My favorite strip in the ol’ daily commute is in full bloom: Dogwood Row aka the false flat of Nairn Falls. When this magical time finally happens I know spring has officially arrived. These native beauties symbolizes this time of the year perfectly: rebirth and resurrection, durability and reliability, strength and resilience.
So, life has felt a little backwards lately and I’ve been dormant like the bulbs I planted in the fall: slowly growing in hibernation, slowly surfacing to flower. While the green glow of spring delivers a healthy dose of new beginnings there will always be things that don’t survive the winter.
The beauty is, you can always replant.
Spring offers up a chance to do over everything from last year… literally, start fresh, change the pattern and do it better. Prune away the dead to promote new growth, leaving some things the same (they’re called perennials for a reason) and don’t forget to tend to your evergreens as they are there for you every season.
It’s not always as simple as it seems: a large puzzle with small pieces. Sometimes you’re rewarded beyond expectation in an instant and sometimes patience is a virtue.
But by saying yes to growing new things and experimenting with new varieties we can create a new palette to work with.
There is little risk in gardening if you’re willing to fail and get your hands dirty. Notable and new to my garden this year are Jerusalem artichokes, shiso and fennel (which will actually be nowhere near my garden because it’s friends with no one). Oh, and way more flowers! Because why not? And pollination is key to life. Other plants are bound to sneak their way in too.
When supported by a cast of usual suspects: beets, carrots, cabbage, cauliflower, cucumber, tomatoes, brussel sprouts, squash, cantaloupe, onions, garlic, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, peppers, peas, beans, all the herbs, chard, radish, daikon, celery, kale, romaine, greens, kohlrabi, leeks etc, one can be nourished and flourish quite well.
There is a good chance I’ve already said this but I’m just going to keep saying it:
Grow what you love, try new things, revisit old favourites and savour the process.
It was a year ago to the day while consuming a couple tasty Steam Works IPAs in a Richmond Irish Pub en route to a family vacation in Mexico that I took the plunge and joined the Traced Elements family. Maybe it was liquid courage that egged me on because at the time I was scared to dive into a world I knew nothing about: writing. The only constant I had to offer was my deep love for gardening. As luck would have it I learned I also loved to write – or maybe this whole endeavor came into my life when I needed a new outlet more then I realized at the time.
Regardless: it’s one of my favourite decisions to date.
The winter’s sun, as of late, has been flooding my living space with a warming heat reminiscent of sandy beaches and margaritas while the arctic air swirls around outside. My cheeks are constantly blushed in colour having been kissed by the cold. Overall, I welcome this false warmth; it’s a perfect excuse to devour a bowl of spicy miso ramen, everyday.
As the days get longer I look forward to my garden springing to life, even if they are currently blanketed in more snow then I can recall in the valley in years, my thoughts are hopeful, green and full of blooms. Many days I get lost and overwhelmed by the potential of things to grow as I browse numerous websites. Basically, my urge to propagate as many cool things as possible usually wins. You already know if you’ve read my other blogs that I’m a firm believer in the, “there is no harm in trying” experimental method.
Seeds; they fuel everything. (A little bit of love doesn’t hurt either.)
Plant anything and something good is bound to come from it. Sometimes there is growth and sometimes there are failures; either way you’ll learn something.
I have been carrying the following quote with me for years but it is only now that I finally feel like I am acting on it (after all spring ushers in rebirth). So, in the words of Byron Pulsifer I leave you with this,
“Passion creates the desire for more and action fuelled by passion creates a future.”
…get ready to see some really cool things from me.
On my desk right now is a gorgeous little collection of essays called Wonder and Other Survival Skills, put together by the editors of Orion magazine. On its cover, a young girl presses her hand against the surface of a lake: skin of girl meeting skin of lake. From this meeting, a ripple moves.
“Is wonder a survival skill?” H. Emerson Blake asks in the foreword. “The din of modern life pulls our attention away from anything that is slight, or subtle, or ephemeral. We might look briefly at a slant of light in the sky while walking through a parking lot, but then we’re on to the next thing: the next appointment, the next flickering headline, the next task…Maybe it’s just for that reason—how busy we are and distracted and disconnected we are—that wonder really is a survival skill. It might be the thing that reminds us of what really matters, and of the greater systems that our lives are completely dependant on. It might be the thing that helps us build an emotional connection—an intimacy—with our surroundings that, in turn, would make us want to do anything we can to protect them.”
By my own definition, wonder is the ability to travel beyond attention, beyond mindfulness–to truly make an encounter with the world in a way that, for the slenderest of moments, lifts us out of ourselves and returns us back with something more. Something of the ‘other’ we’ve encountered travels with us. A little of the world comes into the interiority of us and lodges there. Permeates.
Winter is a season of rest for most of us land-based folks. A season of living in a place of dreams and visioning (literally, as we get caught up on sleep, and plan for the year ahead.) This is the first season I’ve stopped teaching completely. I felt the need to let the work do a deep dive into silence, and (beyond the day-to-day chores of keeping animals, which never go away), to truly let myself drop out of time. I sleep when I’m tired. I wake up when I wake up. I have breakfast and a cup of coffee, before I go out to do chores. Which sometimes makes me feel like a slacker, but it also feels… luxurious. Luxurious in a simple way I haven’t allowed into my life before. A spaciousness that holds its own kind of wonder.
The other reason I decided to stop teaching completely once the snow hit in December, was I wanted my horses to feel like they belonged to me again. 2018 was our busiest year teaching together (THANK YOU, PEMBERTON!) but I wanted a chance to ride when I wanted to again, instead of working a horse so they would be ready to say ‘yes’ to a student. I wanted to WANT to ride again. To wander about aimlessly bareback with nothing but a lead rope joining me to my horse’s mind. I wanted the horses to be able to choose who came out to play with me, whenever I showed up at the gate with a halter or a bridle.
What’s emerged out of this unravelling is that I was finally able to back Besa, my big paint/Friesian mare. When she came to me 18 months ago, she was an untrained 6-year-old, freshly weaned from being a mamma to a feisty filly. She made it very clear to me- in her lack of desire to be caught and her extreme reactivity, power and athleticism- that I’d have to take my time with her. Given space and the permission to approach me (instead of me expecting to approach her and do what I wanted), she decided that humans were worth being curious about. Her curiosity flowered into full-blown affection. She’s the first horse to come to anyone out of the field now, and she sometimes chooses to pull me (or whoever I’m accompanying into the field) in against her chest with her muzzle, the closest a horse can come to giving a hug.
Besa’s been asking me to do things with her for months (Proper things! With a bridle and tack like all the other horses!) and all summer and fall I just didn’t have the capacity. But these last few weeks I’ve slipped onto her back and let her carry me around our little maze of snow paths in a mutual exchange of trust: I will trust you with my body, if you will trust me with your body. The ‘training’ part of it can come later. For now, all I want is her to turn her head to me, so she can look at me fully out of her huge dark eye: Oh. So now you’re up there now. So that she can yawn and snort and let all the tension go out of her nervous system, and get used to this strange new way that horses and humans can be together.
Perhaps it’s me she’s been waiting for all along. Perhaps I needed to drop into this spaciousness for us to find this way to trust each other.
There’s one essay that stands out for me in this slim little collection that sits on my desk. It’s Chris Dombrowski’s Kana: a father grasps at the nature of wonder. In it, he defines Kana as “a word or figure the Japanese haiku poets used as a kind of wonder-inducing syllable (it translates loosely into English as an exclamation point.)… that heart-stutter we receive when an image of the world takes root in us…”
His essay shares the spell of a day spent morel hunting with his twenty month old son. The way the boy wanders across the face of the burn, trailing a whitetail’s antler behind him, carelessly decapitating the very mushrooms he’s hunting for:
…he is either in a daze of boredom or he is walking kana, penetrated each step by the world, not penetrating it. It’s tempting to call this spirit naïveté, but it’s not: it’s wisdom we lose along the way.”
Perhaps that’s what I’ve been courting this winter: wisdom I’ve lost along the way as I’ve been coerced into ascribing to linear time, to capitalism, to the many demands the constructs of being human impose upon us. There is gentleness here, in this wonder, that doesn’t feel rushed or imposed. A hand resting against the surface of a lake.
I’ve wanted to broaden the scope of my horse and nature based teaching practice to include workshops for adults since I started Mountain Horse School in 2012, but I’ve shied away for a long time. I’ve always felt comfortable with kids because they’re so immediate, so open still to this touch of the world upon them. Grown-ups’ responses are layered. More conditioned. We need more language to access understanding, and experiences that can operate like keys opening the locks of ways of perceiving we’ve long put away. Grown-ups want reasons to pacify our rational, linear ways of thinking, and we want to know if playing with opening the doors to wonder, if walking Kana is ‘worth the investment’ of our time. We’ve become used to being sold meditation through a list of its benefits. A walk in the woods has become a thing we could pay for. Forest bathing, it’s called in the brochures.
What if wonder is the gateway to possibility? What if it’s the only skill that will give us the tools, insight, and power we need to move into (here I am, throwing another book title at you!) The More Beautiful World That our Hearts Know is Possible? What if the benefits of wonder—similar to its more lauded cousin, gratitude—might be the resurrection of a life woven into belonging with the wider world that sustains us?
Small watercolour of a whale’s ear bone from the intergalactic spaceship that is my desk. Because of the complexity of their hearing, whales’ inner ear bones are contained within a separate chamber, not encased inside the skull as ours are. It amazes me how much this bone looks like a shell. If I held it to my ear, would I hear the sound of the sea?
It’s not up to me to answer these questions. I can only speak from the lens of my own experience, my own perceptions. In lieu of that, I can say with certainty that this winter’s dreaming I’ve been luxuriating in, this kana I’ve been walking in my own life, feels absolutely essential to the future that comes next. I can say—if I may speak with authority based on the way things feel from the intergalactic spaceship that is my writing desk this afternoon—that it HAS been absolutely necessary. That nothing is currently more important. Oh, the great irony that ‘doing the work’ this winter has actually meant ‘doing less work—!’ (Is that an exclamation mark or is it kana? You decide.)
So, in the spirit of wonder being the gateway to possibility, I’m issuing a little dare to myself. Actually, it’s not little at all. On Feb 17, I’m offering a one day workshop called Lightning Seeds: Opening the Gateway of what’s Possible, in collaboration with my dear friend, animal listener and translator Guliz Unlu. Come play with us as we walk kana in the company of the horses and other animals at Mountain Horse School, and court wonder through a combination of equine guided learning, animal communication, intuitive herbalism, earth wisdom, and soul craft. Curious to know more? Please visit our website or facebook page for all the juicy details!
“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” Forrest Gump
Without a shadow of a doubt I can say this has been one of my most challenging years to date.
Thus, I’ve been quick to say, “Peace out 2018, thanks for nothing!” But really, deep down I’m actually saying, “Thanks for everything. “
Having suffered a bad concussion earlier this spring I was forced to slow down and smell the roses. My garden became my sanity through it all and I re-kindled my love affair with the soil under my nails. (If only the confidence I feel within those walls projected throughout all aspects of my life.)
But if kale can weather harsh conditions and continue to grow then so can I. My roots are strong; I’m just feeling bound. All I need to do is prune back some dead shit, be re-potted and I’ll bloom.
For years I’ve reached for the cheat sheet in a box of chocolates because I wanted to know what I was getting (otherwise known as the Comfort Zone). Bite into something “gross”: no thank you. But life for the most part doesn’t give us something to follow and you just have to be ready to ingest anything.
All of this being said; learning will nourish my new year as I deepen my love for all things horticulture. The second step is sharing it with those who need some inspiration or want to learn more or just need a little nudge.
Here are your first tips:
Grow your own food: it’s the best way to get what you want.
Experiment: maybe you’ll discover that something you thought you hated you actually love.
As we grow in the life we’ve been gifted we begin to learn we love some flavors more then others. Breaking away from the comfort of our favourite flavors is when we will be most rewarded but it’s key to keep some classics in your back pocket.
In the end if we keep sowing our own seeds, growth is inevitable.
Lately I’m having a hard time drawing the line between what should get more attention: my new Le Creuset Dutch oven or planning out my garden for next year. What to cook vs what to plant. Either way both schools of thought provide me with a constant mind game and humor my co-workers. Not to mention, a day wandering through the Van Duesen Gardens, tackling Julia Child’s ‘Beef Bourguignon’, absorbing the concepts I’ve been studying in an ‘Intro to Landscape Design’ course and an evening with Stevie (MF’in) Nicks – basically, my mind has been on overload.
Stimulation: it’s a blessing and a curse.
The Internet was slow as molasses for Cyber Monday sales as people consumed their lives away. It’s also made my normal routine of scouring through sites for new recipes to cook during the week near impossible. So, I decided to kick it old school and take to my graph paper, apply some new design techniques and start planning out my garden. Nothing like thinking in colour on a grey day: Julia Child inspirations can wait… lasagna is on the menu tonight and that recipe is engraved in my mind.
The process for me starts by making a list of what I loved and what did well, knowing full well that next year might bring completely different growing conditions. But I don’t dwell on that. Just like I’m not dwelling on the fact that last year we were shredding deep snow at this time and this year it’s warm and wet with the lowest base we’ve seen in years. Gross – but c’est la vie.
The second list I make is what’s sucked or I just don’t want to grow anymore. This is largely based on the fact that I can get it from someone local like Laughing Crow Organics or Helmer’s or without sacrificing my own garden space. Supporting our local farmers is equally as important in the grand equation and should not be left out!
The third list is the experimental list AKA: my favourite.
The other lists include; herbs, flowers and things that grow on the deck. This list will change and grow which is part of the glory of working in pencil.
Second step of the layout plan is to draft your garden space on paper, preferably graph (enter a hint of obsession here), to somewhat of an exact scale in 2D form and trace the outline with permanent marker. Then the fun begins – what grew where and where do they go next: the power of rotation.
Be sure to sharpen your HB2 pencil and prepare your eraser for this stage. Start plopping your veggies, flowers and herbs in as you see fit. Ideas will come and go as fast as you think them and are on to the next. And to be completely honest, by the time you go to plant they’ve probably changed but hey, remember, it’s just as much fun to colour outside of the lines as within.
Third step… sit and wait. It’s winter – the ground is frozen, you can’t plant shit but somehow your kale still seems to grow; roll with it. Pour yourself a tasty beverage, dream up new ideas, play around with your design, your ideas and aspirations. No thought is too small or unachievable. Remember, I started my current garden with nothing but a “green house”.
To obsess over what you want to grow and eat is a healthy, sustainable step in the right direction – you just have to be willing to try.
Full disclosure: the following post isn’t actually about food or farming. I know, I’m sorry. I ran it by Lisa Richardson because I had my doubts as to whether it would be appropriate, and as she jokingly said, “there’s no mention of dirt anywhere!”
Random photo of freshly harvested Pemberton potatoes still cloaked in dirt, to meet the 1% dirt content requirements of a Traced Elements contribution. Photo by Lisa Richardson. As you were saying, Kristine…
But it is about Pemberton, and the people that live here, so please bear with me. It’ll be worth it in the end, I promise.
My partner and I didn’t end up in Pemberton by choice, per se, but by chance. He received an offer for a job based mainly out of Whistler, but his route would cover Squamish to Pemberton. We had the choice of which town we wanted to live in, and we chose Pemberton. The funny thing is that we didn’t choose Pemberton specifically because of its world renowned mountain biking and outdoor sports, or thriving farming community. It just seemed like a nice, quiet place to live, and we were tired of the hustle and bustle of big city living.
When we first moved here, I quickly came to realize how steeped Pemberton is in outdoor adventure sports. Mountain biking, BMX, hiking, climbing, skiing, sledding, paragliding, fishing, hunting, and everything in between. Once I started meeting people in the community, I realized that many of them came to Pemberton specifically for this reason, and would spend every free moment they had exploring and experiencing the rugged backcountry. I knew people who worked two jobs just to make sure they could afford both their ski pass and bike pass every year, and many that would keep their gear ready to go in their vehicle for a quick ride or climb after work. Because you never know.
I am not one of those people. I’m not what you would call athletic or even adventurous. I am the nerd. The book worm. I would much rather have my adventures within a really good book from the comfort of my sunny deck. I haven’t been on a bicycle in about eight years. I haven’t been on a pair of skis in probably fifteen.
And that started to bother me a little. Here I was, living in a gorgeous valley full of fun and adventure in the great outdoors, and I started to feel that I was missing something. And with housing prices rising and the town really growing, I had a little thread of disquiet that I didn’t belong in Pemberton if I wasn’t into that, and that maybe I’d be better suited somewhere else. That I should let someone else take my place who would enjoy those activities.
Let’s change course a little here. Two weeks ago I attended my first writing conference in Seattle held by the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, of which I’m a member. I spent four days taking workshops, meeting other authors, including those specifically in my genre (fantasy fiction), chatting with agents and editors, and overall immersing myself in the world of writing. I was incredibly nervous to go. I didn’t know a single person there. I had never done this before. And I had only been seriously writing for about three years, a process that I’ve gone through almost entirely alone. I was a little nervous that I’d meet more established, published authors and they’d laugh in my face.
I’m happy to say they didn’t. I had the most incredible, uplifting, energizing time of my life. From the very first morning, I had no problem chatting up strangers and engaging in intelligent conversation about writing. I got to ask their opinions on topics I was a little unsure about, like self-publishing vs. traditional publishing, and share what I’ve learned on how to write fiction. I made friends that I saw again and again during the conference, friends that I imagine I’ll have for a very long time. I pitched my novel to agents and editors for the first time and didn’t make a fool of myself. I got to meet incredible authors like: Kay Kenyon, who has 14 published novels under her belt; Donald Maas, veteran literary agent and expert fiction instructor; Christopher Vogler, who’s been a story consultant for major Hollywood companies (including Disney) for decades. I even got to shake hands with R.L. Stine, who was the featured speaker for the conference. (He’s hilarious, by the way.)
All signed by their authors. Eek!
I realized from this conference that those are my people. Writers, editors, literary agents. People involved in the writing world and for whom writing is their whole life. Because writing is my whole life too. My first novel is almost finished and I’ve already got plans for three more. I think about my books every day. Every minute that I’m not at work or managing the tasks of my life, I’m thinking about writing. I keep a notebook and pen with me ready to go at all times. Because you never know.
So now, I’ve finally realized that I’m not betraying my beloved town of Pemberton by not participating in adventure sports. It’s just that my adventurist friends have found their people, and they happen to live in Pemberton. Their people are fixed on a geographic location, while my people are more spread out. I needed to put in a little extra effort to find my people. And the good news is that you can have multiple people. My community in Pemberton are my people too, because while we may not share a love for outdoor sports, there is something else we share. A love for this town. We love its rugged beauty, its incredible natural bounty, and its thriving, vibrant community.
So I say whatever it is that calls to you, that drives you, that fills you up, you need to find your people. Find the people that share that love, that drive, and it will make everything better.
(And if you’re one of my writing people, feel free to chat me up about all things writing! You can usually find me at the Blackbird Bakery serving coffee and delicious treats.)
It’s the most wonderful time of the year – or at least it’s MY favourite time of the year.
Colours start to pop as the foliage begins its natural, beautiful progression to death and my appreciation for the warmth of the sun on my back is revived. Praise arises for the rainy days as reason to stay in, make soup and stock the freezer with food. Then there is also the rush of the game to see who gets to the fruit trees first – me or the bears. I go to bed with an extra blanket but leave the windows wide open while the coyote’s howl echoes through the night. Of course the dusting of snow on Mount Currie gets me pretty excited too! And, most importantly, my garden is still delivering the goods.
This time of the year, I also sit back and think about my garden; what worked, what I want to do more of and what I can do away with next year. Journaling for the win: do it, do it now. So, what I thought I would do is share some of my favourite photos of the summer complete with commentary.
First up is purple daikon radish. I pickled the shit out of these guys while in season. When a vegetable randomly forms heart shape upon cutting into it you really can’t help loving it. More will be planted in my garden next year, their spicy flavour is beyond delicious.
Melons. Who doesn’t love a good melon. Previously I had tried watermelon but with little success there, this year I tried cantaloupe. Gave it a sunnier spot and was rewarded big time. Go figure: #shadowruffruff loved it too… juicy and flavourful beyond both our expectations!
I have mentioned that kohlrabi was the undisputed heavy-weight champion in my garden but my Borage babes blew my mind; turns out they’re MASSIVE! They helped pollinate my butternut squash and many other things in my garden, plus the flowers were delicious in salads. This year I trained my squash to grow along the fence in hopes it would take up less space overall. As it turns out this move was a game changer. I will incorporate this method next year as well, perhaps to even shade something that requires less sun. And for the bee’s sake, borage will forever be in my garden regardless of the space it takes up.
You know you’ve made it to the big time when your whole pasta sauce has been sourced from your backyard… I mean it’s SO good you want to share but really not really. Last season was the first year where I grew my own Roma tomatoes, celery, carrots, garlic, onions, basil, rosemary, thyme, oregano and cayenne peppers. I basically vowed from then on this was the way forward every year; always plant enough to make sauce for Dbot. I will also openly admit I have a love affair with fried green tomatoes served with soft poached eggs – you would too, if you’ve had it. Never underestimate the power of a green tomato.
Does your cilantro bolt like crazy in the heat of the summer even if you’re giving it shade from the hot afternoon sun? No problem. Let them bolt and go to flower. The coriander seeds born from the delicate white flowers will produce the best ground version of this spice you’ve ever had. I guarantee you’ll start to plant cilantro just to let it go to seed!
Fall is also the time when members of the brassica family shine. I remember being amazed when I learned how Brussel sprouts grew, so they became a yearly addition to my garden (just be sure to give them plenty of space). New this year was Savoy cabbage grown from seed and it’s sure to make my cabbage rolls go from A+ to A++. Another tip for cabbage is to space out their planting times then you don’t end up with a whole bunch at the same time even though they keep quite well.
Flowers… I will plant way more flowers in my garden next year both perennials and annuals. Some of my perennials are ready to split which benefits both the plant and my wallet. Plus, having fresh cut blooms in my house just makes me smile.
I feel like I could carry on for a long time but as I write the weeds are still growing and they sure aren’t picking themselves! So I’ll just leave you with this last photo that I call, “The Mushroom that had all the Thyme in the World”. #dadjoke #sorrynotsorry
There’s something to be said for being in the right place at the right time.
Over the consumption of tasty beverages at the Beer Farmers, my girlfriend was casually asked if she’d like to host a bunch of mountain bikers at Sky Camp (one of Tyax Adventures’ most balling backcountry locations). She was quick to mention that I could cook and would be a great addition to the hostess-with-the-mostest team and it took me about 0.01 seconds to agree to this union. As of yet I had only heard the tales of this remote location and recognized that it was an opportunity one should not shy away from.
Allow me to create a visual for you: Board a floatplane that takes you deep into the South Chilcotin range to a fully set-up cabin. This location comes complete with wood-burning sauna, canoes/kayaks/paddle boards, hot showers, the sound of loons atop a lake full of trout, adventure Crocs, old school board games, guest tents stocked with flannel sheets & duvets and nothing else but the silent sounds of the forest. Everyone in favour of glamping, raise his or her hand! Easily 90% of you just did.
A simple, delicious menu was drawn up for us and I couldn’t help but raid my garden for a few extras to tie in to the plan. My spare time has taken a hard hit lately (aka neglected garden) and there are a few species that have gotten massive due to this lack of maintenance – or someone has secretly been feeding them steroids. So, may I introduce to you the current, uncontested, and very underrated, heavy weight champion of my garden… kohlrabi.
Out came the biggest bulb, a leek, the dried coriander seeds from my bolted cilantro plants and a cured garlic bulb; all grown in my backyard and all destined to become a side-dish served with salmon. What follows is a rough outline of how I cooked it via an old school propane oven.
Pre heat oven to 375°F. While that is happening, lightly toast your coriander seeds then grind them with a mortar & pestle to desired texture.
Cut the kohlrabi into ½” cubes and place them into a medium-sized mixing bowl.
Add in some sliced leeks, minced garlic, the ground coriander, salt & pepper to taste and then drizzle with olive oil; tossing to combine.
Pour the mixture into a cast iron pan and place in the oven for 30-45 minutes. Make sure to take the kohlrabi out of the oven and stir it around every so often to avoid burning.
The key ingredient for making this dish tremendous, aside from the fact it was grown with love, is the company it was shared with. For some it was their introduction to kohlrabi and that alone makes it a success.
Sky camp is a magical place: you arrive unplugged and leave fully charged.
I asked, and was asked, this question several times on Sunday while I was at work. Some people were going for hikes or bike rides. Some people were having parties or visiting friends. Some people were going to partake in the festivities at the community centre.
I had zero plans for Canada Day this year. My sister and three of her friends came up to visit and hung out during the day while I was at work, and afterwards I made us dinner, and cake, and we had a lovely visit. I even got to bed at a reasonable time. To be perfectly honest, it was like any other weekend, with no special plans.
I felt a little guilty at first. I mean, it’s a special holiday. We should be doing something to celebrate. But I realized that I didn’t actually feel bad at all. For me, taking a break from planning actually is something special. I’m a chronic organizer. I have to-do lists for my to-do lists. I’m constantly thinking four, five days in advance, planning meals, organizing lists, and arranging errands around my work schedule. I have a whiteboard in my house for spur of the moment rememberings, and an app on my phone to organize my lists when I’m out. I am forever and always making plans.
But I’ve discovered some of the best things can emerge when all my carefully laid plans go completely out the window.
I’m a comically bad gardener. I’ve tried every one of the four years we’ve been in Pemberton to grow a successful garden, and the results have been less than formidable. I carefully plan out my gardens and flower beds. I research which types of veggies and flowers should go where and the conditions they need. I spend time planting, and watering, and fertilizing. And things never go as I plan. Take this picture for example.
This is the container where I planted some flower seeds at the end of spring in a beautiful sunny spot with fresh dirt. Where nothing took root and grew. And yet just beside this perfect container, growing out of nearly straight gravel, is a beautiful flower. Where did this come from? How did it get here? And how is it growing so vigorously with absolutely no attention from me? Does this make me frustrated? No. (Okay, for a brief second, maybe.) Instead I am wondrously amused at how beauty can come out of plans that go haywire.
My best example of this is our arrival in Pemberton. Before my boyfriend Nathan and I moved here four years ago, I had never been to Pemberton. We had plans to move to Vancouver Island once a long-awaited position came available for Nathan, and we were just waiting for the opportunity to unfold. We had carefully laid plans. So imagine my surprise when Nathan calls me at work one day and tells me to start looking at properties in either Squamish, Whistler, or Pemberton because he’d been offered a position based out of Whistler. Less than a month later we were moving, and six months later we found what we hope is our forever home. Did we plan for that? Definitely not. But beauty emerged in the form of this lovely town that we’ve fallen head over heels in love with, and now can’t imagine leaving.
As appreciated as this break in planning was this weekend, I won’t be hanging up my trusty to-do lists just yet. I’ll keep planning, and stay very aware that, as the poet Robert Burns said, the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.
And when they do, I’ll be ready to appreciate the beauty that will surely unfold.
Let’s change course a little here. Two weeks ago I attended my first writing conference in Seattle held by the Pacific Northwest Writers Association, of which I’m a member. I spent four days taking workshops, meeting other authors, including those specifically in my genre (fantasy fiction), chatting with agents and editors, and overall immersing myself in the world of writing. I was incredibly nervous to go. I didn’t know a single person there. I had never done this before. And I had only been seriously writing for about three years, a process that I’ve gone through almost entirely alone. I was a little nervous that I’d meet more established, published authors and they’d laugh in my face.
Traced Elements 