Outgoing, Incoming, & Just Plain Here

7 May 2021 – Well, here’s a near-generic urban redevelopment photo for you: detail-specific, in this case False Creek South, east end, but a common tide of events.

Out (R) with remnants of the Industrial Old, and in (L) with the Condo New.

I happen particularly to love that clapped-out, rusty old warehouse, or whatever it once was. I anthropomorphize it like crazy — yahh! you hang in there! love yer attitude!! — and I feel no shame.

I mean… just look. Despite weeds & chain-link fence, it really is somehow still hanging in, not yet knocked down (though a big wind might do the trick).

Yet I can’t be completely grumpy.

Because right next to it sit row upon row of neatly planted gardening boxes, all lined up behind that same chain-link fence and with a sign on the fence to make you pause, read, and puff out a happy little sigh.

Sole Food Street Farms — founded 2009, still active, here they are.

And here we all are, a poster on the utility pole next to the fence reminds me, here we all are, all us human beings …

messy, imperfect, and sometimes quite glorious. It’s just who we are.

So I walk on down to the Creek …

and enjoy myself.

Full Length

14 April 2021 – Not that there’s much length involved! Only 6 km or so, & mostly level. It’s just that, every previous visit to the Shoreline Trail that cups the end of Burrard Inlet here in Port Moody, I’ve always doubled back to my starting point from somewhere mid-trail.

This time, I’ll start yet again in Rocky Point Park, but end up over there in Old Orchard Park.

Like this.

The one-way system is a COVID requirement, one that people are observing very well. So even though quite a few are out walking, this bright & gusty day, I feel safe — almost everyone stays masked, and everybody gives everybody else lots of room.

First glimpses of the distinctive mudflats, as I set off from Rocky Point Park.

Well… If people insist on disobeying one of the signs, I’m glad it’s this one.

Lots to delight me, along the way. Tufts of moss, still bright green in a dimpled tree trunk …

tender new ferns, stretching toward the sun ..

skunk cabbage luminescent in the many bogs…

and nurse logs everywhere. This one must be a particularly proud mother, with two grown children soaring high.

Boardwalks …

old vines twisted into trail archways …

and benches, some of them close to the water …

and others tucked back into the woods.

There’s an unidentified metal remnant of the logging / sawmill past …

and a planter that pays tribute to that past. Artist Gillian McMillan shaped the container to echo the old bee-hive burners at the sawmills, and sculpted the names of eight lumber company families around the base.

Close to the Old Orchard end, I watch some paddlers bring their inflatable boat ashore and start to pack up. Smart move! Look at those white caps — the wind gusts are fierce.

No problem for me: my hat has a chin-strap, and the bus stop — up the hill, across the RR tracks, by the road — is a wind-proof shelter, complete with bench.

So I plonk down on the bench, watch some crows bully each other in the sky while forsythia & cherry blossoms duel for bragging rights in gardens below, and peacefully wait for the No. 181.

Which, in a bit, comes trundling along, right on schedule.

  • 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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