July 30, 2023- A small group of organic farmers and food security activists gathered, among the young families, street musicians and urban campers, for the purpose of honouring a man who has spent much of his time here ensuring that food security is real in this community and that the unhoused, as well as those sheltering because of abuse and neglect, get access to their daily nutritional needs.
John A. and his wife are moving to a homestead, in eastern Tennessee. There, they will have a good opportunity to continue what they have done here. A Slow Food chapter thrives in that area, as ours does here. There is substantial interest in school gardens, as there is here. The growing season is comparable to ours, as is the elevation. There is a somewhat wetter climate, so more might conceivably be accomplished.
John’s energy puts me to shame, but he is twenty years my junior, so no need to feel remorse. He will, though, be very hard to replace. It may well be that a team will form to tend to the matter of delivering food to the shelters, once or twice a week. That was John’s initial suggestion, in any case.
I have been fortunate to have worked with him, on several small projects, and to learn some building and mechanical skills that had eluded me, for many years. The saving grace, though, is that Athens, TN is not that far from Knoxville or Crossville, where I also have friends. When en route back to Home Base, from the Northeast in September, I will be sure to try and connect, at their new place.
July 29, 2023- A solitary man, either befuddled by the heat or determined to stand his ground, stood squarely in the path of my slowly-moving Kia, as I approached a rest room, at the more aptly named than usual Area 51 Alien Center. The heat, and an approaching full moon, seemed to have brought more unusual behaviour than I’ve seen, over the past eleven years, in that little settlement of Amargosa Springs. I felt badly for the two ladies who were staffing the Alien Center’s store.
The man in question moved along, when I simply turned right and found a parking spot away from the rest room. When I drove across the street, to the Alien Center’s parking lot, he blocked my way with his car, so once more, I turned right and simply found a space that was not in “his zone”. He drove off without any further ado.
The drive down from Carson City was itself quite smooth. I left a bit later than planned, as my help was needed with an online Zoom call, which was best done from the motel room. Breakfast to go sufficed my LA Bakery fix, for this visit. (That establishment, and Red Hut, are my must stops in Carson.) Stopping briefly in Yerington, an hour to the south, I found another favourite, Blanhir’s Bakery, was closed-odd for a Saturday noon. Oh, well, down through Schurz, Hawthorne and Mina, towards Tonopah, it was. A brief rest stop at Luning, just north of Mina, provided an opportunity for service and let’s just say, I fixed a problem that had been left to sit , by earlier visitors. I’m sure the trucker who came by, just as I was leaving, appreciated the problem-free rest room.
Beans and Brews, in Tonopah, is mostly staffed by local teens, so it has been a must-stop, when going to and from Carson City or Reno. As usual, the counter person was energetic and quick to fill my small order. The lady at the adjacent convenience counter, on the other hand, looked like she was melting in the heat. I wished them both a fine afternoon, and went on-past Goldfield, which still does not have the truck stop that’s been in the works for over a year. I think the earth-moving equipment is in the same place it was, last November. Passing through Beatty, and stopping for a quick supper in Amargosa Springs, I encountered the above-mentioned individual-and a worker from the brothel next door, who didn’t bother me, but looked like she needed a good long rest.
What happens in Las Vegas is best left there-but I found reasonable gas, at a station that had been sending patrons to the nearby Wendy’s, for restroom use. Wendy’s, unbeknownst to the station attendants, has closed. I let them know that state of affairs. Fortunately there is a huge shopping mall across the road. An iced coffee from Panera Bread addressed two needs, and I was again on my way, in short order.
Four hours and twenty minutes later, another journey was in the books. It helped me confront a few remaining personal baggage items, without any faux pas, which leaves me with a nice feeling. Thank you, to all in California, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and Nevada. This was a truly nice two weeks-even through the heat.
July 28, 2023, Carson City– The cast was set to dancing and jumping about, in this version of the spell cast by a cheekier version of the Wicked Witch of the West. W3 did not feel like even hinting at opium being an acceptable diversion and so came the Jitterbug, whose weapon was getting everyone to dance until they dropped from exhaustion. The classic dance marathon, instead of deadly poison, was a tad more family friendly-but W3 still asked Scarecrow if he wanted to play ball.
“The Wizard of Oz” first came into my consciousness when I was about nine, and we started watching it, as a family, once a year. When I hit my mid-teens, the watch party shifted to a gathering of friends-still a time for laughs and feigned fright. Seeing that it has not lost its appeal is re-assuring. There is much that is not ersatz about our culture, and these are the totems that I hope will remain.
Children and teens are almost universally dear to my heart. One of the dearest was on stage as a Munchkin, her time under the klieg lights about five minutes of play time and a few minutes at the end. In our pre-play conversation, I re-assured her that this is how just about everything starts. The first jobs are almost always the equivalent of a small role, with few lines. It is approaching the task with aplomb, with the confidence that one is going to do the small stuff well and move up the ladder, to a place that is deserved, that makes the dream become reality.
So she did her small role well, being visible and audible from where I was sitting, with her grandmother, in the second row. Afterward, the three of us went to a fast food place and each got an orange cream shake. We talked of the importance of agency, which she has already stood for, as she described an incident in which she asked that officials remove a poster she finds offensive. She heard us say: “Good on you and keep standing for justice, even when-especially when, it’s hard.”
I will always stand beside her, her brother, cousins and any other young person who is looking at being hazed or subjected to injustice.
July 27, 2023, Carson City- One of my favourite chain eateries, of which there are few, is Black Bear Diner, which started in the city of Mount Shasta, CA, in 1995, and has now expanded throughout the western half of the U.S.
It was at Grants Pass’s Black Bear that my day got revved up. The counter crew, like crews in most restaurants, are a well-working team. A lovely, perky young lady at the register told me it was her first day-and I noticed that the rest of the crew was solicitous and helpful towards her. She is likely to have a good run there. The food was excellent, as always.
Mount Shasta itself was prominent during the first part of my drive towards Carson City. A first time visitor to the area stopped at the western vista point, off I-5, just after I got there and asked what mountain that was. She proceeded to take several snaps of the peak, from different vantage points. I was happy taking one, from there.
About an hour later, heading towards Reno, on the Lassen Highway, I stopped at another “Vista Point”, to find that Mount Shasta was pretty much hidden from view by the tall pines. Lifting a bit of litter from the stop, because Mount Shasta is just majestic and doesn’t need our trash in view, even from thirty miles away.
Mount Shasta peeks through the pines, taken from the south.
There was no time to make a stop at Lassen peak that would have done it any justice, so I turned left towards Susanville and Reno. The damage done to the forests on Mount Lassen’s northern and western flanks, and in the mountains near Susanville, is heart-wrenching to see. Thankfully, fire has spared this area so far this year, but it’s unfortunately very early yet. In the intermediate future, one of my sojourns will entail a three-day stay in one of the cabins at Lassen Volcanic National Park.
In my heart, with Prescott my primary Home Base, there are several others-Carson City chief among them, that very much feel like home. That’s as it should be. I settled into the small America’s Best Value here, and spent about two hours visiting with Michele, very much like a sister, at Betsy’s Big Kitchen, a rather nice in-casino establishment, serving sizable portions of fine comfort food.
My main reason for being here will happen tomorrow, as a Munchkin takes the stage.
I was told, some time ago, that the homeless community along Washington State’s southern tier had been removed, by sending the lot across the Columbia River, to Portland. Being skeptical that this is even something that could be pulled off, without a whimper from a city that was already choking with a large unhoused community in its downtown and other neighbourhoods, the last time I visited (2015), I went to Vancouver (WA) this morning, after checking out of the motel in Kelso.
Vancouver, not to be confused with the much-larger city in British Columbia, has a lovely park along the Columbia River, and pleasant, clean downtown and uptown sections. It also has the manicured Fort Vancouver, a well-maintained National Park site, whose historic homes are leased to residents and businesses. Living wherever they can put up tents, usually in nooks and crannies along the Columbia, are the remnants of the unhoused community, admittedly smaller than those of Portland, Seattle or Tacoma, but in Vancouver, nonetheless. Denial of a problem will never make it go away. Whoever passed that information along to people down at my Home Base, in Prescott had probably not been to Vancouver.
I took a walking loop to the banks of the Columbia, then around to Esther Short Park, after first enjoying a vanilla latte at Brewed, a small, but efficient coffee shop, combined with a bar and small bakery, on Main Street. Not far from Brewed, there is a parking lot with murals on two of the walls.
The Skagit, Yamhill, and other nations, have not lost their dignity.Nor, for that matter, have the Hispanics who come here for agricultural work.The African-American community here seems small, but holds its own.Columbia River, at I-5 Bridge, Vancouver. “Boat of Discovery”, commemorating the visit here, by Captain George Vancouver’s fleet.A long wall emanates from this plaza, honouring veterans of all “foreign” conflicts, from the War of 1812 to Iraq and Afghanistan.Clock Tower, Esther Short Park. The park was being readied for a special event, when I happened by.
Having a couple of errands to do, across the river, I gave myself an hour to explore Fort Vancouver. The post was established to safeguard U.S. control of the mouth of the Columbia River-with .British, Russian and Spanish claims not fully resolved.
Here is the flag staff, in the midst of the parade ground. This was a serious parade ground!Grant House, intended for use by Ulysses S. Grant, when he was stationed here, in the 1850s. He never lived in this mansion, on Officers’ Row.Here is a view of the Enlisted Barracks, south of the Parade Grounds.These cannons were replicated, from descriptions of the originals, by local high school students, from 1990-92. They are owned by the City of Vancouver, which supplied the materials.This was the residence of General O.O. Howard, the post commander from 1874-80.The Artillery Barracks-It struck me that this could house a lot of people.Non-commissioned Officer’s HousingMarshall House, home to General George C. Marshall, during his duty here, prior to World War II.This pavilion honours the Chinese diaspora to Oregon and Washington. Chinese immigrants faced horrific treatment in the Pacific Northwest, during the late Nineteenth, and much of the Twentieth, Centuries.
After leaving Vancouver, I made my way across the bridge to Portland, getting my Pastini fix, with a late lunch at the Italian food chain’s Northeast Portland branch. Then, it was time to locate and purchase a new adapter, to house my photo SIM card and post these and other scenes. It took me all over North Portland. At one point, I stopped in front of a crosswalk, so that a young lady could cross. One would have thought I had held up the President, for the insistent beeping from behind me. The lady shot a dignified, but definitely disapproving, glance at the impatient motorist and gave me a gentle smile.
The shop I eventually found was a Best Buy, on the far northeast side. Its location afforded a fairly lightly-trafficked way out of Portland, so I missed all but a small amount of rush hour. Still ahead, however, was the large influx of participants, family members and spectators at the Junior Olympics, which I learned was being held in Eugene, Springfield, Albany, Corvallis and Roseburg. All of those cities’ accommodations were either occupied or were priced exorbitantly by the Law of Supply and Demand. After gassing up in Eugene, I made my way down to Grants Pass, and got a reasonably-priced overflow room. My last thoughts of the day, though, are wishes for the kids to be successful at their sport-and more importantly, to have a good experience.
July 25, 2023, Kelso, WA- The two Border Patrol agents saw the large amount of stuff in Sportage’s back area, naturally wanted to have a closer look. They found nothing in the cooler, but a freezer bar that is badly in need of refreezing. They found nothing of interest among the camping equipment, but my personal digital scale, which I have wrapped in a Red Cross blanket. “How does one use a bath scale in the woods?”, asked the senior agent. “One doesn’t”, I replied. “It’s for use when I am in a room with tile or wooden floors”.
That satisfied them, and I was kindheartedly welcomed back, as they chuckled and shook their heads. Shakespeare said it best: “A bit of nonsense now and then is relished by the best of men.” I continued on my way, to the town of Blaine and Peace Arch State Park.
Pine grove, Peace Arch State Park, Blaine, WAThe border meets the sea, Peace Arch State ParkRiot of colours, Peace Arch State ParkApropos of our time, here is a description of the great Paul Robeson’s calling out to the world, from a flatbed truck, at this very park, in the 1950s.Peace Arch, from south side (Blaine).Peace Arch, from north side (White Rock)Totem Pole raised to correct historic wrongs, Peace Arch Provincial Park, White RockMaple Leaf Garden, White Rock, BCPeace Arch Park is one of the only places to go between the U.S. and Canada, without showing documents. The authorities are close by, though.A bit of humour, at Railway Cafe, Blaine
Once I had visited both sides of the Peace Arch complex, it was time for lunch. Railway Cafe is a tiny boxcar that has converted to a cozy, friendly restaurant. Whilst waiting for a made-from-scratch BLT, I took in the homespun humour, such as that above-and below.
This speaks for itself.Railway Cafe’s ExteriorAcross Blaine Inlet, a view of Point Roberts, part of the U.S. but only accessible by road through White Rock, BC. Otherwise, folks go back and forth to Blaine, by boat.
From Blaine, I drove on to Everett, a major U.S. The city is also a commercial port, which at one time was headquarters for Weyerhauser Corporation’s Northwest timberworks. Shingles were made here, en masse, and there is acknowledgement, in the city’s Boxcar Park, of the risks taken by shingle makers-operating sawing equipment, at a very fast pace. Fingers and hands were lost, more often than one might care to think.
Appreciating the risks taken by those who provide building materials.
Weyerhauser House is now a coffee shop and meeting place, close to the waterfront.
Weyerhauser House, Boxcar Park, Everett, WAEverett HarborThe Heart of Everett
Once rejuvenated by a macchiato, from The Muse, in the above mentioned house, I took on Seattle’s, and Tacoma’s, rush hours, calmly navigating down to Kelso, on the Cowlitz River. It’s very peaceful here.
July 24, 2023, Surrey, BC- Rain came to Vancouver Island, as promised, early this morning, and stayed the day. The precipitation was mostly gentle, but after checking out of Painted Turtle, I opted to spend much of the day in the Public Library. There were also forays into nearby coffee shops. The first was to Serious Coffee-where a barista at first greeted me cheerfully, later showing a rather serious face, after another patron made a snide comment to her, while himself wearing a sly grin. I thought to myself, while scowling at him, that there is no call for lording it over another person, especially when they are trying to work. The people I have observed here, young and elder alike, do work hard-and deserve appreciation.
After 4 p.m., the rain tapered off, affording me a chance to visit Petroglyph Provincial Park and Bowen Park, both south of town.
An elk, fleeing a hunterA flounder, or a crab?A seal looks up.A bear, enjoying its killTwo wolves, on the attack.Western White Pines, Bowen ParkNanaimo River, Bowen ParkStairstep Falls, Bowen Park
A perfectly prepared and portioned chicken cutlet with chow mein awaited me, at Sun’s Noodle Bar, virtually across the highway from the turn-off to Duke Point. The congenial server made all of the patrons feel like guests in her own parlor. Thus did my visit to the island draw to a close.
Leaving Duke Point, south of Nanaimo Dyke Point, up close
The ferry, as it happened, was late leaving Tsawwassen, and so was also late leaving Duke Point. We got back to Tsawwassen around 11:10 p.m., and I arrived at Sun Suite, here in Surrey, around midnight, initially somewhat to the consternation of my Korean host-who reminded himself that I was, after all, not piloting the ship and that I had made good time, once off the vessel and driving around a strange city in the dark and rain.
Sun Suite is a very fine place, in which to rest from three frenetic days, with more to come.
July 23, 2023, Nanaimo- It was a cheerful face and voice that greeted me, as I rounded the corner for a second time, whilst looking for the driveway to a friend’s home, on the east side of Victoria. Debra, and one of her neighbours, saw to my parking Sportage and entering her humble abode.
For the second straight visit to a long-time friend, (the other being a few days ago, in Ashland), I was told I am the first out-of-towner to visit since COVID. It is an honour to be so designated. Debra and I spoke at length about her family, and mine; about the joy and challenge of being Baha’i in a distracted world and about the guidance we have each received from unseen hosts.
Debra and me at her home
One of the great joys of visiting the Pacific Northwest is to dine on wild caught salmon. So it was, that I was treated to that succulent fish, along with fresh salad and a piece of freshly baked British Columbia blueberry pie. The feast has been anticipated since 2015, when I was not able to stay on V.I. long enough to make this connection. The main reason for visiting V.I. druthis time, is a fait accompli. Debra became the first to use my Bear Drum in a chant, since it was repaired, a few weeks ago. I was thus doubly honoured.
After about three hours, I bid Debra farewell and headed back towards Painted Turtle Hostel. The appeal of Malahat Skywalk, about halfway between Victoria and Nanaimo, was irresistible. A lovely and winsome attendant greeted me and explained the process of navigating the boardwalk and spirals . I then set out, joining several families and couples, on the route, which proved quite easy. The views of eastern Van couver Island-and of the mainland Sunshine Coast, are unparalleled, on a sunny day like today.
Here are some scenes from Malahat. Presenting the Skywalk and its surrounds.
A sundered old trunk, Malahat Skywalk, Vancouver IslandWood sculpture of a cougar.Malahat Inlet, from midway up the Skywalk’s spiralsView of Vancouver’s North Shore Range, from Malahat SkywalkJet skier, in Malahat Inlet, seen form top of Malahat SkywalkMalahat Skywalk’s spirals
This auspicious day thus was a banner time, well-spent in every way.
July 22, 2023, Nanaimo- It took about two hours to get from Tsawwassen, south of Vancouver, to this erstwhile coaling station, on Vancouver Island’s east coast. It’s name came from a mispronunciation of Snuneymuxw (“Snunaymuh”), the name of the First Nations people who lived here, when Spanish explorers first came by, in 1791. The Indigenous People shared a found coal deposit, with a group of Metis (Mixed Europeans/Native Canadians), who were in the employ of Hudson’s Bay Company, in 1850. The Metis, unfortunately, sniffed at their offer of trading the coal for one blanket.
Nanaimo, from BC Ferry, on approach to Duke Point.
A bastion, or small outpost, was built at Nanaimo Harbour, by Hudson’s Bay Company, in 1854. It has three floors, each showing a sampling of HBC’s wares and some documents. A high school student, working here for the summer, explained that the building had no military usage, though defensive weapons were in place during some times of tension. It was sometimes used as a refuge for First Nations people, fleeing conflict further north and for miners and their families, who felt threatened at times.
Protection Island, east of Nanaimo HarbourNanaimo Harbour
Below is The Bastion.
After visiting a while, around the harbour, I headed up hill, to Old City Quarter, the original business district, complete with remnants of a Red Light District, which catered to the coal miners of the 19th Century. No buildings remain, of that district and only historical mention is left, of that trade. It is notable that the most prominent building in Old City is the Presbyterian Church.
St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, Old City Quarter, Nanaimo (Above and below)Old City has touches of the proper British,and the tongue in cheek.The Oxy, as its now called, is still a working bar and grill. Some locals say that it has recently taken in guests over night, but that seems to be an urban legend, anymore.
I stood in need of a stroll, this evening, and so went back to the wharf. Here is the Old Lighthouse, now a restaurant and bar, at twilight.
The Lighthouse Bar and Restaurant, Nanaimo HarbourNanaimo Harbour lightsand more lights.
Painted Turtle Hostel is treating me well, so even in the heat of a July evening, I believe I will sleep well.
July 21, 2023, Richmond, BC- Madame Pinky was livid. She and her two assistants had finished work in her salon, and were about to pull out of the dirt parking lot, behind the shop. Who should arrive and go in to the hostel next door, to inquire about a room and a parking space for an SUV, than yours truly. The desk clerk at the hostel said that her friend’s car was in the space reserved for me, and that in a minute or so, she would vacate. That was not good enough for Madame Pinky, who proceeded to excoriate the three of us, in both Mandarin and English. I was, in her view, just “another bossy white guy”, even though I had said next to nothing. The two young ladies were “stupid toadies”. Even the old gentleman who needed to move his car, before I could move mine, and so on, was ” a worthless old snake”. Such was the farce that played out, briefly, until the old man had his nephew move his car, I moved mine, a young hot shot investment banker moved his car from an adjacent lot (and had to get us all to move aside, because “Status, man!” and then, only then, did Madame Pinky still red-faced and fuming, pull her car out of the lot. It was a lot more peaceful, in Panda Pods Hostel, after all that.
My drive from Salem, OR proceeded quite peacefully, through Portland, Washington State, and across the border. Traffic was like frozen molasses, from south of Tacoma to north of Everett. I did not stop in any of those places-except to get lunch, at Berryfields, in downtown Centralia. THAT was a stop that made sense. If in the Centralia/Chehalis area of west central Washington, you can’t go wrong at Berryfields. When I return to the U.S., on Tuesday, three days will allow me to stop more readily, along the way in Washington and Oregon, before the performance of the year-V, in “The Wizard of Oz”, on Friday.
For now, though, my focus is on getting to Vancouver Island and visiting a long-time, online friend, a visit that was supposed to happen eleven years ago, then two years later-and will finally transpire this weekend. That is the joyful, sometimes bittersweet, factor of having many friends, far afield. Each of us, in the end, does what we can-and…. choices, choices.
My choice, now, having supped on prawns from Malaysian Delights, in the heart of mostly East Asian Richmond, is to log off, brush my teeth and put down the shade at the foot of my pod bunk.
Good night, Madame Pinky, wherever you are-and thank you, Tony Bennett, for all those years of singing to our hearts.
A Sagittarian Seeker 