. Sometimes, if there are restless kids or pets around, this kick-back period may be as brief as just half an hour. It’s sometimes a very special interlude, though- the time when you hear of your guests’ own adventures, their hopes, confessions and recent triumphs.

When my brother arrived one July evening with his family, he was exhausted but jubilant. The night he was packing to come to the Okanagan for a soccer tournament, he’d been called for a long-awaited interview for a new job. He couldn’t sleep that night, and had to fit the key meeting early into the next morning. He’d met with the executive he hoped to work with, then raced home to start the family trip. They drove about 400 kilometres in heavy traffic. Just as they were arriving in Westbank, my brother’s cell phone rang. We were the first to hear he got the job.

Sharing food, news and a few hours of laughter is the reward for the pre-arrival rush that most hosts put themselves through before their guests arrive. If you take photos, those pictures often reveal what may not have been noticed at the time- the flushed cheeks of a teen who heard his parents unexpectedly boasting about him, the pleasure on the face of one of the adults while watching kids or pets or talking with a friend she hadn’t seen for awhile, and the wild laughter and twinkling eyes caught on film as someone tells a tale.

Sometimes we unconsciously savour togetherness. It is not until later that we understand what magic surrounds us when we gather with people we haven’t been with for awhile, are introduced to new friends by old ones, or when a child brings someone new into the fold. Among the work, dishes, bed-making, inevitable tensions and the din of many voices, there are moments that may later be remembered for years. Ideas. Revelations. Affection.

People are social. Since the dawn of our species’ time, we have migrated to see one another, to share our experiences. Every visitor – even that family member you’re always in conflict with- leaves something important behind. As you did before your guests arrive, you survey your own domain with fresh eyes after visitors have moved on. This time, as you consider again your home, your life and the people you care about, you may be inspired to try something new. You may also have a new appreciation for the things around you that are already good.

July 7, 2006: The Unseen Spirit of Community

It took awhile for me to realise that Westbank held many more surprises. When our youngest daughter and I started a series of ‘drive-abouts’in 1996, we discovered one new thing after another.

We’d had no idea where the community swimming pool was, and when we found it, at the very end of Old Okanagan Highway, there was an exquisite park beside it. Filled with exotic-looking tall grasses, sage and Ponderosa Pines, the park is filled with narrow and tranquil walking paths, with sweeping views of Lake Okanagan below.

Just a short walk away from the intersection of Highway 97 and Old Okanagan Highway or the highway and Gellatly Road, here was this quietly beautiful place. Between the aquatic facility and the semi-natural ravine park was a field of lush green cultivated grass- the site, it turned out, of many sports activities and community events.

Then we heard about the ski resort. “Right up there,” people said. We were shocked to discover a country road leading through the hillside community of Glenrosa and up into the forest. At the very end of Glenrosa Road, there was an old-fashioned ski hill- Crystal Mountain Resort.

We found that elsewhere on the mountainside was a dynamic cross-country ski facility, the Telemark Cross Country Ski Club. We were shown the trails- they were groomed and gorgeous. All this, less than an hour from downtown Westbank. Little did I know that in a while, I’d be riding a striking grey horse named Steal Your Heart through a metre of powder snow not far away from those trails.

We moved here in the spring- the merry month of May. The sunflowers were out, redwing blackbirds sang in the cat tails, and everything was green. Summer that year held just a few heat waves, just a few days at a time, far less severe that I’d worried they’d be. It was our first winter that was extraordinary. It was winter that made me fall in love with Westbank and with the Okanagan.

Our first winter here in the Okanagan was a record-breaker. The heaviest snow period in twenty-two years began during the third week of November. By mid-December, the temperatures were minus-15 to –20 for several days at a time and the snow on our picnic table out in the yard was a metre deep. Our dog, with her long legs and double coat, was in heaven.

During that winter, one other member of the family was in heaven- me. At the age of 43, I was finding out at last what kind of winter all those kids in my school readers had been enjoying in other parts of Canada. Previously living in Vancouver and then on Vancouver Island, I’d rarely experienced the wonder of true Canadian winter. Powder snow- light, dry and beautiful. There’s nothing quite like it, especially when you’ve lived much of your life in areas where winter usually meant black skies, grey slush that went through your boots in minutes, and rain.

Meanwhile, as a writer for the local newspaper, the Westside Weekly, I met interesting people around every corner. A builder of ‘one-horse open sleighs.’ Professional dog trainers and equestrian instructors. Owners of high-profile wineries. The Operations officer of a label manufacturing company. People in the rock business and people in the sand-and-gravel business. Farmers, artists and Regional District directors. Developers. Hidden in the folds between the numerous Westside hills were almost as many special places, especially for anyone who loves breathtaking views and natural trails.

The first year in the Okanagan, I went horseback riding in the snow-laden forest with Karen Hansen and friends. Heaven. The second year, I discovered snowshoes, and our daughters ice skated on Shannon Lake. More heaven. The fifth and sixth years Gellatly descendant Chuck Jean and his partner Joy invited our whole family AND our dog on sleigh rides. More fun in the snow that was right out of the storybooks.

Then, on our twentieth wedding anniversary, we got a canoe. Another new world unfolded- the realm of sparkling water, the delectable sound of paddles dipping, circling iridescent dragon flies, turtles swimming beneath the canoe, and flowers and nests that float.

How could I not love this community? It seemed as though, one magical incident after another, Westbank has presented opportunities to live out a string of almost forgotten childhood dreams.

June 20, 2006 The Unseen Spirit of Community

In the previous Considerations column, I explained how my family and I happened to come to live in the Shannon Lake area. Now, I’d like to share what happened next.

At some point in my initial two visits to the Westside with realtor Peter Kirk, Peter suggested a run up Glenrosa Road, where there was a home for sale very similar to the one we had in Nanaimo. Here too were the tall trees I felt I couldn’t live without. Many of the Glenrosa streets were almost identical to Granite Park Road, our Nanaimo street. Since it was winter, however, very few homes were up for sale and the one we visited wasn’t my cup of tea. It’s what happened on the way to that house that foreshadowed the future.

We’d come from Kelowna that day, traveling the opposite way to our direction of travel the first time I’d laid eyes on the mid-1990’s Westside. I had no way of knowing that on the Main Street side of the Highway 97 couplet, we were traveling up a road that runs past some century-old buildings - a road that’s paved with Westbank history.

I’d come to the Okanagan because my husband had a new job in the City of Kelowna. I’d never noticed that Mission Hill wines were labelled “Westbank”, and I hadn’t seen Gellatly Bay. I’d heard about water slides and a campground ‘just outside Kelowna.’ What I knew about the Westside was what I’d seen along Highway 97 from a car window.

I didn’t know as we drove up Main Street in January ’96 that I was a block away from a junction of the original Fur Brigade Trail that brought native trappers and Hudson’s Bay Company purchasers together. I had no idea that within metres of the pavement we were on, cattle had wandered around the shops, and the odd horse was parked outside along with the early motor vehicles. I knew nothing of the history of Westbank – but as we drove up Main Street, I could feel it.

“What was that?” I asked Peter as we passed Cattle Country, then Paynter’s Market, and the village area slipped away. Peter knew exactly what I meant. “That,” he said, “was Westbank.” Its history was emanating from beneath the road, and long before I viewed the old black and white photographs at the Community Hall and Gellatly Heritage Park, I’d sensed it.The

A little while after we moved into our home, my littlest daughter and I began what we called “driveabouts.” We’d toss the dog into our Chevy wagon and tour around the local community, checking to see what was where. I wasn’t getting far with my job search, so we had time to explore. We got comfortable with the surroundings but didn’t learn much, other than quite a few of the retail merchants we met were new to the area too.

Somehow, I found the Chamber office and was introduced to Len Novakowski, who sent me to apply for a volunteer position on a Regional District committee. For some reason, journalist Dorothy Brotherton suggested to the editor of the Westside Weekly that he ask “that new columnist at the Daily Courier” if I’d like to do some writing for the Westside Weekly. Somehow, my husband and I found ourselves at a meeting of the Westbank Neighbourhood Association, the evening Jeff Harte was elected president.

We realised that many people cared deeply about this little town, a place of old and new, of fields and stores, artists and hunters. We were beginning to know Westbank. I realised that Westbank, legal municipality or not, is a distinct community with a flavour all its own.

Over those first few years, my work with the newspaper and the membership on the Parks and Trails committee for the Regional District of the Central Okanagan helped me to get to know the community and a little of its history. I started to make friends, and some of those kindly friends introduced me to the high mountain trails, to snowshoeing, and horseback riding high on the ridges. I met people who trained sled dogs, and learned to get my own dog in harness to pull over the powder snow.

We were invited to go sleigh riding on Mount Last by Gellatly descendent Chuck Jean. We went with Selah Outdoor Explorations by snowshoe to the far side of Crystal Mountain Resort, to have chocolate fondue by a roaring mountaintop fire. My husband fixed up an old canoe, and I discovered the joys of paddling at Gellatly Bay and on charming Shannon Lake. I’ve worked on and off in Kelowna and around the valley over the last ten years, but my heart is toast.

The entire Westside and the whole of the Okanagan have many attributes. It was Westbank, though, that whispered from the past to say hello. Westbank, complete with its changes, warts and quirks, has won me over completely.

June 5, 2006 - Something about this place…

I confess the sense of allegiance to this community, when we first arrived just a little over ten years ago, wasn’t immediate. We’d been on Vancouver Island for eighteen years and loved it. Our mothers live in stunning areas near and in Vancouver, so we’re not adverse to big cities. We weren’t attracted to the Okanagan for its vacation pleasures and hot sun- we headed here to take advantage of a career opportunity.

Wisely leaving our three Island-born daughters, ages nine to sixteen, behind, Russ and I came looking for a new home. As we crossed the mountains there was deep snow on the Coquihalla and apprehension in our hearts.

We’d heard for years about “the sunny Okanagan” and the “beautiful Okanagan”. Looking forward to the place so many of our friends crowed about visiting regularly, we were disappointed. When we first drove in from the Connector that year, the valley was in the midst of what seemed a dull winter- grey and dry and cold. On the Westside we saw billboards and shabby industrial sites. From Highway 7 we didn’t see any beautiful residential areas. I had no way of knowing what wonders the distant mountains held.

A decade ago, the Westbank Holiday Inn wasn’t built yet. The local movie theatre wasn’t either, but Zellers was up. Mission Hill Winery had beautiful gardens but a rundown production facility. We were told the tired-looking industrial park off Highway 97 had suffered during a recession. Signs of economic growth were a multitude of new drive-thru banks and fast food joints. As a long-time Advisory Planning commissioner in Nanaimo, I was less than impressed with what I was seeing as ‘sprawl.”

With some relief, we drove on through the Westside, caught our breath as we approached huge Lake Okanagan and didn’t give the western shore another thought. We’d been advised to find a house somewhere called “The Mission.” We were booked into a room at the Grand, and gazed over at the other side of the lake only to watch the sunset.

Then, the West Coast girl went house hunting. When realtor Peter Kirk took me to “The Mission,” I learned that tall trees meant tall price tags. It was the same all over Kelowna- any home that had the modest but green features of the house we had in Nanaimo, with the stately and mature trees I felt it impossible to give up, had huge price tags.

“I have something else in mind,” said Peter-the-Patient, and away we went back over the bridge and up that great big hill. I panicked.

“It takes too long,” I screeched. “ It’s a commute. We don’t want too much driving- where are you taking me ?”

We arrived at Bylands- big, but bare compared to Green Thumb Nursery in North Nanaimo. Peter turned right. Now we passed a gravel pit. This was nothing like our seaside town, and getting worse every second. One more corner, though, and everything changed.

We drove over a small wooden bridge. Just around the bend, two horses leaned affectionately on one another in a pasture with a white rail fence around it. Shannon Lake Road was narrow, winding and lovely. Regal Ponderosas lined the road and studded several attractive acreages. Now, we passed a gorgeous golf course with mountains in the distance and a sparkling lake as its centrepiece. I was enchanted.

Up into the original “old” Shannon Lake Estates we went, along a road lined with Ponderosas, with no wires overhead and panorama views from every culdesac or turnaround. Peter was smiling. I tried to force down my excitement. Surely any house here would be too expensive.

It turned out that we could get into a house, and the neighbourhood held pleasant surprises. The youngest daughter could walk from our back door through a park to get to school, and the other could take the school bus. A corner store was a block and a half away. The public transit bus stop was nearby. We could walk to Zellers or even the movies. When winter came, my littlest daughter went skating on the frozen lake.

Since this website wasn’t available yet, I poured over each copy of the Westside Weekly that plopped onto the doorstep, and learned all about the Westside from a writer named Dorothy Brotherton.

Like Cindy, the producer of this website, I fell in love first with the Shannon Lake area and the lake itself. Then, we started to get to know Westbank- and that’s a whole other story.

Before I share that story in the next Considerations, I suggest that you visit the Experience Westbank pages about Gellatly Heritage Park and the Gellatly Nut Farm Regional Park. They offer a hint of some of what happened, quite some time ago, to get us from there to here.

May 23, 2006 - What's Happened to the Traditional Vacation?

Retailer Mountain Equipment Coop has noticed it. Adventure Okanagan has noticed it. BC Parks has felt it, too. People are not as likely these days to visit Provincial and National Parks. They’re not going out as often into the wilderness to camp overnight. They’re not buying as many tents as they used to, and they’re more likely to engage in sports that get them home at the end of the day. Resort owners have noted that shortie vacations are registered more often these days than longer holidays. What’s happened to the traditional vacation?

One guess is that self-employment and contract work happened. Since the corporate paycheque and annual two week vacation is no longer the norm for every worker, many people may be able to build flexibility into their work week on a day by day basis, but cannot predict the ability to be away from their desks for more than a few days at a time.

Another explanation for the decline in long vacations for some people and families could be a simple, positive one in areas like ours, where the urban, suburban and rural communities are so pleasant: there’s no reason to run.

The Okanagan – so long as you don’t live on one of the few ‘main drags’ - is still comparatively relaxed and quiet in most residential areas. It’s so peaceful in many Okanagan Valley neighbourhoods that many people don’t have an urgent need for a “Getaway.” The hurly-burly of a big city just isn’t formidable enough in most of our communities to drive us out in the summertime- especially as the price of fuel increases.

The third possible reason for fewer people getting to the wilderness? Fear. Getting people out and up into the Great Outdoors where it’s most ‘Supernatural’, such as up into the provincial parks and Crown Lands around the Westside, has apparently become more difficult. Residents and vacationers are said to be getting more cautious.

It’s a strange world we live in now, even here in the Westbank area. In the Okanagan, it’s become a world in which some of the most fabulous natural terrain on the planet is often just minutes away from our doors, but many of us are too worried about liability, lawsuits and Lyme’s disease to fully enjoy it. This reticence leaves natural areas to be given over to segments of the population with more moxy and less concern for the environment- the adventurers and the vandals.

The adventurers on the Westside are cyclists, dirt bikers, horseback riders, ATV’ers, hunters, fishers and hikers- a very few of whom are litterbugs.

The vandals are those who trip into the forest, often with trucks, and leave messes. Out in the otherwise pristine Westside forests and along fish-bearing streams, hikers may find some of their calling cards along with peaceful trails and great views - but the more people who are out, the fewer opportunities the offenders have.

Garbage isn’t what keeps some people from enjoying the fantastic Westside wilderness, though. Apparently, many human beings fear many non-human residents of the natural lands: the biting, sucking and stinging things. They also worry about the water, getting lost and getting munched on or stomped by a large animal like a bear or a moose. The truth is, the chances of anything like that happening, even to people who are out there every week, year in and year out, are minute.

Yes, it’s good to tell someone where you’re going. Take a little bug spray to repel ticks and mosquitoes. Take a friend. Carry a compact first aid kit and tuck some clothes into your belt or pack that keep you comfortable when the weather changes. Pack along water, a bit of food. Consult a Be-Prepared list, but don’t let it stop you from going out.

It’s a shame to miss any part of Experiencing Westbank. The Okanagan has an abundance of parks, trails for all levels, forests, campgrounds, streams and lakes that deserve to be visited and respectfully enjoyed. This website publishes cautionary paragraphs in order to meet legal expectations, and we have a moral obligation to remind explorers to think ahead about simple safety precautions before going into natural areas- but we hope you won’t be daunted.

Cindy named this website “Experience” because that’s what she hopes you’ll do- share in the complete Westbank and Okanagan Valley experience that includes this area’s lakes, parks, and forests. A little bit of preparation advice isn’t intended to deter you from the natural experience- it’s to help make it even more enjoyable.

May 8, 2006 - The Beneficence of Mothers

Mother’s Day for me gives rise to thoughts of several mothers.

I think first of my own mother, very young but instinctively wise. When I was little, my soft-spoken mother was the centre of and anchor to my physical world. When I got older, she managed to remain- unseen but perpetually felt - at the centre of my internal being, speaking softly and persistently to me wherever I went. She doesn’t speak from inside my head very often now; the differences between us are as many and clear as the things we agree upon. We are dear friends, and I feel so very lucky.

I think of my husband’s mother Margaret – still feisty, a wartime runaway in London at age nine. Margaret didn’t run away from her home as a little girl - she’d been evacuated from the city, and ran from safety back to her mother and the bombings. I wonder what it must have been like for her mother to look up and see Margaret, one of the children she thought she’d made safe, just before the sirens sounded again and everyone ran down to take cover in the basement of their building. I wonder what it was like to send that skinny little girl, now convinced of the danger, back to the countryside again.

Then I think of Fran, a neighbour on Vancouver Island who, in the days when I was an inexperienced wife and parent gave me the precious gift of being a kind and generous mother-stand-in. We came accidentally into her already full life, but she behaved as though she believed that we were special.

Next, I think of the one a number of societies have called The Great Mother. This Earth is a great beauty, both powerful and vulnerable, the centre of survival, the supplier of all we need. And a victim of her own fertility.

We are like her vandal children - many of us unruly and disrespectful, so certain of her patience and loving indulgence. Some of the numerous siblings are not to be trusted with the family fortune, or the welfare of their brothers and sisters. Like sneaky children with their hands in the cookie jar, later the liquor cabinet, then the bank account, some of us are in the habit of compulsive stealing, with no thought of restitution.

Experience Westbank.com is a business showcase, an information resource, and a cheery adventure guide, designed for people who live on or visit the Westside. Founder Cindy Bruckner has built in a celebratory tone to what she’s written on this website, because she feels we are fortunate to live here. We know not everyone in Westbank and District lives in luxury; we know some people here struggle as much as people in countries with reputations for poverty and chaos. However, when even the most un-mothered among us step outside their doors, they find a manageable climate and great natural beauty just a walk, bike ride or bus trip away.

The value of natural spaces to the health and well-being of humans is lately gaining new scientific understanding. It turns out that the earthy woman our planet originally presented to her children isn’t some roughly-dressed ‘hippie’ but a holistic healer who is actually exquisitely sophisticated.

She didn’t realize she needed an agent - she thought all of us would recognise her special qualities. She does need an agent, though, and that’s why some of us are in the communication business. It’s a good investment to “mother a mother" - even when she doesn’t know she needs it.

April 18, 2006

I’m quite well acquainted with the Westside Landfill – particularly its brush pile - and I find it impressive. When Cindy and I visited not one, but two landfills last month on behalf of Experience Westbank, I came away from both tours feeling inspired and hopeful.

On one hand, our recent tours of recycling collection and landfill facilities left me mortified. It’s shocking, the numbers of bottles we drain, containers we toss, refuse we create. Mountains of packaging and junk must be put somewhere, every week. We glug down lake-fulls of soft drinks - which aren’t even good for us- every single day. We buy, buy, buy, and retailers happily sell and sell the stuff that manufacturers produce and package.

Most of us are too anxious to get the goods home to concern ourselves with the way it’s been contained or packaged. We don’t usually think of what the heck we’re going to do with that packaging stuff after the contents have been used or consumed unless we have to tear the product out of the wrap right away in order to eat or use it.

Now that we have Blue Bag recycling, though, more people seem to be conscientious. Once our neighbours got on the band wagon - and the program has been very successful in our region - the rest of us felt obligated to toss at least some of the household recyclables in those blue bags if only to meet neighbourhood expectations. And if the Regional District is nice enough to take all those newspapers and flyers away for us, who are we to argue?

We can’t enjoy the luxury of being cleaned up after forever. Like the landfills themselves, the issues raised by the unending cast-offs from human settlements are broad, high and deep. Sections of property suitable for depositing, sorting and burying thousands of tonnes of waste and recyclables each week are not easy to come by. Other regions have been known to pile tonnes of stinking refuse on barges, and float it to other jurisdictions. Garbage sometimes seems as difficult to dispose of as nuclear waste.

So where have I found a ray of light since becoming more intimately acquainted with our immense disposal challenges?

In the possibility of more reclamation and less dumping. In the impressive work being done with composting. Through witnessing the recycling of reusable goods to specialty reclamation enterprises and charitable organizations. Cindy and I learned about the cleansing of contaminated soil, and viewed an impressive methane collection system. It is inspiring to see how hard the professionals who manage this area’s waste are working to improve the efficiency of the landfills so many of us take for granted.

We’re some distance away, I suspect, from taking into account the amount of unnecessary packaging a product is encased in when we make a purchase. However, with reminders from the Regional District’s Waste Management office, more people are slowly becoming mindful of the fact that much of the material currently going to the landfill could be redirected to alternative uses. There’s a lot of packaged stuff we just don’t need to buy, and that’s where the hope comes in:

When a critical number of Okanagan Valley residents notices just how much stuff is getting tossed into garbage bins that go to the landfill pit for an expensive cover-up, and another critical number concludes that buying goods with less packaging is even easier than dealing with extra recycling, we’ll start doing things differently. We’ll carry more items in bags from home or our arms, instead of plastic. We’ll buy fewer things in Styrofoam packages. We won’t put any paper or wood into the garbage that could be resold, reduced or reused.

Many years from now, I’d rather our region be notable for its natural spaces, attractive buildings and public art than the many landfills we required to hide our garbage. I’m hoping that almost everyone in the valley feels the same way, and that most of us are willing to prove it.

April 1, 2006

We plan to fill your information cup until it’s overflowing.

When Cindy, a former engineer turned entrepreneur, first approached me and told me what she planned to achieve with her new project - this website - I wasn’t surprised. Her ideas just made sense.

“I want to celebrate and promote everything good about living in this area,” Cindy said. I didn’t have to think - I immediately jumped on board.

Thanks to Brenda, the alert person who suggested that Cindy and I got together, I am delighted to have the opportunity to help Cindy in the quest to inform, assist and delight the people who live here in this area - especially the sometimes bewildered souls who have just arrived.

We’ve come up with an initial list of parks and trails that we recommend you check out (or revisit), and offer directions to great spots so often tricky to find. As well, we’ve provided lists of preparations we suggest for the kind of terrain you’ll cover on each trail or in specific parks or Crown Land areas.

As I’ve learned the hard way more than a few times, preparation counts. Even though an outdoors enthusiast may have plenty of previous Experience, it pays to keep in mind that reminders don’t hurt, but forgetting sure does. Lack of preparation, however simple the needs are for the trek you’re planning, can cause both pain AND embarrassment.

For a list of tips to be comfortable and happy while exploring and enjoying this part of the Okanagan, see our walking pages.

When Cindy was new here, she shared some of the same frustrations I did while trying to explore and enjoy this area with her family. Where were the best beaches, parks, and trails? What artisans should we visit when we’re looking for something special, and who are the artists here? Where to fish, to put in the canoe? Where to get necessities?

Cindy has worked hard to create a guide to living Happily-Ever-After in and around Westbank . She’s created sections on this website that we hope will help you every week, and compiled tips to make getting around - and getting on - in this area easy and satisfying. Cindy’s plan is to offer Experience Westbank as:

• an informative pictorial showcase for your friends & family around the world, and
  
• your local on-line resource to help you get the most from life in the Okanagan

We plan to fill your information cup until it’s overflowing. And believe me, we’ll have a good time doing it, as we continue to Experience Westbank right along with you.

Deborah
Deborah@ExperienceWestbank.com