Dawson Creek

ABC Wednesday
August 5th, 2015

The letter is D

D stands for Dawson Creek, - a town in northern B.C.

Dawson Creek started life as a small farming community in the dry and windy prairie land of the Peace River Country that spans British Columbia and Alberta,  close to the Alberta border.   In the beginning many of the inhabitants were European Canadian settlers moving west through the Peace country when the Canadian government began issuing homestead grants to settlers in 1912.

With the coming of the Northern Alberta Railway in 1931 and the construction of the grain elevator more settlers were attracted to the community.  Business grew and in 1936 Dawson Creek was incorporated as a village.

Some of its claim to fame, and certainly a reason for its sudden growth in 1942 was the Alaska Highway, built by the U.S. and Canadian governments in WW11 to transport equipment 1500 miles to the Yukon and Alaska.  Thousands of Army personnel, engineers and contractors poured into Dawson Creek.  It was completed in less than a year, with 150 bridges and 8,000 culverts.  Even after everybody packed up and went home the population and growth continued....

Dawson Creek is Mile 0 of this famous highway.....

Like most western town it has a rodeo....

and friendly cowboys

as well as Art Galleries, a Heritage Village. and I must say, a long but pleasant winter 

with blue skies and sunshine...

How to get there....

For more Ds dally on over to ABC Wednesday here, 

with thanks to Roger, Denise and all dashing helpers. 

A Sunday Posting

A little of this, a little of that, - it all adds up to a Sunday posting.....

A hot Sunday, I must say.  Even too hot to spend the afternoon in the shade, under the big umbrella out back.  But I see a few clouds as evening gathers, and perhaps by dusk they will make a nice background for the glorious moon, which should be 'blue' but is, instead a deep, rich orange as it rises in the south-east, from behind the Cawston hills.

I spent the morning reminiscing as I hunted through the thousands of pictures I have placed on the PC, scattered in what started out to be well-organized files.  Alas, they have progressed into a veritable jungle of duplicates, downloads and duds.   There are still faint remains of the skeleton structure, but the trees of the jungle have grown so many leafy photos which have stretched out into the far reaches of various programs, - hiding under rocks, - visiting the neighbouring collection of family pictures - out welcoming facebook photos that I must invite to join the stash.  Pictures that I gazed on just two days ago have vanished into the abyss, - deep into the photographic forest.

I thought that Lightroom would solve all my problems,  and it is great for day to day pictures from the camera, but what of the hundreds of scanned pictures I rescued and for whom I provided a loving home?  Pictures of ancestors on all four sides of our family, and now I am finding that even childhood pictures have taken on that dimension with younger members of the family.

Frustrating as the task might be I spent many wonderful moments remembering.  I come across a picture of my Mum and Dad, under a leafy tree, and see with what tenderness he is bent towards her. Here is a photo of Charles, holding a picture of our first born son the day we came home from the hospital.  How young we were - I see my grandchildren with the same look of wonder on their faces as they welcome our great-grands.

What I am looking for is pictures of our childhood to send to my niece as she prepares for a memorial for my sister, at the end of August.  I figured out how to send them via WinZip, and she figured out how to open the, so all goes well......

This afternoon Callie braved the garden, - she is, at least, small enough to crawl into one of the shady corners and watch for neighbourhood cats who might be out for a warm walk.

I stayed indoors and immersed myself in a book.  Two books, as a matter of fact.  I read a few of Edith Perlman's short stories in her book, "Honeydew".  Her writing reminds me of McCall Smith, - elegant and compassionate.

It wasn't yet Happy Hour when I set this book aside and picked up Horatio Clare's "Running for the Hills" which I mentioned in a posting last week, and which I had put aside to read McCall Smith's new 'Isabel book'.  I am enjoying it immensely.......

Even though summer is here with all its bright skies and brighter, hotter sun and incredibly great numbers of tourists in the Okanagan I ventured out yesterday with the kindness of my dear DIL who chauffeurs so cheerily, and we went to the Hooded Merganser in the Lakeshore Hotel in Penticton and had a long and delicious lunch with one old friend, one new friend, and the daughter and grandson of the dear old friend who came in right at the tail end and had tea with us.  It was a late lunch - probably two o'clock before we had finished our Sangria and ordered, and four-thirty before we got up to leave.

 A lovely way to spend the afternoon.  The great crowds of diners (lunchers) had left by the time we sauntered out, but their numbers were nothing compared to the crowds of summer visitors who filled the length of the beach with their umbrellas and sand pails and shovels and towels and floating apparatus.

Three sailboats in close to shore and a colourful parachute contraption that crossed from one side of the lake to the other, back and forth, back and forth, carrying adventurous holidayers.

The waterway that runs along the highway joining Okanagan Lake and Skaha Lake was full of floatig inner tubes as people made their way down to the end where a bus waited to take them back to the start of their adventure.  The beach at Skaha was rimmed with colourful umbrellas and happy campers from the adjoining campgrounds........wonderful relaxing time!

Well, tomorrow is Monday.  Still a holiday - part of the week-end the young folk call "The August Long" so there will be many cars on the highways.  I will be in the loom room - finishing threading the new warp and if I am really enthused and my back is not complaining, perhaps starting to sley!

Chemainus, the Little Town that Could - and Did

ABC Wedesday
The letter is C

Cis for Chemainus (the little town that could, and did)

Chemainus is a truly charming town, located in the Vancouver Island Region of British Columbia.

It is noted for its creative community that evolved when the town was faced with economic disaster in the early 1980s.  A 'one-employer' town, when the possible closure of the mill threatened it faced the prospect of becoming B.C.'s next 'ghost town'.

However, the B.C. Government of the time developed initiative grants to towns who badly needed revitalization projects, and the Mayor of Chemainus was young, enthusiastic and forward-thinking, and immediately jumped at the chance to save the town.  He proposed a concept that would transform  the town and put it  'on stage' by the development of a mural project depicting the history of Chemaius from the First Nations and early pioneers.  The project continues to innovate through trompe-l'oeil, sculpture, 3D/audio and other advanced technologies.  There are at present forty-four murals throughout the town.

Since the first murals appeared in 1983 Chemainus has become a shopping, dining and theatre getaway.  A most hospitable town made economically viable through its enthusiasm to please and entertain visitors.

The Chemainus Visitor Centre has an official Souvenir Mural Map which assists visitors in touring the murals on foot, (following the yellow footprints painted on the sidewalk) or in an old fashioned, horse-drawn carriage with a narrated guide.

Click here for the Chemainus Mural Society's full colour Mural Map.

There are opportunities for outdoor adventures, - probably the most renowned being the sinking of a 747 airplane to be explored on diving expeditions.  Details here.

How to get to Chemainus??

Just another of British Columbia's courageous towns, surviving through adversity!

For more C stories visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Roger

and Denise and their little cooperative of helpers.

Rain, rain, - glorious rain!

It is evening, and the nicotiana and evening scented stock are perfuming the night air.

I wend my way through the garden and note the dry soil, hear little gasps from the newly opened lilies, and see the barn flower dropping its golden head over the fence.

Even though the weatherman has promised rain for tomorrow I remember I have been down that road before, - promises, promises, and then no reward.  So I start the sprinklers on the back beds, and again at the front I hook up the hose with little sprinklers every few feet, - the one that Charles secured to the front fence to water the flowers along the roadway.  The one that I bless him for.....

However, this time the forecaster was true to his word, and I woke to the sound of raindrops on the sunroom roof (not that I can hear them, but I remember what they sounded like when my hearing was A-one.....)

Wonderful, - a chance to get out my umbrella, go to the church to do Pew Bulletins, stock up on fruit and veggies at the fruitstands and visit the library where I have two books awaiting me.

That will make six in my 'must read' stack, and the one that is getting immediate attention is Alexander McCall Smith's new Isabel Dalhousie novel,  "The Novel Habits of Happiness", which arrived in the mail on Wednesday, as Amazon promised.

I have, also, Horatio Clare's "Running for the Hills" - a memoir of the years he spent 'growing up on his mother's sheep farm in Wales'.  I put it aside at chapter two to devour McCall Smith, but I haven't lost my enthusiasm for these memories of the wild mountains of Wales, and one families' experiences, "tender, bleak yet bountiful".  I compare them with the enthusiasm my children have for growing up with sheep, on a mountainside, and the life-long memories they cherish.

And then I have "Grass beyond the Mountains" - Rich Hobson's account of his escapades and adventures pioneering the Chilcotin country of British Columbia - a re-read....and I am still dipping into "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" by Susanna Clarke, - 1006 pages and my summer's challenge.

Well, the morning wears on and the library will be opening in another half an hour,  so I will go and get my umbrella from the doorway and take it out for an all too infrequent outing!

Bless the rain and the satisfaction it brings to thirsty flowers, and the relief that must be heaven to those who fight the dreadful wildfires in British Columbia this summer.  And that wonderful scent of raindrops on dusty leaves and lanes.....

Barkerville

ABC Wednesday
July 22, 2015

The letter is B

B is for Barriere, Beaverdell, Brackendale, Burnaby, Burns Lake, Barkerville and Brantwood Bay - all towns in British Columbia - but today let's visit...

BARKERVILLE

A preserved and dynamic goldrush town declared a national historic site in 1923 in recognition of the role it played in the development of British Columbia and Canada.  In 1958, to mark the province's centennial, British Columbia established it as a provincial heritage site, and today it is the premier historic site of western Canada.

This is what it looks like today

But what about its history??

Imagine you are digging through layers of soggy, worthless gravel, hoping that the next shovel full with contain the gleam of gold.  You persevere!  Just when the outcome seems impossibly bleak, at a depth of 52 feet, the ground begins to pay and the greatest creek side placer gold deposit the world has ever seen is suddenly yours for the taking.....

Barkerville was the main town of the Cariboo Gold Rush in British Columbia,

located on the north slope of the Cariboo Plateau near the Cariboo Moutains, 

eighty Kilometres east of Quesnel.

Here is the original Cariboo Wagon Route which was the conduit by which fortune seekers and freight reached their destinations and opened up the interior of B.C.

The Fraser River Gold Rush excitement in 1858 drew thousands on to the British Columbia river systems in search of the 'mother lode'.

In 1862 William "Billy" Barker registered a claim downstream from Richfield from which $650,000 in gold was recovered.  His discovery ultimately sparked the recovery of more than five million ounces of gold from the Cariboo goldfields.

Barkerville in the 1800's was a jumble of log and false fronted shanties perched on stilts along a narrow muddy street.

There were hotels, restaurants, stores, dance halls, saloons, billiard rooms, laundries

and gambling houses dotting Williams Creek.

Church, theatre and library groups were formed to meet the needs of the residents,

 and a Fire Brigade.

People from all over the world converged on the creek.  The initial flood of miners, mainly from California, was balanced by the British constabulary and justice system;  people from eastern Canada, Chinese from Guangdong, China, First Nations people worked in the region, and

Blacks, seeking freedom and a new life, along with people from Mexico, Australia and Europe.

It was a cosmopolitan town 

After the initial rush fluctuations in mining activities affected Barkerville's population levels.

The two World Wars affected gold mining in Canada and there was a subsequent drop in the local population that continued well into the 1990s, when it levelled out to around 250.

The last full-time resident of Barkerville died in 1979 and today year-round staff preserve and develop this major historical site.

Each summer this rich history during the Cariboo Gold Rush is demonstrated for

visitors from all over the world.

  

The town has  one hundered original and twenty-one reconstructed buildings, 

a large collection of artifacts and documents to help trace the evolution of the

community and the Cariboo region from the initial gold rush, focusing on

placer mining through the continuing exploration for gold in lode and placer deposits.

It is an historic site like no other, remaining a thriving place, rich in history and full of life.

You can tour the town with one of the colourful characters from Barkerville's past 

and  enjoy gold panning,

 see a real Cornish Waterwheel in action, 

visit Barkerville's well preserved Chinatorn

and go back to school in the 1800's.

You can celebrate Dominion Day the way they did in 1870 

and in honour of Barkerville's Chinese heritage there is a Chinese Mid-Autumn

Festival, beginning with a lantern parade

through the streets.

Many of the Barkerville businesses are open for Christmas, 

with Carol Singing at St. Saviour's church, and

special Christmas sleigh rides.

A special spot in British Columbia

with an aura of the past.

For more Bs click here at ABC Wednesday

Thanks to Roger, Denise and all their blessed helpers....

To be thankful for.......

Sunday, July 19th, 2015.

The list is long and open-ended - the things I have to be thankful for....

At the moment the main reason for gratitude is the amazing way our dear granddaughter of 34 is recovering from two major strokes!!!

Here she is with her grandfather, many years ago......

And in the last few months as she works at her art of wood sculpture....

The sweet work she did in honour of Charles, when he died......and to comfort me.

And following close behind on the thankfulness list  - the many things my family does to make life pleasant and easy!  And the thoughtfulness and love each of them express...

The daily visits...loving and reassuring and helpful and such a good part of every day....

The house I live in and the garden I can call my own, to add a little zest and beauty.....owned by family and lent to me to make town and church accessible as I drive less and less.  So much appreciated.....

All the help I have in keeping the garden looking respectable .....

The phones calls, night and morning.....

The sunset evening calls on Skype that share with me the marvels of the Chilcotin sky, painted with purples and blues and mauves and rose and cream, - changing momentarily as the camera moves across the sky...

The weekly loaf of bread from DIL's contribution to the Farmer's Market in Penticton.

Tall sons to change lightbulbs!  And to put railings along the long hallway that I find assurance in and unexpectedly use much more than I ever thought possible......

The thoughfulness of family who ask - would you like to see the Columns, or go on a little road trip in the countryside with the camera, or go shopping, out for lunch, visit the garden shop, see an art exhibit, share a holiday with us.

Books, - always books....

The marvelous contraption the Meadow son attached over my bed that holds the Ipad and puts me to sleep at night, as I watch as much as I wish, and when my eyes grow heavy just press the close button.  A nice Spanish TV series right now, - The Gran(d) Hotel....

Weaving - that keeps my mind working as I plan warps and dress the loom and delight (mainly) in the finished product.

Friends - and the memory of friends who have gone on ahead of me.  So many of them, but they leave behind wonderful remembrances of a life shared...

The opportunities the internet provides to keep in touch with new friends and old, and the surprising peek into the way the world goes round!!

Grandchildren - and great grandchildren.  The lovely continuance of life - the world as seen through the eyes of a child.....

Good health - a blessing I am always aware of and for which I am eternally grateful.....

Snapshots, that remind me what a wonderful journey it's been through life....and how fortunate I was to have that lovely man to share it with!

Music!!!!  The piano, - when I am sad I play Albinoni's Adagio, - when I am happy or reminiscing I play some Scott Joplin.  Or jazz up hymns on the organ.....

The humming birds in the Bee Balm....

The scent of Phlox and evening stock and nicotiana in the evening...

And the Abraham Darby rose....

Only the beginning of a long list, but certainly enough to remind me what a lucky old lady I am!!!!

And how love sweetens life....

Praise What Comes

surprising as unplanned kisses, 
all you haven't deserved of days and solitude, 
your body's immoderate good health
 that lets you work in many kinds of weather.  Praise

talk with just about anyone.  And quiet intervals,
 books that are your food and your hunger;  
nightfall and walks before sleep. 
 Praising these for practice, perhaps

you will come at last to praise grief 
and the wrongs you never intended. 
 At the end there may be no answers 
and only a few very simple questions:  did I love,

finish my task in the world? 
Learn at least one of the many names of God? 
 At the intersections, the boundaries 
where one life began and another

ended, the jumping-off places 
between fear and possibility,
 at the ragged edges of pain, 
did I catch the smallest glimpse of the holy?   

Jeanne Lohmann