I say suddenly, but there’s nothing sudden about it as Strathcona is about to celebrate its one hundredth anniversary, and many of those involved in organizing events around the occasion have had their eye on that date for some time. If you’ll cast your memory back, way back, further than most of us really can, and stop some time around 1910, this is when Strathcona Park’s story begins.

Buttle Lake

The land within Strathcona has been around infinitely longer than the place has been called a park. Continental plates have swam across seas, ice ages have glazed and thawed and First Nations have travelled across Vancouver Island through the area for as long as it matters. So it is with due respect that the tale of the colonial idea of a ‘park’ is told. In 1910 the Dominion of Canada was barely fifty years old and the trans-continental railway, linking the east and west coast of the young country, had only just been completed in 1885.

It seems a variety of initiatives, expedition reports, government ambitions and priorities of the day led to a large tract of land in central Vancouver Island being set aside for parkland. Not the least of these defining enterprises was the demarcation of the Esquimalt-Nanaimo Railway land grant. In1882 its western boundary ran as far north as the summit of Crown Mountain, which is just to the west of Campbell River. 

Crown Mountain plays an important role in defining Vancouver Island’s most significant land boundary. So it would be no surprise that when Okanagan representative and Commissioner of Lands, the Hon. Price Ellison departed Victoria in July 1910 to explore the area reserved for a new park, it was the Island’s crown that he had his eyes firmly fixed on.

Ellison was perhaps an unlikely mountaineer. He was a horseman, a rancher from the Interior, and certainly from appearances in photographs from the time, doesn’t seem to have been in the best of shape. But he brought a determined attitude to a bold undertaking when he heeded Premier Sir Richard McBride’s request that he explore and report back on the suitability of Strathcona as a park.

Ellison and his entourage arrived in Campbell River at the Willows Hotel just before noon on July 7, 1910 by steamship. At that time the hotel was about all there was to Campbell River but it had already made a name for itself for the salmon fishing and scenery. Tourists from Europe and America rubbed shoulders with loggers and fishermen and they all must have marvelled at Ellison and his crew as final preparations were made for their journey up the Campbell River to the fearsome summit of Crown Mountain, and further by way of  Buttle Lake to Port Alberni.

Party Leaving Northern End of Buttle Lake (Archives)

Twenty-three people made up the Strathcona Discovery Expedition, including Ellison’s daughter Myra and nephew Harry McLure Johnson who kept a beautifully scripted journal of the adventure. The party was guided for much of the way by the Reverend William W. Bolton who was among the first Europeans to see and travel on Buttle Lake during one of two epic expeditions he made transiting Vancouver Island in 1894 and 1896. Colonel W.J.H. Holmes was the scientific head of the group and led the Crown Mountain climbing party. There were an assortment of foresters, woodsmen, a photographer, a cook, packers and First Nations canoe men, in all, an eclectic bunch.

Travelling up the Campbell River to reach Upper Campbell Lake took over a week, , a journey we now drive in a scant half an hour. They were aided greatly by local aristocracy in the shape of Lord Nathan Bacon of the Barony of Vancouver. Bacon was trapping and prospecting around Upper Campbell Lake and knew the region as well as anyone. But he was of little use when Ellison pressed his intent to climb Crown Mountain. Johnson recorded a telling exchange between Ellison (’the Chief’) and Col. Holmes. Johnson wrote “Chief asks the Colonel if he can get us to Crown Mountain by compass. The Colonel answers that he can take us any place by his compass but we must remember that the trail of the compass might not be one that we would want to follow.”!

Group on Crown Mtn (Archives)

It was on a rugged route indeed that Holmes successfully led a group of nine from the main party to the summit of Crown Mountain on July 29, 1910. The sight of the high peaks of the Elk River, their sheer north faces and glaciers, is as impressive an alpine view as anywhere in British Columbia. Doubtless that experience and the image of that view remained with Ellison and inspired his glowing report to cabinet upon his return to Victoria. It took another two weeks for the Ellison expedition party to make their way down from Crown Mountain to Buttle Lake, then overland to Great Central Lake and on to Port Alberni. It was an undertaking that British Columbians can be forever grateful for, as it led directly to the legislation that enacted Strathcona Park on March 1, 1911, formalizing BC’s first Provincial Park and initiating BC Parks.

Skipping the checkered ninety-nine year history of Strathcona to date, we find ourselves on the doorstep of celebrating the park’s one-hundredth anniversary.  Plans are underway to re-enact Ellison’s landmark journey from Campbell River to Port Alberni this coming summer. The Strathcona Centennial Expedition aims to follow the route of the 1910 party as closely as possible in July and August 2010, including a climb to the summit of Crown Mountain one hundred years to the day that Commissioner Ellison stood there.

Following tradition, BC’s Lieutenant Governor has issued a proclamation marking the Strathcona Centennial Expedition as the official re-enactment. The organizers are a collaborative group of: members of the Strathcona Park Public Advisory Committee and local BC Parks personnel. They are working to plan and carry out the expedition, associated community events and tie-in with BC Parks 100, which follows throughout 2011. 

Crown Mtn Camp (photo by Paul Agnew)

There is a lot of potential for the core expedition undertaking to spin-off events in Vancouver Island communities as they make their way along the route. First Nations, local governments, museums, historical societies, cultural committees, outdoor clubs, conservation groups, media and anyone with a connection to Strathcona’s past, present and future can find an angle to pin an event or initiative on. 

The Strathcona Centennial Expedition will begin its trek by gathering in Campbell River on July 21. The modern day party will find the early going considerably easier now that hydro-dams have calmed the once turbulent river into placid lakes. But once beyond the end of the road things will be much as it was in Ellison’s day as they make their way toward Crown Mountain. There will be plenty of adventure awaiting, although equipment may be lighter than the rubber tarps and heavy blankets of a century ago.

There are many ways to become involved with the Strathcona Centennial Expedition. The project needs sponsors, donations, volunteers and participants. There’s lots of information with details online on the expedition web site www.sce2010.ca. There will be community events in Campbell River, Port Alberni, Qualicum Beach and perhaps other island communities so keep an eye out for news in your local media during the spring and summer, and all through next year as BC celebrates BC Parks 100 during 2011.

Philip Stone is a writer and publisher on Quadra Island. He is currently a candidate for the BC Greens in the North Island and is the greens’ energy spokesperson.

Reiki, pronounced ray-key, is a Japanese word that means “universal life force energy,” the energy that is present in all of us. It is a valuable, natural, holistic healing practice that safely balances, renews and harmonizes all aspects of a person: body, mind, spirit, and emotions.

Reiki energy is gentle and soothing but also powerful in its ability to heal. Treatments are effective for people of all ages. Babies, particularly, love Reiki and animals respond to the energy in very positive ways. Reiki is a simple and useful practice for self-healing providing nourishment for health and happiness. Reiki is not only a gift for the living but also for those who are passing on. The love that flows through the hands of a Reiki practitioner can help to make the transition from one’s earthly body more graceful.

During a treatment the client remains dressed and lies/sits in a comfortable position. Reiki passes from the practitioner (the Reiki channel) to the receiver, working on many levels and always for the highest good of the recipient. The Reiki practitioner has the ability to focus and direct “universal life force energy” by simply placing his/her hands on the receiver’s body, in various positions, corresponding to the major organs, chakras and endocrine glands. In turn, the body’s natural ability to heal itself is accelerated, bringing all aspects of the receiver’s body into harmonious balance. 

Reiki is a wonderful healing modality for dealing with stress; it brings forth deep states of relaxation helping you to feel energized, balanced, grounded, and at peace. Taking a Reiki training workshop is a wonderful way to gain skills to promote well-being in your life and to assist others on their healing journeys. 

Some of the many positive benefits to receiving a Reiki treatment are:

* promotes health and wellness

* supports the body’s natural ability to heal itself

* strengthens the immune system

* relieves pain

* relaxes the mind, calms restless thoughts

* relieves stress

* goes beyond symptoms and treats the root cause of illness

* supports and compliments other medical and natural healing techniques

* vitalizes the body, awakens energy pathways

* promotes personal growth and awareness

Wishing you health and happiness!

Krysta Reed is a certified Reiki Master/Teacher & owner of The Reiki Centre in Courtenay BC.  Krysta has fourteen years experience working in the healing arts & completed her Reiki Master/Teacher training in 2002.

I grew up in north central BC, quit school and went to work in the local mines and sawmills, working my way south. In the middle 70’s I ended up in Campbell River due to the plentiful jobs and big money in the logging industry. I excelled at logging, working my way from chokerman, hook-tender and foreman, to a partner in a well-run logging company. My addictions excelled at the same pace, as I was able to work and drink as much as I wanted, which I can see today caused a lot of problems. I started a family and lived in various locations in the community over the next 35 years.

Five years ago I found myself very unhappy, even with all the benefits that a successful logging career brings. I had health issues so I was forced into making some changes. I became aware that my drinking was a big problem. After some time and help I was able to stop drinking. Near the same time, work for our company started to become very sporadic which was painful to see as a lot of our long term employees were suffering. The favourite conversation was, “How long are we working this time?”, and our company became less viable financially which meant we had to make some tough choices. All in all it wasn’t fun any more. 

I have always been amazed that we don’t support each other, especially in the logging industry. The provincial government has always said the logging industry was the backbone of B.C. yet they hardly ever built a school or government building out of wood. The municipal government built the community hall out of steel and bricks; the consumer would much rather buy a dresser made out of pressboard from Asia with exotic rainforest wood glued to the side of it; people put vinyl on the outside of their homes and shingles on their roofs that support the oil and gas industry. Businesses such as Tim Horton’s, a Canadian icon, and most of Campbell River’s commercial buildings aren’t built out of wood. 

This was a favourite and passionate subject of mine for many years and I have always voted with my dollar, for example, I have never bought anything in my life from Home Depot, or Wal-Mart. Our company did the same. We always bought as close as we could to home, for example, wire rope was a large cost in our camp and Canadian rope is some of the most expensive, but we always bought Canadian.

Photo by Ron Everett

I was once told that I was a zealot in regards to recycling. In camp I was kidded that I should have a bandana instead of a hardhat as I would shut pick- ups off if I saw them idling. The cooks put all the slop in buckets and I would take them with me into the woods with ravens following me all the way. If I threw them out in the same spot twice I would have a group of bears waiting for me. The way we were told to get rid of the slop was to burn it in an incinerator using diesel, and it takes a lot of diesel to burn slop.

With all the time off I had, and my mind and body healing from the alcohol, some of these values I had all along started to percolate and I decided to put my money where my mouth was. Today I have a little market that sells only locally produced products, fruits, veggies, meats, seafood, woodwork made from trees that grow here. We have all kinds of great wood here: red cedar is known for its long life as siding or roof covering; fir is very structurally strong and all our woods – fir, hemlock, alder, maple, red and yellow cedar, make great furniture if finished correctly and the look is second to none.

If you had told me a year ago that I would be stocking shelves and running around to all the local farms picking up whatever they can produce, I would have laughed at you. I have no experience in retail, working with the public, managing employees of the opposite gender…. WHAT A RIDE! Every contractor who worked on the renovation was from Campbell River, all the wood used was bought from the little sawmills around town, and all the furniture was built by local craftspeople from the same wood. All employees are from Campbell River and nothing sold at this point is out of a 100-mile radius.

The farmer, soap maker, woodworker, cheese producer, shellfish producer, etc. set their own prices and I do not try to force them to lower their price. At this point, most of what I sell is higher priced. A lot of that is because in general, our furniture makers, farmers, loggers create such little volume, and we, as consumers, love “cheap” stuff and this keeps the cycle going. Nobody supports the farmer so he has to buy cheap furniture, which means the furniture maker has to buy his tomatoes from Mexico and his beef from a feedlot. The furniture maker doesn’t need any wood if he doesn’t have any orders,  so the logger has to …got the picture? This cycle wasn’t started by the Asian or Mexican people. It was started right here in the land of milk and honey fuelled by my generation that wanted more than their share, and corporations that wanted more for their shareholders.

I have found out that there is a lot more work running a little store than I thought, and a lot less money but it is a very positive experience, from both the consumer and the producer’s perspectives. Thank God I didn’t go into this for the money.

Ron Everett is a small business owner who believes in supporting his community, which in turn lessens his footprint on our planet.

The politics of the nation and communities would be discussed. Elders, chiefs and community members would hear about disagreements and hold discussions till appropriate solutions were found. An endless array of carvings, songs and dances would be displayed by both the creators of the pieces and those who acquired the rights to do so. Rules around artistic ownership remain strict to this day. Displaying or using the cultural property of another family without permission is unacceptable. The entire process was governed by a strict set of rules and guidelines, which were passed on and confirmed by elders at every such event. There were even a set of guidelines for dealing with mistakes and errors in judgment that allowed for all to save face while continuing to live in harmony. 

Throughout the potlatch and especially at the end, gifts according to occasion and rank would be handed out. Through this gift giving, the host chief would confirm their position and importance within Kwakwaka’wakw society. The chiefs and families who gave the most were held in the highest esteem by the larger community. This aspect of the culture led to numerous wars of generosity in which rival chiefs would go to extreme lengths in their attempts to outdo each other’s ability and willingness to give. Wouldn’t it be great to attend one of those events!

Can you imagine how our society would be different today if, instead of the immigrant culture becoming dominant, the Kwakwaka’wakw nation’s ways became the norm? Wealthy corporations would compete with each other to be more generous. Celebrity millionaires would go to great lengths to give all that they had away as quickly as possible to ensure their continued fame and social importance. There would be no need for a social safety net. Instead, each community would have several big houses where resources would constantly be re-distributed. Kwakwaka’wakw families will work and save for years to gather enough to share at a respectable level. Can you imagine your neighbors and friends toiling tirelessly solely for the sake of giving?

The potlatch ritual united the community and ensured that no one went without. Even today, participating in a potlatch as part of the host family is an amazing and wonderful experience. The host family proudly displays their “box of treasures’ or collection of songs, dances and carved masks. As each member fulfills their role according to age, rank and tradition, they learn what it means to belong to their family and their culture. While items are being presented to guests, even the youngest learn that the true gift is in the giving and not the receiving. The wholeness and serenity that follow hosting such an event is something that I have never experienced outside of First Nations Culture.

Side Bars:

The Kwakwaka’wakw are the Kwakwala speaking people who live  around the north east coast of Vancouver Island. They have also been erroneously known as the “Kwaguilt” people.

Potlatching is common to the cultures of most west coast First Nation’s people. Recognizing the importance of these rituals to the culture, strength and integrity of area First Nations, the Canadian government banned the practice as part of their attempt to eliminate the “Indian problem” in the late 1800’s. In spite of the ban, potlatching continued in secret keeping the culture and traditions alive. In 1951, Canadian politicians thought that the practice was extinct, so no mention of the practice was made in a revised version of the Indian Act. Potlatching openly resumed shortly afterwards when First Nations people realized that they could no longer be put in jail for participating in these rituals.

Kathleen Westergaard’s spiritual journey has taken her home to Village Island, Haida Gwaii and Campbell River. As the mother of James Aul Sewid’s great grand children, she has had the privilege of living and learning in the Kwakwaka’wakw culture for many years and is looking forward to many more.

Picture by Brad Assu

The summer of 1964 I went commercial fishing as a deckhand on a West Coast Troller out of Ucluelet. I loved adventure in my youth and I still do. I had an uncle who lived in Port Albion at that time. He was employed in the forestry industry. As a child, my family would spend time during the summer at his home. I can still taste the pancakes he used to make. At that time there was no road access to Ucluelet so we would take the U-Chuck from Port Alberni and my uncle would pick us up in his small boat to take us across the bay to Port Albion. This was always a great adventure for me and during my stay I would be fishing for piling perch, cod and shiners off the government dock. 

During my stay at my uncle’s in Port Albion that summer, I walked the dock looking for a deckhand job on one of the many trollers that used the facilities there, selling their catch to the Canadian Fish Company. As luck would have it I got a job on a troller named the Valdez Isle. The skipper was great and I loved being out on the Pacific Ocean fishing the big bank; plus I never got seasick. In a short time I was pulling fish all day and the skipper would ice the catch. The only concern we had was when the rudder on the boat malfunctioned. The skipper tied a rope to himself and I anchored him as he lowered himself over the stern and managed to temporarily hook up the rudder, enabling us to run back to Ucluelet for repairs. We were fortunate to have calm seas, just a gentle wave-less swell. Later, as luck would have it, the skipper’s brother came out from Newfoundland and I lost my job. 

I had to look for a new boat to get hired on, and at that point I was offered a fully equipped 50’ troller by the manager of Canadian Fish. My skipper encouraged me to go for it, and said that I could fish with him and two other boats. They would break me in. I believe the boats were the Thetis Queen and the Johnny Boy. They were great guys and I was astounded by the offer. It was too big for me though; I was just a teenage kid and I declined. 

I landed a job on another troller, a 50’ beauty. It had a Crown Chrysler gas engine, which I had some reservations about because of the potential for explosion if the bilge is not cleared of fumes before the engine is started. Off we went on a three-week ice trip off Nootka Island. I didn’t know that the skipper liked his alcohol and he definitely didn’t have a pleasant personality. There I was stuck on this boat and I sure couldn’t walk on water. While he stayed in the wheelhouse, I was in the cockpit all day pulling fish, cleaning fish and icing fish. I ate the same thing three times a day every day: Mulligan Stew, and if I wanted a peanut butter sandwich he complained. Two weeks into the trip we were about three-quarters full when a big storm blew up and we had to take refuge in Friendly Cove. When we got in to the cove, there was the naval training vessel, the Oriole, a sailing ship. My skipper was paying too much attention to it and ran aground. He blamed me for not giving him notice, but he managed to back off the bottom.

Waiting out the storm in Friendly Cove, three other boats came in and they were all buddies, so they tied up four abreast and proceeded to drink heavily for the next three days. All I could do was row around in the dinghy and stay out of the way. At about 11:30 p.m. on the third night the weather had died down to navigable condition. The skipper decided we were going to Ucluelet, so away we went. He ran the boat out until we were off Estevan Point then said to me, “Kid, you have to take the boat to Ucluelet. I’m too drunk.” I don’t know exactly what time it was at that point but I do know it was pitch black and a new storm blew in. At this point I had about five-and-a-half weeks’ experience. Little did I know, this would be my Perfect Storm. The skipper said, “Watch out for the kelp beds” and went down to the f’c’sle and passed out. 

Like I said, this was my Perfect Storm. The wind came up with a vengeance, howling through the rigging like a banshee. The water was roaring past and around the boat and I realized I was in a grim situation. I went into another state of consciousness where every instinct I had was on full alert. I was holding the boat steady, running by spotlight and avoiding the kelp beds. I had been into the storm for two or three hours, the water kept getting bigger and bigger, and the wind louder. I took green water over the bow and flying water was hitting the wheelhouse windows. Water actually penetrated around the seams of the glass and wood into the wheelhouse. There I was – what was I going to do but stay calm and pray? That’s what I did. Throughout the storm I was climbing the waves when I saw a wave that was standing higher than the rest, and also a large kelp bed was coming in with it. As the boat climbed up this large wave, I had to navigate away from the kelp bed without having the boat get broad side to the wave. As I crested the wave, a blast of wind slammed me from the starboard side and heeled the boat hard over to port, ripping the starboard stabilizer out of the water and onto the deck. Being three-quarters full of salmon and ice was probably what saved the boat from rolling over. I had no choice but to engage the autopilot and go out of the wheelhouse onto the deck. I just did what I had to do. With water running around my ankles I picked up the stabilizer – and these are heavy – carried it over to the starboard side and carefully returned it to the water, being careful not to get my feet tangled up. I could have gone over the side so easily and that would have been it. There were no survival suits back then and no lifejackets on the boat. I then went back into the wheelhouse, grabbed the wheel and disengaged the autopilot. I continued south down Vancouver Island and by the time I got to Amphitrite Point the weather had settled down and I woke up the skipper. He ran the boat into Port Albion, off-loaded the catch and paid me 10%, which was down from the 15% I was paid on the other boat. Needless to say I quit, and his response was, “Don’t quit kid. You’d make a helluva fisherman.” 

“Not on this boat”, I said, and walked away. 

He couldn’t get another deckhand so he took his boat to Port Alberni and his wife got on board. While he was having the boat fuelled up and his wife was in the galley, he went to the bar and returned some time later. He was under the influence and didn’t turn the blowers on to clear the bilge of gasoline fumes. When he started the engine the boat exploded and his wife was fatally injured. 

I often think about that time in my life, the horrific consequences of addiction and how it destroys lives. 

Jim Swift is an artist, and an outdoor enthusiast since childhood who has enjoyed many adventures in the wilderness. 

It was suggested to me almost two years ago that I might want to change my bio to “reflect more my writing”. That immediately set my mind on a Why should I change story. I defended my bio and countered that I don’t define myself by my writing or label myself as a writer. Besides, what I had in my bio reflected more about me than, say, initials? my job description? something more serious? I had lots more ideas about why I should reject this nudge and not take any action and my sister in Maine, who I phoned, agreed with me. We think alike – like twins only separated by three years – and I always call her when this sort of nudge-thing comes along. Then I went for one of my long walks, the kind mentioned in my bio that inspires, rejuvenates and replenishes me, and pondered why I was resistant to the suggestion of changing my bio. This is what I came up with:  I have spent the last 10 years taking life way less seriously; I’ve lightened up – see bar story that follows; I think less – people used to tell me, “You think too much”; and I don’t worry and fret any more than positively necessary – I mean negatively necessary. 

The bar story goes like this: I was in the bar with my friend years and years ago and he got up to get a drink or go to the bathroom or whatever other reason you get up in the bar. Right in front of me was a table of biker-chicks, the kind who terrified me. I was looking around at people, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. A biker-chick looked me up and down, grinned and said,” Lighten up, eh?” I could have died.

Seriously though, as a teenager and young adult I always went along with, made myself less than, and compromised my integrity over and over. It wasn’t until my mid 30’s that I began saying no with some punch behind it! At the cost of self-esteem, not sticking up for friends sometimes, and being in dangerous situations too often, I finally had enough. With insight, acknowledgment and, finally, acceptance of my introspective, quiet nature, I made changes. Just ask Jim, my husband, if I go along with everything! Over the years I’ve consciously altered the way I think and what I do – read Dance Your Funky Beat in Synergy Jul-Aug 07 if you want more evidence – and I dig in my heels once in a while. I don’t want to conform and I don’t want to be labeled, boxed or packaged in any way, shape or form. So sometimes when ideas come up for me to change, out come the spurs. I come around quickly though, sometimes after an intelligent verbal banter with my husband, who in this case convinced me to rethink my bio. 

So I changed my bio to “reflect more my writing” and created perhaps a more professional-looking one. I named a book of anthologies where I published poetry and a writing program I took but I still had no initials after my name. What would Christine Goyer-Swift, MFA be like? Or maybe AI for as is. 

Now I’ve changed my bio again, almost back the way it was before the nudge, *#%*#*, reflection and action. But now, perhaps, it’s not so flopsy. I still love to write, dance and take long walks for fun, rejuvenation, relaxation and spiritual fulfillment. Mostly though, I simply Am – same as always.

Christine finds expression through writing and dance, and inspiration through long walks and solitude. “Writing is a window into my life, recording, witnessing and continually emerging.”

There is a malady spreading like wildfire across this planet of ours. You have definitely, categorically, seen its symptoms. I shall remind you:

Gabor Maté’s book Scattered Minds: A New Look at the Origins and Healing of Attention Deficit Disorder is one of the rare books about ADD that along with providing advice to parents of children with ADD also provides advice to adults who are suffering from this disorder.  As someone who has been diagnosed with ADD himself, Dr. Maté is able to provide a unique perspective as both physician and patient, and provides many personal stories to strengthen his arguments.  It does not provide a cure, but gives an understanding of the origins of ADD and provides advice to help alleviate the condition.  Readers who are looking for quick easy answers will not find them here.  They will however find a deeper understanding of people with ADD written in a compassionate and eloquent voice.

ADD is an area in which there is still ongoing research.  Dr. Maté hypothesizes that it is the result of the relationships in infancy, most specifically with the mother, that are experienced by a hypersensitive child.  As I started the book I thought that parents who are looking for advice in parenting their ADD child may take offense to having the finger pointed at them.  I think if it is approached with an open mind, the advice given will benefit the child, whether the parents agree with Dr. Maté’s hypothesis or not.

Before my son was born a friend recommended that I read this book.  She told me that this was a great book for parents and parents-to-be, even if you do not have a child with ADD.  I am so glad I finally took her advice and read the book.  It provides a great deal of insight into infant brain development and child psychology that is written in an accessible way.  It is geared towards providing an understanding of the origins of ADD, while providing parenting advice that can be of benefit to any parent.  His use of metaphor provides an esthetic value to the text that is unexpected in health related non-fiction.  My copy is now full of post-it notes and I found as I was reading it I frequently read passages aloud to my husband so that we could discuss them.  Since reading this book, I have found myself being more aware of my parenting style.  I will consider his advice of always thinking of the long term objectives for my son’s development when parenting him, rather than using short term approaches to controlling his behaviour.  This will be a book to keep on the shelf for future reference.

Dr Gabor Maté is a Vancouver physician whose other titles include Hold On To Your Kids: Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers, When the Body Says No: The Cost of Hidden Stress and In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters With Addiction. The latter is his most recent work won the 2009 BC Book Prize for Non-Fiction.  He is also a former medical columnist for the Globe and Mail.

Erika Anderson is the manager of Coho Books, where she will happily resume providing oral book reviews once she is back from her maternity leave. She has a B.Sc. in Natural Resources Management.

Sometime around mid February, or even earlier in a warmer winter, I start looking beside the roadways for the rows of grey blossoms arranged on long, graceful branches, waiting for me to clip a few to take indoors, announcing to all that spring indeed is here. That is, until recently. 

Now, I have my very own pussy willows, having planted two bushes in a corner of my yard. The idea came to me after seeing a grand bush in a friend’s yard, and remembering all the drives and hikes that I had spent searching for each spring’s announcement.

Planting, and growing my own seemed a perfect solution, and I guess it is – sort of. Now I realize that those walks in the woods were a big part of the enjoyment – almost like a treasure hunt. I would look closely at the watery ditches and small clearings, hoping to see the very beginnings of the new season. I would take note of the location of a likely-looking bush, and return in a few days to check on its progress, or lack thereof. Sometimes these bushes turned out to be something else entirely – usually small alder – but sometimes I was rewarded with the tiny grey “kittens” poking out from under their brown coverings.

No need to walk in the woods now; I just go to the corner of the yard to see how my bushes are progressing. I’ve had to admit that I miss those spring treasure hunts. Maybe providing my own “treasure” has spoiled some of my fun. In fact, perhaps the process was rather more important than the result.

Since I have become aware of this possibility, I wonder if I have missed the point in other ways. After all, when I meet a friend for coffee, it’s not the coffee or tea I look forward to, it’s the visit, and although I enjoy eating a good meal, I also really enjoy cooking it. The harvest from my vegetable garden is wonderful, but it does not eclipse the months of joy I get being outside, watching the weather, clipping dead branches, and transplanting new seedlings. 

This spring, like all springs, will be a celebration of life’s renewal, of light returning where there has been darkness, the turning of our part of the planet toward the sun. These events happen whether or not I notice them, but when I do notice them, the noticing enriches my life. The process seems to be the point.

After I realized that my “logical” solution to the pussy willow ritual wasn’t exactly as I expected, I went for a walk in the woods along one of my usual routes and found myself automatically checking for the wild pussy willows as usual. There, I spotted a very small, bright yellow skunk cabbage growing in the  muddy ditch. In spite of its questionable name and reputation, the sunny colour seemed to announce the coming of spring to me. I wonder where else they grow?

When I first acted as curator for the show I believed that my duties would simply require soliciting, hanging and returning pieces of art. However, I now believe that this event is about something much larger, if less tangible, than its theme, for it is also an energetic celebration of our relationship with our creative selves and others. 

In the most obvious sense, the art in the show represents the artists’ connection with their own creative drive and personal truth, but viewing art requires us to not only make a visual connection with the work but to translate that work through the filter of our own world view. The transformative nature of art means that our final understanding of the work may, in fact, be much different than the artist’s. 

As a curator I often have the privilege of knowing the back-story behind a piece. I may know, for instance, that a particular artist sometimes goes without food so that she can pay for her paints and canvasses. Yet her art, with its clean and vibrant lines, speaks of her vivid connection to a rich internal life and not to her daily struggles with poverty. Or I am aware that an incandescent piece that uses whorls of primary colour to create a sense of abandon and sheer life force is actually an outlet for the rage and fear of a cancer survivor; and that a smaller piece, a serene and sepia-toned portrait of a beautiful young woman, is actually a tribute to a life lost in child birth. 

These types of invisible factors may influence my placement of any given piece, and because of the nature of our show I am also able to juxtapose works of professional quality alongside works created by people completely new to the idea of visually expressing themselves. Three years into this process, I’ve finally come to understand that it’s the way that the pieces connect with each other that gives the show its trademark dynamism. So what I hope, as this year’s curator, is that when people take in the show they will experience it as more then a series of separate displays but also enjoy and participate in it as a collective expression of creative energy. 

We will be kicking off “Celebrating Women 2010” with a gala opening on March 6th in the lobby of Campbell River’s Tidemark Theatre, at 7:00 PM. This year’s celebration will feature the song-stylings of Freeman and Hill, the grace and energy of the Shimmy Sisters Dance Troupe, sweet treats and a silent auction. Admission is by donation, but we hope our audience will be generous since all the proceeds will go towards client support services at the Campbell River Women’s Centre. We hope to see you there.

The deadline for submissions for this year’s show is March 2nd and anyone interested in entering a piece, or donating to the event, can call us a 287-3044 or email us at: womenscentre@shawcable.com

Marnie McLachlan is Coordinator of Volunteers at the Campbell River Women’s Centre, Curator of “Celebrating Women 2010 Public Art Show, has been involved in the non-profit sector, most particularly the field of social justice, in Campbell River since 1987 and has been employed by the CR Women’s Centre since 2005.