[Above photo: My brother, the paddle-maker, with a sampling of his creations from his
attic. Sorry the photo is sideways and at the bottom.. My new phone is behaving strangely. A software incompatibility, I suspect.]
9 July 2021 It has been a relatively quiet few weeks here. I have moved,
with Jonathon Raban and George Vancouver, to the top of Vancouver Island and
through the Queen Charlotte Sound to Ketchikan. The journey includes a series
of harrowing passages. Large volumes of water are funneled through deep, narrow
channels between islands and the mainland in many spots when traveling the Inside Passage. Water cascades at up to 18 knots through some of these, creating falls, whirlpools, and
unmanageable turbulence for a boat, even a large one.. They can only be traversed
during slack high water—ie, when the tide is at its maximum,
before it has begun to rapidly ebb.
Raban talks a lot about the anthropology and cosmology of the First People.
They have lived on the shores, having an abundance of food but also great
threats and frights from storms, grizzly bears [the deep woods], orcas [even
though they don’t attack humans in the wild], and, especially, from the wild
waters [the deep water] on the edges of which they travel, fish, and hunt.
Despite the ease of nourishment, their world was a frightening, chaotic, and
scarcely predictable one. In an attempt to feel less anxious, they imposed
strict rules of behavior upon themselves, with serious punishments for
transgressing them, assuming that their behaviors influenced the malign powers which they feared. Raban has read widely and contrasts his experiences on the
journey with the history and context of both the early explorers and the First
Nations. It is a very gripping read for me.
The character of our island is changing. Much was initiated, repaired, and
concluded in the past using ingenuity and experimentation, along with a measure
of grit and push ‘em up, Tony. There wasn’t much money. Now, as most Islanders
have become too busy, they want the island for a holiday, not for a work party.
Others are hired to do much of the labor. It is understandable but something is
lost, especially for the younger generation for whom contributing in the past
was rewarded with a sense of ownership and skill acquisition. Time marches on.
My brother came for 4 days to clear out his cabin. Wearying of the constant
maintenance and expense, he sold it to the Beach Island Corporation, basically
my sister’s 3 children. He can visit and stay whenever he wants; he just won’t
have automatic priority of use. We spent two mornings in the attic, sorting
through 45 years of our mother’s and his accumulated stuff. While I suspect it
was bittersweet for him to end a chapter of his life, we had many laughs and
activated so many ghosts. We discovered 2 pairs of new lovely white spruce
oars, forgotten for years. We also uncovered many kayak paddles and another
pair of oars, all of which he had constructed. A trove of perhaps 25 empty
cardboard boxes. Many and excellent tools. A Porta-Potty. No, two
Porta-Potties. A bassinet. Old clothing. Fathoms of rope and chain. A large box
of books. Eight fishing rods and reels. Chairs, tables, bed frames, probably 15
kerosene lamps, lumber, boxes of nails and screws, and more. We did a first
pass, from one end to the other, removing those that he wanted to take home and
those to give to the Island. There also were loads of clothing for Goodwill,
lumber for the barn, and much that no one would want. The work continued
over the next few days. We decided over the course of the mornings that we’d
both feel better if we did a bang-up job, rather than leaving it for the new
owners to wrestle with.
I am simultaneously using my time here to simplify and
purge unwanted/unused items from my own house. There are too many chairs for
comfort here. We’ve transitioned from kerosene to solar, so lamps and
containers of kero are going. I painted the interior of the outhouse white.
There are tales of “wolf spiders” here and Ari has a certain fear of spiders so
the white will give her some relief. I want to go on record that I emptied it
and swept the ceiling, walls, and floors before painting and saw only two very
tiny spiders in toto.
I am impressed with the beauty of the birch trees this summer. I have small
groves of paper (aka white or canoe) birch visible in front, behind, and on
each side of the house, as well as across the meadow. They are such magnificent
trees and are of great utility for syrup, bark, furniture, crafts, and firewood.
Watching skilled craftsmen build a 36 foot long voyager birchbark canoe, using
spruce roots to lace it and a mixture of bear tallow and pitch to seal the
seams, was a revelation. I recommend the Canadian National Canoe and Kayak
Museum in Peterborough, Ontario to anyone interested in the aesthetics,
construction, or history of those small watercraft. Their collection is
unequalled. The hours I spent there passed in a trice. I expect I’ll fell a
birch tree and split it, leaving it to dry under a tarp for
firewood and furniture construction material next year.
It has gotten dark. My lids are heavy. I awaken with the sun at 4:30AM each
day. It is nice to have my brother here. Despite our different views of the
world, we shared the life of our family and have loved Nature equally. He is
now retired and an impassioned painter of landscapes.
The blueberries are ripening enough to start picking them.
9 July 2021
I have been delinquent in my weekly posting and in writing the next edition,
which is unlike me. I wondered why and the more I thought about it, the more I
realized that I am done with it. Part of that is a result of my resuming life
in the US, so I don’t have exotica to report that might be of interest to
readers, generally family and friends. I think the larger reason has to do with
the form. Writing in this way is constraining. I must avoid total disclosure
which I feel would be inappropriate for a blog. So it comes out as sort of
cheerful white bread, some nutrition but ultimately lacking in the more
interesting, if problematic, aspects of my thoughts. I’ll keep writing
but not publishing. It is a time in my life that I want to do a deeper look at
myself and those around me in writing and I don’t want to do it publicly.
It feels a little like I am abandoning my family and friends, as I can never
write each of you a weekly letter. You know who you are and I’ll visit or
otherwise be in touch as time goes on. Perhaps when my plans develop, I’ll use
the blog-site to let people know. As of now I am in a snug and warm house on
Beach Island looking out at rain and a very thick fog. I’ll have a cocktail
party this evening for the adults, which includes 8 beside myself. Then I’ll
have supper with my niece, great nephew, and sister. Last night was lobsters at
my nephew’s. Not suffering too much.
My dropleaf table came out well. I built a second bookcase of driftwood
yesterday and It looks great. And I hung my father’s ancient 2 man saw, his
broadaxe, and a piece of rusted barbed wire from [at the most recent] 103 years
ago in a sort of homage tryptic, recalling earlier, less mechanized times on
the island. Next, I’ll hang up a mobile I made of seal or porpoise bones I
found on the beach. They are so solid and smooth and beautiful. How amazing is
our construction!
I’ve loved having this conversation with you.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 