sʔi:ɬqəy̓ qeqən

31 July 2021 – I’m on the UBC campus for one tribute, and end up walking another one while there.

First tribute: the Chaconne concert at the Chan Centre, the second performance in this year’s EMV Bach Festival and dedicated to Jeanne Lamon — the renowned violinist, concert master, early music pioneer and mentor, shockingly dead barely one month ago. During my Toronto years I benefited from her role with Tafelmusik, and here in Vancouver benefitted again, when she retired to Vancouver Island and immersed herself in the musical community out here.

So I sink into this concert for more than its music alone, and then walk across campus in a contemplative mood.

My path takes me to the intersection of University Blvd with East Mall, at the foot of a cascading water feature. It is also home to this 34-foot Musqueam house post of the double-headed serpent.

I’ve seen it before, had forgotten where it was, am delighted to discover it again. It is the work of Brent Sparrow Jr. (son of another fine Coast Salish artist, Susan Point), his gift to UBC, and a tribute to his people and their culture.

Yes! The double-headed serpent, sʔi:ɬqəy̓, whose home was, is, the Camosun Bog.

After living here a few years, I have the beginnings of some personal cross-connections. I’ve visited the Bog a number of times, and I’ve taken you there with me more than once. In July 2020, my post included this larky on-site map …

and on Christmas Day I looked out over bog and pond sparkling with misty rain.

No rain today, alas (more than 40 dry days, and counting), and a lot more heat. But it’s walkable heat, and I decide to visit the serpent.

I walk up one side of the incline, passing these women striding down …

pivot at the viewing hut at the top …

enter the hut for the long view back downhill with the water course …

and then walk my way on down to the bottom.

Once home, feet up, I revisit another favourite tribute to the serpent. It’s an animation I first viewed at Museum of Vancouver, but can now enjoy any old time on vimeo.

And so can you.

Old Haunts

22 July 2021 – “Down to Strathcona,” I decide, my first return to this east-of-downtown neighbourhood since COVID reined in my travels. First visit since 9 February 2020, in fact, a walk celebrated with the now-ironic title of “And then the sun came out.” Who knew the metaphoric sun was about to go in?

Off I go.

North down a favourite alley, H-frame hydro poles overhead and a DATA-face levelling her eyes at me above the dumpsters.

Bounce east from False Creek, cut through False Creek Flats (the still-scruffy end, spelled with a final “s” not yet the snappy “z”), with a couple of murals on the wall and two sea gulls overhead. Who are almost certainly not levelling their eyes at me.

Another bounce, this time off the east corner of Chinatown and then east-east along E. Georgia to Princess, where a beautifully restored/maintained home demonstrates that, yes, Strathcona is the oldest residential neighbourhood in Vancouver.

More east along East Georgia, over to Hawkes and the brick-laid circle at a south corner of MacLean Park, with its benches and a mosaic that possibly links Strathcona to the nation-wide Communities in Bloom organization. (I try, but can’t quite track it down. Oh well.)

Another pedestrian & I exchange “Good morning’s”, then cock our heads as the first four notes of O Canada fill the air. Aha! The 12-noon ritual, courtesy of the Heritage Horns at Canada Place. We giggle and amend our greeting. “Good afternoon!”

On north along the east side of MacLean Park, already anticipating a latte at The Wilder Snail café up at Keefer. I pause at this alley corner en route, delighted that this workshop is still here, still vividly painted, still adorned with industrial art…

including this tribute to cycling embedded in the sidewalk: chain, gears & even an upright bike pedal.

On up to Keefer, about to cross the street to the café, and… whoa! This is new. The drop-dead sleekest community book box ever created.

No, not part of the Little Free Library chain that I admire so much; this (the discreet sidewalk plaque tells me) was brainchild of the Strathcona Community Centre Association, funded by some civic Neighbourhood Small Grants program.

I peer inside. On offer, Easy Songs for the Beginning Baritone/Bass. Also on offer — in case you’d rather read about a musician than be one — Life, by Keith Richards. (Isn’t this perfect? The autobiography of “Keef,” right here on Keefer Street.)

Enough of that, I want my latte. Except, once inside The Wilder Snail, I succumb to the day’s heat & my own curiosity and instead choose something cold called (as I recall) Turmeric Sunrise. Or something like that. Anyway, tart & citrus-gingery and perfect for the day.

I sit outside, and watch the woman in the red dress kitty-corner, inspecting offerings in that book box.

(D’you suppose she walked off with Keith Richards under her arm?)

Now it’s my turn to walk off, still heading vaguely northward, until I find myself in front of this wonderful mural of North Strathcona Pre-WWI.

I am at Campbell & East Hastings, and I know this because there’s the intersection, in its bright turquoise lozenge.

Once again I have cause to admire the perfect symmetry of location and language: the eponymous George Campbell was part owner of the Hastings Sawmill.

I start thinking about looping my way toward Commercial Drive and, eventually, a bus back home.

But meanwhile, still lots to look at. Mad animal cyclists in this mural near Woodland Park, for example.

And in this Venables/Victoria alley, a garage with a mural and some life-lesson instructions.

The life lesson? How to be an artist.

I’m particularly fond of “Make friends with freedom & uncertainty” near the top, and, closer to the bottom, “Listen to old people.” (Well, natch.) Also: “Play with everything.”

Fine, I think, that’s it. Camera back in my pocket.

But then I see this: garage-top garden, complete with sunflowers and an apiary.

Okay, I think. This time that’s it. But a few blocks over, I see this: wonder woman flexing her muscles.

And then?

That really is it.

The Long Slide to Dusk

18 July 2021 – The few brief times I lived near the equator, I never quite got used to the abrupt transition from day to night. As if it were on a toggle switch: day ON!! day OFF!!

Here in Vancouver, we’re on a dimmer switch, with a long, long slide.

So I set out in the relative cool of late afternoon, knowing I have a comfy few hours before night fall. A loop, I think, north downhill & east & see what happens.

I’m touched as always by the many small ways people add beauty outside their own front door, a gift to the rest of us. This little street corner arrangement, for example, the grass scorched but the flower-petal birdbath glossy-bright (though empty).

This isn’t one of the Park Dept’s sponsorship arrangements; it’s something set up by somebody in the condo building right behind me. Just… because.

Or here, a few blocks farther north-east: a dip in the ground, with greenery that does not appear to be currently tended, but look, someone has placed a gleaming red chair next to that weathered bench.

Neither of these spots is, from a landscape-architect perspective, particularly impressive. They’re modest, straggly even — but full of good omens: generosity of spirit, playfulness of spirit, comfort with being who they are doing what they want to do. And with reasonable expectation that the objects they place for public enjoyment will not be vandalized or stolen. It’s an encouraging reality, when so many other current realities are painful.

Another discovery, look:

I do not click, I want my own unguided walk thank you, but later I look up the St. George Rainway project. It falls within Vancouver’s much larger Rain City Strategy and while I uneasily suspect both lag in implementation I wish them success. “Heat Dome” ought to provide new impetus.

I take myself down to Great Northern Way (now roadway, originally tracks for the railway line, up from the USA), walk along and decide it’s finally time to try to solve the mystery.

The mystery being: what is the story of these grand steps back uphill, their style worthy of an Aztec temple? And what are those statues all about?

So, finally, instead of wondering about them from the far side of the road, I climb the steps.

The statues are not only incoherent in style & apparent inspiration, they are all badly damaged & vandalized.

No street art here worthy of admiration – but at least, in this one message, a mini-story that I’m glad worked out well for the grateful “D.”

As I climb, and later up at the East 6th & Prince Albert top end of the steps, I ask passers-by if they know the story. They don’t.

But at least I’ve finally climbed those steps!

Back down to Great Northern Way, on east, across Clark St. and on some more, and I dipsy-doodle toward McLean Drive. It lands me on this extraordinarily rustic few blocks, hard to believe there is city all around and a Sky Train line just down the hill. (Wheels screech at me as a train goes by — again I honour Montreal’s Métro system for the courtesy of its silent rubber wheels.)

And around, and I start upward/southward again.

I see a cat poster on a utility pole, and my heart sinks, because we all know what they always say, and it is always so desperately sad.

But not this time!

We do not need to worry about poster-girl Zazu or her floofy brother Geronimo.

This really has it all: good-news reassurance for neighbours, plus a way to contact the owner if any given neighbour thinks the cats’ presence is more nuisance than joy.

And right here on the ground, next to the cat poster, a fish.

Damn, I wish I could identify the artist for you. There are a lot of sidewalk mosaic projects in the City, many of them identified, but not this one. Still, along with the frustration of not being able to ID this one, I gain the knowledge of a place called Mosaic Creek Park, and you know it is now on my list.

Zazu & fish are right on the corner of W.C. Shelly Park. The sign tells me so.

It also reminds me we have a lot of serious work to do, here in Canada (ditto USA/Australia/NZ).

By the time I’m up on East 11th, again crossing Clark but this time westward, the long slide on the dimmer switch has finally reached dusk.

Time to go home, and I do.

After a moment’s companionable pause with the Dude in his park.

Silly

10 July 2021 – I’m walking home along a shady street, minding my own business, and — just like that! right here on the sidewalk! — I enter another jurisdiction.

It is the jurisdiction of silly walks.

I do not obey. But I do giggle, as that Monty Python skit unrolls yet again in my mind.

I’m practically at the end of the block when I hear more giggling — not my own, somebody else’s, backed by the sound of stomping feet.

I turn, I look, and there’s a teenage girl, getting Silly.

It’s perfect.

Again!!

5 July 2021 – False Creek again! Ah, but, not the same-old.

I jump an Aquabus ferry close to home, and ride west to Granville Market. For the first few stops, it’s just the young driver and me — he’s a Vancouverite home from his first year of university at Queen’s, in Kingston, Ontario. For assorted reasons I know both Queen’s and the city well, so we chatter about all that for a while. One other passenger joins us at the David Lam Park dock, and conversation shifts to dealing with the heat.

The driver and I are masked, this passenger is not; all within Stage 3 guidelines, and — given current COVID trends, and our open-air breezy location — I’m comfy with it.

We approach the Granville Market dock, with the Granville St. Bridge there to the west beyond us.

My plan now is perfectly simple. Walk west, hugging the Creek and its parks and trails. Until I don’t feel like doing it any longer.

Busy marinas all along this stretch, plus this soon-to-be-busy public fish market. I’m west of the Granville Bridge by now; the Burrard St. Bridge looms up ahead.

Still pretty early in the day, but already cyclists, joggers, dawdlers, people with kids and people with dogs and people off in their own ear-bud universe. Parks & parkettes are contiguous all along the way, put me in mind of the parks that chain their way along Lake Ontario on the Toronto waterfront.

A mini-bump of parkette immediately east of the Burrard Bridge …

its scorched grass mute testimony to our dry spring and hot summer.

Under the bridge, on and on, rounding into Vanier Park, home to assorted institutions (Academy of Music, Museum of Vancouver, MacMillan Science Centre and the Maritime Museum) as well as landscaping and lots of open space. Some of that open space sprawls across a raised central knoll, favoured home of kite-flyers.

I stand under the protective shade of a tree, watching the flight of the most beautiful kite I have ever seen.

Had I a better camera, I would show it to you properly. But I don’t, so I can’t. (From the plaintive subjunctive mood, to the resigned indicative.)

Away from the shady tree-on-the-knoll, back down to the waterside trail, drawn by those vivid kayaks. Beyond them, the floating maritime heritage museum, tucked into Heritage Harbour.

By now I’m sloping into the long curve of Kitsilano Beach and Kitsilano Beach Park. Pick-up basketball here, net upon net of volleyball there, and the usual range of ages and types and interests walking, cycling, dawdling, chattering, studying their phones, reading their books, walking their dogs. I watch all this from a shady bench. (You’ve figured it out by now: my own westward progress is shady-spot to shady-spot.) My favourite dog is the three-legged one — as nimble as his four-legged leash-mate, and considerably more so than their two-legged leash-holder.

Off my bench! On down the Kits Beach Park trail!

Into the trees just east of the Kits Yacht Club … and I pause again. My ears pick up the faintest tones of sitar music. I look around for someone with a radio, but no… it is live.

I go sit on that bench to their left and, entranced, listen in. The woman is playing so softly, so delicately, that the sound merges with all the other sounds that wrap around us — breeze and waves and sea birds. Then my ears sharpen again, because I suddenly recognize the melody. She has segued into O Canada. She plays it right to the end, just the simplest possible, entirely unadorned, melody line.

Then she segues again, flows on into some raga, and I walk on.

Yes! I had this in mind.

“Wilderness Beach,” as the sign proclaims, is one of the last natural — un-managed, un-developed, un-manicured — beaches in Vancouver. It stretches west from Kits Beach on out to Jericho, and we are implored to visit it of course, but to change nothing about it while there.

There is a narrow trail, with pricey homes high above looking out over the water. Trail users move gently, careful with the space and friendly with each other.

(Look centre-top of that tall dead tree. One crow. There had been a whole squabbling murder of them as I approached, but one by one the others flew off. This guy, triumphant, now owns the tree.)

I drop down more steps, down onto the beach itself, currently very low tide. This enormous stump! And how beautiful the colours and textures of its patterns.

All the usual beach vocabulary of sand, pebble, stone, rock, seaweed, and storm-tossed wood. Sometimes rock rears up on the landward side, a natural wall.

Some of the homes have their own gates to the trail; this one has intricate ladders to bring its residents and their toys right to the beach.

Farther along, human-built breakwaters replace nature’s own rock and proclaim the homeowner’s tastes (as well as bank account). Some sport commissioned murals, such as this run of wild salmon.

There are also stretches of distinctly unofficial decoration, as on the near end of wall below! This is relatively infrequent, and, as here, quickly yields to something planned, like these bright blue bands.

I’m interested in the blue bands. A kilometre or so back, I’d asked someone if there was an exit farther west? Or would I have to double back? A nod, a chuckle, a pointed finger: Just beyond that blue band down there, I was told.

Yes indeed. Steep steps back up to the residential world. I wait while a young man patiently coaches a very young Husky puppy in the intricate choreography of step-climbing.

It gives me time to admire one last mural, rising vertically to the left of the steps.

A mad flamingo? Dancing with dandelions? Well, who knows, and we’re free to dance our own dance of imagination with it.

Up the steps. Back to the world of street corners. (I take my bearings: Point Grey Rd & Balaclava.)

Back to the world, also, of Little Free Library kiosks. Just look at the range on offer!

On the Road, Kerouac; Call of the Wild, London; Manon des sources, Pagnol; even Alpert Ellis and his Rational Emotive Behaviour Therapy.

And! And. Esther the Wonder Pig.

A bit more walking and a few more conversations before I grab a bus home — but, enough.

How can I top Esther the Wonder Pig?

Unhappy Canada Day

1 July 2021 – This is surely the unhappiest Canada Day in our history. Yet if we seize the opportunity, it may also be the most important, and make the greatest contribution to the future of everyone who lives here.

Although we begin to emerge from COVID, with most jurisdictions in their final re-opening stages, we are not celebrating.

Across the country, events have been muted, changed, postponed or cancelled. The country’s flag continues to fly at half-mast — everywhere, at every level and in every circumstance, from the Peace Tower on Parliament Hill to this local flagpole outside a False Creek condominium.

The national mood ranges from shock to rage to bewilderment to shame to — oh yes, this as well — scape-goating.  But with enough reflection and recognition in the mixture, we may yet be grateful for this sombre day.

The Immediate Shock: +1,100 bodies in unmarked graves

Within the last month, most recently yesterday, three different First Nations have announced that the use of ground-penetrating radar has detected the presence of children’s bodies in unmarked, unacknowledged graves at the sites of three now-closed Indian Residential Schools. The numbers now total more than 1,100.

I have to repeat this slowly to myself, to take it in. More than 1,100 indigenous children, removed by force from their families, dead while in the hands of the religious authorities charged with their care, and then simply … disposed of. Not even honoured with hallowed, marked graves, let alone returned to their families with a full accounting.

The Barest-Bones Background

Right from first contact, religious and political authorities assumed their right — their duty — to convert the indigenous peoples. The first residential facilities were established in Nouvelle France, but the term Residential School generally applies to the system established after 1880. Some 150,000 indigenous children were forcibly taken to 139 Indian Residential Schools across the country; most schools were closed by the mid-1970s, but the last did not close until 1990. It was thought that an estimated 6,000 children died while at school — a number we shall clearly need to revise.

“Residential schools,” says The Canadian Encyclopedia in an entry last edited June 2021, “were government-sponsored religious schools that were established to assimilate indigenous children into Euro-Canadian culture.” In developing the system, our Prime Minister John A. Macdonald commissioned journalist/politician Nicholas Flood Davin to study the American model. Davin recommended that Canada follow the U.S. example of “aggressive civilization” of the children.

And that’s what we did. The founder of the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania said, “Kill the Indian and save the man”; our Prime Minister said, “Take the Indian out of the child.”

Today we officially — as recommended by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada — describe this as “cultural genocide.”

We don’t yet know whether any other definition of genocide also applies.

Reaction / Response

There are the easy reactions, all the way from smooth words to angry gestures (e.g. toppled statues). But none of that changes reality. What happened, happened. We cannot change past events. We can only change how we view those events, and what we now do about them.

Indigenous and other leaders have made statements, this Canada Day. For example:

  • Perry Bellegarde, Chief, Assembly of First Nations – “…I urge everyone to reflect on the darkness of the past and commit to doing better as a country. Every single Canadian and government has a role to play and we must all work together…  We cannot lose the momentum. We must continue to see action for transformational change…”
  • Justin Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada – “… We as Canadians must be honest with ourselves about our history… The truth is, we’ve got a long way to go to make things right with Indigenous peoples, but if we all pledged ourselves to doing the work, we can achieve reconciliation…”
  • Canadian Heritage Minister Steven Guilbeault – “Our history has been stained with painful atrocities and too many people continue to face racism, violence and hatred every day. Working towards building a Canada in which everyone has every opportunity to flourish requires active listening, acknowledgment and collective action…”
  • Cindy Blackstock, Executive Director of the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society – “…We do need to learn from the history, but we need to understand that the injustice is not over… And therein lies the opportunity for every Canadian to demand from the government, to demand from the churches, and to demand from ourselves the full implementation of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission calls to action…”
  • Roseanne Casimir, Chief, Tk’emlups te Secwepemc First Nation Kukpi7 – “…Our hearts go out to the communities who have recently confirmed unmarked grave sites and missing children on the grounds of other residential sites. We stand with you in this harsh truth which is part of the history we need all Canadians to acknowledge… The best way to honour our country, and the diversity of its citizens, and, in particular this year our future generations, is to understand our real collective history… And it is not just First Nations that face the ugly face of racism… Canada is about diversity. We should be standing together in solidarity, regardless of our background…”
  • Marco Mendicino, Minister, Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship – “…It’s often said that Canada is an unfinished project that every generation of Canadians shapes anew…”

And Now?

The Government of Canada will fund up to $27 m. to support Indigenous partners and communities in a range of activities, including school-specific research into the children who died at residential schools and their burial sites.

The Roman Catholic Church in Canada (responsible for most but not all of the residential schools, and responsible for all three schools where unmarked grave sites have so far been identified) has pledged neither funds nor action. The Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops — while pointing out that each Roman Catholic diocese and community is corporately and legally responsible for its own actions — has expressed “deepest sorrow for the heart-rending loss of children.” Pope Francis has agreed to meet with a delegation of First Nations, Métis and Inuit, though not until mid-December.

Ultimately, I believe, it is up to every resident of this country to take responsibility for the future of this country: not to cancel anything, but to recognize everything, including the realities we each find most unpalatable — and then to act, and to demand action, to build on that recognition.

My final quotation is not fresh from today’s news. It is 106 years old, the words of Lt-Col John McCrae, the Canadian doctor who served as Medical Officer with the 1st Brigade, Canadian Field Artillery, in World War I. 

McCrae is better known as the author of In Flanders Fields, which he wrote during the sustained carnage of the 2nd Battle of Ypres (22 April – 25 May, 1915). The poem is all about the dead, honouring the dead. “If ye break faith with us who die,” he wrote, “we shall not sleep…”

Let us keep faith with our dead, and — through the actions we take and the changes we make — honour them, and the country, and the future of everyone in it. 

We all deserve to sleep acknowledged, respected, and safe.

My Sources and Some Other Links

History of Residential Schools

The Unmarked Graves

Canada Day Statements

The Roman Catholic Church

and finally..

Guideposts to the Future?

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission / National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation

A Lake, Another Lake, Lakes

26 June 2021 – “Siempre hay algo,” as a philosophical collectivo driver once told me, high on the Peruvian altiplano: “There’s always something.”

And indeed, just as COVID trends offer us cautious new freedoms, along comes the Heat Dome to imprison us once again. Only (!!) 33C today here in Vancouver, but headed for 39C by Monday, with 45C or more predicted for the Interior. (And that’s before we talk Humidex.) Not the weather for vigorous outdoor activity.

Yesterday’s visit to a cool, shady lakeside trail therefore had extra value: it felt like a final treat before 4-5 days of renewed lock-down.

Rice Lake lies within the Lower Seymour Conservation Reserve in North Vancouver, with some 100 km of trails on offer through the forested slopes. We did a short, simple loop around the lake — proof that delight and beauty bear no necessary relationship to length or difficulty of the walk.

A gravel trail through the trees …

with bird song in the trees, ferns & moss all about, and numerous nurse logs on view, complete with their offspring.

We were particularly taken with this pair of adult siblings, their arms thrown companionably over each other’s shoulders.

I was definitely in a BC forest, by a BC lake, but I am imprinted by my decades with the Canadian Shield lakes of Quebec & Ontario.

As we stood at a viewpoint and looked down-lake, I felt all those other eastern lakes right there with me, dancing in and out of the one that was physically before my eyes.

I began talking about the other Rice Lake of my experience: the one that belongs to the Kawartha Lakes and lies south of Peterborough, Ontario, on the Trent-Severn Waterway. It is named for the wild rice that once grew there in abundance, but was drowned out by the rising water levels that followed Waterway construction.

Once home, still deep in lake mode, I browsed for images of that other, eastern Rice Lake.

And found this one:

Yes of course they are different: a mountain backdrop here in North Van, a granite outcropping there in Ontario. But … just look at them!

One specific lake, another specific lake, a cavalcade of memories. And, finally, just … lake.

My lake imprint.

Green Peace

17 June 2021 – I’m at the entrance to the VanDusen Botanical Garden, and I suddenly decide that, this visit, I shall focus on the colour green.

This is why.

All these themes & variations of green, and I’m not yet even into the grounds.

So, green it will be — no labels, no ID, no scrupulous effort at learned info. Just shades, shapes, textures & moods of green.

With, oh all right, a dash of cinnamon.

Colour!

There’s the rich British-racing-green of those ferns, but there’s also citrus-green …

and ghost-silver-green.

There’s growing-tip green…

and sun-dappled green.

Then there’s all the ways a green can dance with the light.

Matte vs high-gloss, for example.

Or, textures! From feathery-droopy…

to spikey-erect.

You only need two ferns for a whole world of contrasts …

but if you really want to see what’s possible, settle down in the Garden’s Fern Dell and look around.

Then there’s green-in-the-pond…

and green-across-the-pond.

And of course — but of course — there is also copy-cat green.

Because, why should nature have all the fun?

Green on a bench…

and later, viewed from the patio, latte to hand, just beyond nature’s own green hedge …

the green apex of a garden umbrella.

And a crow.

… and Macro

13 June 2021 – So there I was, last post, making a big fuss about micro-focus. This time out, my eye snaps right back to macro.

And micro.

Both.

Maybe because I’m on less familiar ground. I’m on the edge of Morton Park — me, plus the 14 bronze gentlemen who make up the collective sculpture A-Maze-ing Laughter. The work of Chinese artist Yue Minjun, it was the hit of the 2009-2011 Vancouver Biennale, and is now a permanent installation owned by the City.

Like his 13 companions, he’s just laughing his ears off. I’m equally happy as we leave micro for macro — past the sculpture, on down to the water just where False Creek swells out into English Bay and the Sea Wall carries on up into Stanley Park.

Micro to macro. Beach plants up close; then down across the sand and rocks of low tide; on out over the water to freighters in the Port Authority “parking lot,” waiting their turn to acquire/deposit cargo; and finally, oh always, mountains and sky.

Mine is not the only eye on the scene.

More micro to macro: first plant life on driftwood stumps, and then beyond & beyond & beyond.

I’m in close for this one: all the colours & textures that dance in a single slab of rock.

Speaking of dance!

Ignore Second Beach Swimming Pool in the background; ignore the snappy bike helmet; narrow your gaze to that crow dancing with the saddlebag behind the seat.

The cyclist must have stashed some pretty delectable gorp back there — and, I guarantee, there’s now a lot less of it than there used to be. The crow has spent the last five minutes methodically dipping his beak. (Oh! Just hit me! Exactly like those dipping-beak bird toys you see advertised.)

On we go, on up to Ferguson Point, just short of Third Beach. More micro-to-macro. A trio of marine biologists, doing something detailed & specific at water’s edge — and out beyond them, a laden freighter.

I’ve been watching it ever since we joined the Sea Wall. It’s the only one out there stacked high with containers and, thanks to the photographic genius of Edward Burtynsky, shipping containers rivet my eye.

We leave the Sea Wall, climb up inland a bit, our target something delicious at the Teahouse.

We arrive. It’s closed. Oops. (I channel Phyllis, my partner in the Tuesday Walking Society back in Toronto: she’d greet a failed-destination moment with the shrugged reminder, “We’re out for a walk.”)

So! Shrug to the Teahouse.

Back down to sea level, back onto the Sea Wall, back toward Morton Park.

A final micro-image reward.

A very small detail, in a very tall tree.

Micro

9 June 2021 – Sometimes, when you’ve been trotting around a particular area often enough, your ungrateful eye begins to slide right off the macro view. Even when it’s as handsome as this one.

Here we are, south side / east end of False Creek, and just look at it — a macro worthy of the name, from boats to billowing clouds with mountains & condos & Science World tucked in between.

But all that, that macro sweep, is not what I notice.

All my eye wants to notice is this:

these mollusc-encrusted old wooden pilings.

And that’s how the walk goes.

My eye keeps snagging on micro snippets within the larger context.

One of Myfanwy MacLeod’s 18-foot sparrows, for example, in Olympic Village plaza.

Decidedly macro, as sparrows go, but not in terms of the plaza as a whole.

Same thing when I turn down an alley off Manitoba & West 3rd.

Lots going on, I promise you, but all I see is an alley cat …

and a bird’s nest.

Presumably not for the Olympic Village sparrow back there! Though the scale would work, wouldn’t it?

  • WALKING… & SEEING

    "Traveller, there is no path. Paths are made by walking" -- Antonio Machado (1875-1939)

    "The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -- Marcel Proust (1871-1922)

    "A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities" -- Rebecca Solnit, "Wanderlust: A History of Walking"

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