Friends

The last 48 hours were rather interesting as my two room mates from Teachers College connected by phone to talk of our upcoming reunion. This was not planned but just coincidence . We are like that in life as we often think about someone and don't react by phone or letter and suddenly become compelled to get in touch.

We three were graduates of SMH and decided to become teachers. Alex, the Duck and myself also decided to room together while in Truro. 74 Walker street was the home of a crusty but kind landlady who came to Canada and opened a boarding house.We three had one room with few furnishings and a shared bath down the hall.There were on occasions up to ten people living there.

The dinner table was long and seated about 12 people. Sorry were you if you got there late as the food was parcelled out in exact numbers. For this service we each paid $8.00 per week.In my case my mom sent the money to me weekly in a special letter which was called registered but only cost 20 cents. It was a happy home for us a we were part of a larger family at the teachers college.


The phone calls from Alex and The Duck were basically the same with not too much of grave importance but rather a how are you doing call. We don't see each other often but time does not diminish the close feelings we have for each other even after 55 years.We know of each others families even though we have never met some of them and show interest in the day to day events that cause us to call each other friend.

As we creep into that stage of our life called senior I realize that the cup is no longer half full but the remaining years should be enjoyed basking in the reflected glory of our children's achievements and reaching out to achieve new challenges of our own. Try some things we thought we could never do and reach for answers to questions that have no answers but only more questions.


When we get together this August we will have much small talk and a few arguments about big issues but most of all we will just enjoy that few days together as we did when we stayed at Oak Island a few years ago.

Arctic Char

About this time of the year a magical process takes place in the waters of the Arctic. These waters are home to one of the culinary treasures of the world, Arctic Char. This fish is part of the trout family and has adapted itself to its environment perfectly. The char live in the lakes and rivers for ten months of the year coinciding with the freeze up of these waters. They migrate every year from the ocean through rivers to move inland to lakes for the ten months of hibernation.

From what I know of this fish it remains relatively quiet for these months and lives off the accumulated fat gained from eating shrimp and Tommy cods for two months. Studies show that these fish remain in the same place and become almost comatose and lose up to 30 % of their body weight during the long cold winters.

In the spring as the ice begins to melt and the rivers which were frozen during the winter begin to open up and flow to the sea, the char wake up. Nature causes these fish to get to the ocean and a feeding frenzy begins. This cycle really begins around the end of June and continues for two months . The char gain up to 40% of their weight as they fill up on the plentiful food supply. During this period the fish travel in schools and the Inuit gather them in nets along the shores of the Arctic

The char are so very important for the Inuit as they are dried and stored for the winter. Although many fish are caught there appears to be a good supply and conservation methods are adhered by sportsmen and the Inuit.

I loved to fish the char and eat them in a number of ways. The Inuit taught me to try eating them raw with a little sauce and I never looked back. With a light rod and a lure you could not ask for a better game fish. The speed they generate when hooked and the leaps makes your fishing day a dream come true. My friends and family who visited me were astounded at the joy of fishing in the Arctic. The size of these fish makes catching them a battle as they can reach up to 28 lbs. The average in my experience was about 6 to 10 lbs. I caught one which was 22 lbs. on a 12 lb, test line using a ten of diamonds lure.

In the fall about the end of August these fish make their way back to their winter hid away to begin the cycle all over again. The next time you see Arctic Char on a restaurant menu order this delicious treat. Blood red flesh, firm and appealing will make you a fan of this Arctic delight.

Tar Sands Enviromental Mistake

Being an environmentalist, I am so ticked off with the government and every person on the committee formed to look into the ravishes caused by the exploitation of the northern tar sands. The committee was made up of four government members and representatives from the other parties.

All - without exception - neglected their duty to seek the truth and offer some solutions to the greatest environmental tragedy of our country's history.The vast reserves of oil in this area of Canada are very attractive to the USA who are our biggest customer for the extracted oil.

In extracting this oil we are using the clean gas which is abundant to cook the sand and make the fossil fuel we so dearly love. This process also uses vast amounts of fresh , clean water and releases a toxic soupy mixture which pollutes the down stream watershed. This pollution poisoned the bodies of the aboriginal people who live in this area. Children, men, and women have an unusual high level number of peculiar cancers mostly related to internal organs such as the spleen.

Dr. O'Conner was called to this hearing and when he testified as to his findings he was absolutely torn apart by the committee. He worked as a general practitioner in the area in question for years. In a attempt to keep him quiet about his findings he was labeled and still is as a person who acted against the best interests of our country. The committee members said he did not have the required qualifications to make these judgements etc.

In the final analysis it smells like a cover up to appease the oil interests. Our land is being raped by foreign and Canadian interests to take this natural asset and get the oil - with no thought for the land.

We are told that every available precaution is being taken and that is true. The sad truth is that it is not enough. Better technical methods will be available but they cost. This is not in the interest of the oil moguls. I am angry because the people who are elected to protect our country from such exploitation are part of it. If this resource was to be found in Southern Ontario there would be more care for the land and the people who live there. As an example, there has to be a 550 meter barrier from houses to erect a wind power station.

Enough ranting for a day but watch and see what happens in the future when aboriginal families suffer even more from our greed.

PNC Reunion

I received my letter today from a friend known as the Duck. He is one of the organizers of the annual Teachers College reunion. We are the class of 1954-1955. Nova Scotia used to train their teachers in a educational institution called Normal School. It was anything but normal as the leaders of that school had the responsibility for turning out qualified teachers in one year . Their students were grade eleven and twelve youngsters , wide eyed and as green as the grass they played on only months before.

Truro was the home of this establishment and I was one of these green ones only I was brown.We as students were serious about our calling and strive to do our best. One thing we did well was bond as a group. So much so that we still get together every year and celebrate our friendship and remember the ones who did not make it back this year.

After 55 years we still look forward to see if Eric looks as young as last year or Bunkey has learned a new song to entertains us or to see which of the ladies has new grandchildren. There is always lots to talk about. Eric and the Duck live in Truro and lived most of their life there so they are called upon to be the hosts. There are more and all add to the most successful reunion I have heard of in my travels. The amazing thing about this group is the way it embraces new members. New spouses or friends are welcomed and become part of the group immediately.
Theresa and I do not attend every year as we have further to travel but it is worth it when we do attend .We are looking forward to the trip this year as we co-ordinate it with a visit with my family in Cape Breton and Theresa with hers in New Brunswick.

Our beloved PNC has been closed for years but whatever happened back in those days to unite us as a group of old retired teachers was somewhat magical and I hope it continues until we get together many more years.

Valley Visit

Monday morning at 10 am Theresa and I tumbled into our travelling van amid golf clubs, food for a supper, some wine and a whole lot of looking forward to We leave Doris in control of our garden and home. She will do well as she has plenty of experience. As we scoot along the 401 we realize that the real Ontario lies somewhere north of there so we grabbed the next exit and arrive in a new world.

Acres of rich green farmland framed by tall trees meet us at every turn. The old farmhouses and board barns bring you back to our roots. Our roots are in the soil and in the farming business at the family level. We see chickens scratching in the ground around the barns and houses as free as a bird if you excuse the pun. It is another world and I like it. We manage to get to a turnoff at highway 7 which has the name of Balderson cheese factory. One of our friends Joan got us interested in this cheese for its fine quality so we turned and drove the 7 kms.

We bought some for each of our friends and some for ourselves. It felt good to share. We managed to get partially lost on some back concession lines but with the help of a truck driver with a cargo of horses , arrived at Flat Rapids on the MADAWASKA RIVER . Pat and Doug have been friends for over forty years and it feels good to be together again. We hardly arrive when we are herded to a new boat my friend bought to accommodate his family. For two hours we are transfixed by the scenery with majestic pines and craggy rock formations bordering the spectacular river. Here we do not hear traffic or noise but only the sound of loons and song birds.

These visits are not not reunions but part of a continuum because we feel together even when we are apart. We stay up to midnight and never run out of topics to talk about but morning will come early and we do have a golf match to settle who will have bragging rights until the rematch in September.

The game of golf was secondary to the fun we had with the stories and lies told. There was a climatic ending with a chip from about 80 feet which settled the game but not the controversy as the loser tried to say I hit the wrong ball. It was fun.

Our next stop was Pembroke where Theresa realized she needed a new belt so we shopped at the local Wall mart called Giant Tiger. There I ran into my close friend June. Theresa caught us kissing but was not annoyed when she saw who it was. In the middle of the sale section in ladies wear we carried on a lively and animated talk for a long time. We found a belt and moved on to our next visit on Melton street. Here we ate goodies and drank cool drinks until supper which was excellent. Joan always sets a great table and her cooking style gave us true Valley cuisine. Baked salmon and all the trimmings led us to the next session of hand and foot.

This is a game of cards which challenges reason and makes women and men challenge the other to become champs at this game. This time we allowed the women to win because it was their turn. Actually we were defeated and graciously congratulated the winners.

Next day we moved on to Petawawa where we had a great visit with my sister. Several hours of laughter and sharing of stories was ended too soon but we had to return to the lady who held fort in our home. That was Doris and she is in her ninety second year. We have to rest up for next year.

Valley Boys

Every year Theresa and I manage to go to the valley to see some of our friends. It is about a five hour drive to reach Arnprior where my friend Doug and his wife Patty live. Doug built a beautiful home for Pat on the banks of the Madawaska River.Their home is lovely in every sense, but the estate is what catches my eye.

Every visit, Doug and I walk the grounds and Doug points out the new acquisitions and changes he made in the garden of trees and flowers. We manage to play a little golf and catch up on who died and who did what to whom. You see, valley boys have a language all their own and express themselves in a unique way. It is quaint and people from the outside marvel at the expressions developed over the years (g'day). There is actually a dictionary for those who really want to talk like the boys from the Valley.

It is a charming place to live and during my 30 odd years living there I managed to escape pretty much intact. Our children were nurtured in that environment and turned out very well and still call Pembroke and the valley home. My friend John had the good fortune to be born in Eganville and still thinks it is the centre of the universe but so do many others from that area.

As we drive over there today, I will be thinking of the many happy events that entered my life and enriched it in so many ways. The events aside, the best memories I have are of the people who live there, and the impact they had and still have on my life. I cannot imagine a year passing without a visit to the Ottawa Valley. So here is to the Valley and the people who call it home. I guess I am one of those - kind of.

Father's Day

My father would be over a hundred years old were he living today. He was father to ten children evenly split between girls and boys. I wonder what he would think about our family if he was still alive.From one marriage descended many many people who populate every province in our country.You can do the math if you care and see what five generations amounts to. My father had a profound influence on my life and I am grateful for all of that.

Dad became a father as a young man never really thinking about the chain of events he put in motion. The responsibility of becoming a parent was little thought of as it was the natural outcome of most marriages. In my mind the difference between being a parent and a father is like day and night. Every man who fathers a child becomes a parent but being a father carries with it grave consequences. Fathers have the ability to shape young lives by their mentoring and love freely given to their offspring.

One of the greatest compliment a man can receive is the recognition by peers that he is a good father. We use the statement often without realizing just what it says about the person. We are saying that this person brings up his children as a shared experience with the mother that nurtures their children. This assures a healthy start in life. The single best way of doing this is in his relationship with his wife.

Children emulate the behaviour of their parents and attitudes and future behaviour will be mainly determined by yours. You cannot use the word father without the word mother so the tandem act as a team. Often good mothers make good fathers at there is no greater influence on fathers than that of the wife. In my case I would have been lost without that influence. In our attempt to be a good partner with our wife we naturally become a better father.

On father's day it is good to reflect on our position in the family as even when the family is older and out there on their own we have not abandoned the title of father. I feel that there is more time now to be a father and a grandfather. In nearly all cases men make better grandfathers than fathers. The reason is obvious... practise. In all my life the words spoken by my children that mean the most is when they say dad. It speaks bundles and carries that wonderful bond between father and child.

Today I shall be thinking about my children as they will about me and I shall be happy and contented.

Polar Bear Encounters

Polar Bears are so strong and beautiful it is hard to believe how deadly they can be. As interested as we are in the bear we must always respect the wild side of this huge animal. While in the Arctic I had the occasion to see several in the wild close up and many from far and safely away. When you first catch sight of Nanook you are taken up with the fluid motion as they move across the ice. There is no wasted motion. Even better is to see them with a pair of yearlings or babies.

This long-necked beast is made to live in its environment. Incredible ability to smell and seek out seals living under the snow at twenty miles, staggers the imagination. Although they have this ability, their catch ratio may be as high as one in eight. The seal is also equipped with special abilities and can take evasive actions to match wits with Nanook.

My favourite observation of a bear with cubs was in Broughton Island. I was walking to work one morning in late May when one of my employees, a water truck driver, told me there was a bear with cubs near the landfill site a couple of miles from the hamlet. A bear alert was made to make sure the people were aware of the bears. This is very important as bears with cubs could be very dangerous if interfered with by people. Inuit know this but the siren is sounded anyway.
I went to my truck and with one employee, travelled to the area where the bears were sighted. When we approached this place we left the truck and viewed the bears about a hundred meters on the side of the hill.To my amazement they were playing or to be exact sliding down the hill and repeating the action.

Mother would climb up the hill and wait for the cubs to make their way to the top. They would make one step foreword and slide back.It was amusing to see this wild animal playing with their babies. I watched this for some time and took a few photos and after the bear smelled us she gathered her cubs and immediately moved away from the hamlet onto the ice and disappeared. My Enok friend explained that bears play with their offspring to teach them to hunt.

As I observed these bears, I could put a mother and two children in their place and the behaviour pattern would not differ at all. The sightings of polar bears in this region is all to frequent as the Inuit often hang their seal meat outside their homes and attract hungry bears. Our usual plan was to get several hunters on snow machines and drive or herd them from the community. We would drive them to the ice and miles away.

It is important to be gentle during this process because bears this time of the year with cubs have low fat levels and stress could cause problems with fatigue and heat loss.If a bear comes back several times they are sometimes sedated and taken far away but unfortunately they have to be killed when they endanger the people of the hamlet.

You cannot see a polar bear in the wild without becoming a advocate for their protection. I wonder how the bears feel when placed in a small area for the amusement of people who come to the zoo. Sometimes orphaned or injured bears end up there and are cared for in a appropriate manner and live a good life. For me the polar bear represents all that is spectacular about our Arctic wilderness - so see it while you can.

Qikiqtarjjuaq (Broughton Island)

Ikaluktutiak is a hamlet in the Kitikmeot Region of Nunavut. It on the south east corner of Victoria Island. The terrain is flat and barren with thousands of ponds and lakes. Easy travelling in the winter over the snow and ice covered countryside.

This was my home base for several years. My next home was almost 3ooo km east but still in Nunavut. This gives you some sense of the magnitude of the northern territory. Two examples are that Victoria Island is larger than Newfoundland and Baffin Island is almost 2000 Km long. One fifth of Canada's land mass makes up Nunavut and this land is inhabited by a little over than 25,ooo people of which over 80% are Inuit.

Qikiqtarjjuaq (Broughton Island) is in the Baffin Island region. The terrain here is rugged , mountainous and Ice covered for the most part. Because it is situated along the east coast off the south east portion of Baffin Island it faces miles of ocean known as Davis Strait. Looking over the ocean you would see Greenland some hundreds of miles due east.

There is a grandeur about this place with mountains throughout this Island rising thousands of feet and covered year long by ice - hundreds of feet thick. Fiords inundate the coastline creeping inland for miles and show ancient rock faces rising straight up, carved by successive ice scrapings just as a artist would sculpt a carving. Birds by the millions make this rock wall their home in summer.

The sea abounds with seal , walrus and whales of many kinds. The knarl whale with its great long spear pointing from its snout is one of the wonders of the area. Shrimp , clams and shellfish abound and provide the food for the diet of the walrus who consume several hundreds of pounds daily.

Caribou and musk oxen survive on the barren landscape by finding food in the low lying areas but this is the home of the mighty polar bear. Magnificent animals standing up to 11 feet tall standing on their hind legs and as agile and nimble an animal you can find while in the water or scampering over ice packs seeking their favourite food , seal.

The polar bear is used by animal rights groups and global warming groups as their poster babies. They are beautiful but I wonder if they would be used if they looked like a wart hog. You don't hear much about seals up here as this is the main food of the Inuit. I never really got used to the taste of seal although it was a food offered when you visited a home or on the land. The seal hunt is another story where people use the baby seals as a reason to interfere with the local peoples way of life in Newfoundland and the area of the St. Lawrence Gulf.

The climate along the Baffin Island coastline is harsh but not as severe as inland. Personally my time in the Baffin was not as pleasurable as the far north in the Kitikmeot. Probably the main reason was the land formations while beautiful made travel in many regions impossible.

There are many area wonders to be discovered on Baffin Island and only a few take advantage of the new and growing tourist industry. The little Hamlet that was my home there was shared with about 500 Inuit and a dozen white folks. This was one of the most culturally pure places in Nunavut and the customs and traditions were essentially intact.

These pictures are typical of the Baffin Region.

Old Joe

Musk oxen are a prehistoric looking animal which was nearly extinct in the middle of the last century. They cannot be called beautiful as they have features that make them the perfect survivor for life at 75 below zero. Their appearance with the large head and inverted horns outfitted with that wonderful fur coat makes them comfortable in any climate.

They weigh about 800 pounds on average but some are over a thousand. They live in herds with a hierarchy of several generations in one communal family. I have seen large herds of 60 in the winter when they hunker down inland where there is some food. They eat pretty much everything that is edible but prefer lichens and Arctic willow.

Their poop has a peculiar quality. When collected and washed there remains a pulp which makes excellent paper when pressed and dried. As food the flesh of these animals ranks high on my list of favourite wild meats. I used to dry the meat and make mipku. It is delicious and NASA takes it into space when the astronauts travel out there. Very nourishing and tasty. In a year I would use four or five for my own use. The Inuit name for musk oxen is umingmak and the Inuit have depended on them for survival over the years.

Out there where my camp is located is home to caribou (tutu) and umingmak. These grazing animals are abundant and are everywhere during the summer months. One very special animal was Old Joe. He was a one horned musk oxen who lived near my camp all summer. He was very old and very large. He was almost blind and showed no fear of people or dogs.

My first encounter with Old Joe was when I was building my cabin. I was asleep and heard this snorting and heavy breathing and looked up to see Old Joe looking through the open hole which was to be occupied by a window. I was startled but not afraid because he could not fit through the opening but his next action really put me off.

Joe had an itch and decided to scratch his behind on the side of my unfinished and unstable cabin. He scratched and began to move the frame of the cabin and I became annoyed. I grabbed a small board and whacked the beast over the rump and he never moved. My dog Buck was barking and wanted to join the fray but was no match for Joe. After several minutes Joe had enough and decided to sleep. He sat down in front of the door and never moved. I would have been trapped but I had window openings. Buck managed to get out with my help and we made our way to the Quad (ATV).

After that we saw much of old Joe and he and Buck became sort of friends after Joe tossed Buck over his head a few times. In the late fall Joe used to disappear and we would see him in the early spring at the cabin. The last year I was up there Joe was nowhere to be seen. The whole hamlet wondered what happened but the mystery was solved when we found a skull with one horn on the tundra not too far from our cabin. He was a friend of sorts welcoming spring with his appearance and signalling winter with his going away. I took many pictures of Old Joe but this one of him in front of my cabin is the best.

Recycling Arctic Style

Living up in the high Arctic has its challenges. White people either love it and adapt or leave quickly. Some stay and make life miserable for all who they come in contact with. My challenge was to occupy my time in a meaningful way. I chose to build a fishing camp 13 miles out of town (Cambridge Bay/Ikaluktutiak ) - at no cost.

Our local landfill site was a goldmine and contained all the raw material for such a project. Plywood , framing materials, windows, doors and roofing were there for the taking. Insulation was scarce but there was sufficient for the job. I stockpiled the needed lumber and material at my home and waited for the cold weather.

The location of my camp was important, as you do not own land in Nunavut - it is in trust to all the people. The place I picked out was on a slope on a bay of Grenier Lake. This was Inuit land and I was given permission to build. The char loved the bay in spring and fall and lake trout were there all year. Numerous ponds lay between my site and Mount Pelly. You could not find a better site for fishing and hunting.

Fall and then winter changed the landscape and I was able to load my materials on my kamatuk and head out on the land. With Buck supervising I made many trips to my camp location following Spring Creek to Grenier Lake and my site. I placed heavy stones on the plywood and material to keep it from blowing away during the winter storms. All winter I made my daily trip to the landfill site to collect articles needed for construction.

A yard sale or auction was held by housing and I bought a keg of nails of various sizes and a wood stove. Piping for the stove was left over from a construction site and I was in business. Firewood was scarce so I began collecting framing and odds and ends to meet my need.

Next came furniture which was in abundance as regular upgrades were always in the works. Beds and bedding was scrounged and I just had to wait for spring. I drew up a plan of sorts the build the camp in two steps.The first was to be nine by sixteen. When completed I would have a camp 16 by 18 feet. Two rooms and a outside toilet completed the plan .

Spring finally arrived and every waking moment from that day was spent at the campsite. Since I had to fish and hunt work sometimes took second fiddle. People from the town watched as my camp rose from the tundra. I even had visitors who helped with the rafters for the roof of the second section. They took care not to make fun of my project to my face but made small comments which caused the group to smile politely.

At the middle of August I slept over at my Arctic palace and learned what home ownership really meant. I was proud to recycle what would have been thousands of dollars of trash into a modest, safe, expense-free cabin. Materials were very expensive in the arctic where one sheet of three quarters plywood would cost a hundred dollars. One two by four eight feet long costs 12 dollars. You see - I saved all this material from being burned and had fun doing it.

For the next years I loved the time I lived at my cabin and had many visitors who benefited from the hospitality shown there. Travellers regularly stopped for a tea and my family members came to see me and loved the solitude experienced there. When I left the Arctic physically I carried a spiritually enhanced mind with me from my time spent on the Tundra. My wish is that more people will experience Canada's Last Frontier before it too late.

The Sound of Silence

This morning I awoke at 5 o`clock to the sound of birds. Cardinals, sparrows, blackbirds and an oriole shared the limited space in our back yard. They never sang in tune as each was trying to make its case in the loudest tones possible. I love birds but this am caused me to get up to see what was causing the problem. I quickly saw blackbirds trying to reach into the sparrow house which housed three fl edgings. All the other birds showed their disapproval by squawking as loud as possible. The sparrows survived another day and the birds began to settle down in their orderly melodic tones. It was beautiful once more.

While I lived in the high Arctic I had other experiences. Yes, you heard the birds sometimes but I was always struck by the lack of sounds. It became a habit of mine to drive out on the tundra on my quad with my dog Buck and just sit. Besides the breathing sounds of Buck there was the complete absence of sound. This became beautiful to me as I strained to determine far away sounds. Sometimes it would be a muskox running on the stony tundra.

Caribou slowly making their way across sparse grasslands, munching as the moved from one morsel to another. Then there was the howl of the Arctic Wolf, a magnificent creature who followed the caribou herds but preferred to feast on lemmings. The howl of the wolf caused Buck to reel back and blast forth with his own version of a wolf call as he was half wolf. Then silence again. Time would pass quickly and often an hour would seem like ten minutes.

I love any sound of nature but the sound of silence gives me the opportunity to create my own sounds in my mind. Some of my favourite sounds are:little children laughing; good morning from a loved one; a babbling brook; bagpipes from a distance and a golf ball hitting the bottom of the hole. Whatever sound you prefer, you have to listen to hear it.

Sunday Gardens.

There is something special about waking up to bright sunshine and hearing the birds singing and you realize that it is not a work day. You are able to relax and have your coffee - I prefer green tea - while wandering through my yard. In a way your property is your domain and you should feel free and secure in its use. Many of my friends find great comfort in their wandering around their treasured bushes, flowers and vegetable plots to help forget the hockey game last night when THE WINGS fell to defeat. Not a bad loss but time for rebuilding.

Sunday is special as there seems to be a lack of pressure and often the anticipation of a visit from family or friends. We are like that but we are retired and every day seems like a Sunday.The cherries need a little more sun and the strawberries better ripen soon or the squirrels will have destroyed the crop.

This morning as I was basking in the safety of my favourite chair I was overcome with the horrible feeling of sadness. Sadness brought on by the horrors of war. The papers have carried many accounts of our young men returning to their families after brutal combat missions and being left to their own devices to re-engage in normal society. Our troops need every consideration and communities can help by offering a helping hand and a smile which says I understand and appreciate.

Personally I have known several young men who became someone else when they returned home. I wish that the government who asked them to serve will look after them when they come home.

I am sorry to interject this sadness at a time of happiness in our own back yards. We are able to have this secure happiness because of them. Have your coffee in your garden - but think of them.

Co-op 517 Brown

That grand old store the Sydney Mines Co-operative stood proudly for generations serving the people of the area. They boasted about carrying everything and it almost did with it bakery , dairy , feed shed and home delivery service. It was a way of life seldom seen and sorely missed by the folks in our town.

The store was a full service store with departments where you could buy virtually everything. It is gone now but not forgotten. How could you forget going in the store and heading to the second floor where you waited in line at twenty to nine knowing you were having an exam in a few minutes. You were there to buy three sheets of foolscap for a penny a sheet and wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Magnificent. The clerks were so fast that all made it in time to write those God forsaken exams three times a year.

The neat thing about this transaction was that you need no money , only a number When the clerk handed you the paper you shouted , put it on momma or 517 Brown. The clerk responded to both answers as she knew everyone and made out a check in triplicate. You watched as she or he placed the check in a little carrier and plunged the carrier into a tube. If you were fast you could follow the carrier making it way to the office where a clerk took the cheques and registered it to your account. She then placed the registered check back in the carrier and as it made its return trip you watched the clock.

It only took about 2 minutes for the transaction but you had your foolscap and a copy of the deal.There was a lot of interpersonal relationships built up in that store and we miss that aspect of shopping today.We used rolls of paper in those days as plastic was only a dream and string was used to tie the parcel. The string was dangling above every counter and the clerks reached for it and never missed a beat. Their knots were perfect and the package perfect no matter how big or what shape.

Today as I shopped at Superstore there was a big difference. Everyone was carrying bags made of cloth or another material to carry out their groceries. The government ruled that plastic had to be paid for at a cost to the customer around 5 cents per bag. You however would be given points or up to 10 cents for every bag you used that was your own. How quickly this reformed our shopping habits. It is green yes as makes us all responsible for our environment.

We loved the old Co-op but it was anything but green.

The Wings

For 62 years I have been a Detroit Red Wing fan. I was ten when a player from the east coast played with Detroit and I was hooked. My friend Doug is also a fan and he cannot even watch the games in the playoffs, and his poor wife has to watch and relay what is happening. We are true fans and stuck with the team in the bad years, and the good.

Today when hockey is a business and players are pawns being traded and disposed of as commodities in a factory, Detroit stands firm and has team loyalty. You can actually know the players from year to year. Tonight they play for the Stanley cup with Pittsburgh. Detroit have 18 players on the ice who were there last year when they won the cup.

Tonight I shall be watching the game and will be proud of our boys - win or lose.This is the team of Gordie Howe and Ted Lindsay. I shall watch, have a drink or two, (probably rum and pepsi), rant and roar, and be into the greatest game in the world. When it is over I shall go to bed and sleep soundly because we have carried on the struggle to gain the Stanley Cup. This is the oldest professional cup to be played for in North America. Watch and enjoy. Polar Bear

Fishcakes

Cod cakes , fish cakes or potato cakes with cod all say the same thing. The very thought of these yummy morsels makes my mouth water. Several times a year I get the urge to make - and of course eat - these down-east cultural blessings.

As a child we used to buy a bale of salt cod when needed. A bale was usually 25 or fifty pounds. The cost was something like 10 cents a pound when delivered. The fish were big and the dried cod were often five or six pounds each. The poor fisherman used to get a few cents a pound for the green cod delivered to the fish plant. The other day I bought two pounds of salt cod bits and they cost $6 per pound. Normally they cost $8 a pound. Inflation I guess. At any cost, you have to have the fish to get cod cakes.

To make them I use my mother's recipe, as best I can remember, with a little help from my sister Jeannie. I always test the cod for salt and eat a little raw. This sometimes makes me thirsty and a little down-east screech and Pepsi does the trick.

Soaking the salt cod with a minimum of three waters also does the trick. Start with boiled potatoes - not too soft so they stick together - and onions partially cooked, added for their wonderful flavour. Pull apart the fish or mince it and add an egg. Use your hands to squeeze the mixture through your fingers until the mixture is soft and sticky. Now my specialty is to add some garlic, fresh if on hand and powder if that's all you can get your hands on. Poultry seasoning will provide the special taste I love.

Have fun trying to make 24 balls of equal size and place on something flat like a counter top. Use the potato masher to flatten. This also makes nice grooves for the heat to penetrate and cook. Use cooking oil in small amounts and high heat to brown the cakes on both sides. Most time you lose pieces of the cakes when turning so these become testers. Finish by letting these cakes cool and either freeze them or better still - eat them.

My daughters love the delicious taste of these cakes and I want them to learn the secrets to making this - about the simplest dish going. My daughters Glenda and Lynda usually get their share but Dar misses out as she lives too far away. In any case the tradition of cod cakes will live on in our family as I will give them the recipe for a gift someday. The reason I have not up until now is I love to make them myself.

Try them sometime and you will surely agree.

Proud Grandparents

Driving 112 km across 403 and up 400 was a pleasure this day as we were going to experience a special event. Our grandson Henry is an Air Cadet and this was the final parade for the year and also the awards evening. The drive was completed too fast as we were watching the development along this highway almost boggles the mind. We make the trip several times a year and the scenery changes dramatically. The lush farms become factories with huge, barren buildings or sub divisions with look alike houses or condos. This was not our mission as we were here to share a family treat.

Early supper was served by the host and hostess and all talk was of the evening. Henry is a third year veteran and proud of his achievements. Tonight he was in the colour party for the march by and was nervous. He also knew he was in the running for some awards although he he never expected to win.

Because he is a glider pilot and a three year airman he has goals for the future. He wishes to make his life related to airports, aeroplanes and space. I met one of his heroes while I was living in the arctic and passed some time with Mr. Hatfield. Hatfield was one of our Canadian astronauts and was in Cambridge Bay to expose the Inuit to his achievements and to study the aboriginal food for future use in space.

While he was there he gave me patches he wore while in space and I realized that the person who should have them was my grandson Henry. My wife presented them to him before the ceremonies at the armory. He was thrilled and I am sure he will treasure them as I did.

We watched the cadets go through their routines and the big moment came as the awards were presented. The last award was a medal from the Canadian Legion. Six may be given in any year for outstanding achievement and citizenship. When the award was given to Henry all of us there basked in reflective glory and shared this special recognition. In this case pride is not a bad thing but a symbol of well deserved achievement shared by loved ones.

The drive home seemed to go by quickly as we talked of what this evening meant to our wonderful grandson. We shared our reward of being grandparents to such valuable young people and look forward to the many future occasions when they make us proud once more.

Pantheist

Nature has a way of curing many of our ills if we tune in and listen. For myself there is no better way of clearing the mind and refreshing the soul then getting your hands dirty in the soil. As I view my favourite plants in our backyard I see that there are a number of things I have to care for to keep the appearance of a loved and acceptable garden. We grow nearly everything that we need in our patches of good soil and I take the challenge of the no weeds policy. Weeds have a way of sneaking in beside your vegetables and you have to do battle with them on a daily basis.

As I work away in the soil I have a time of reflection without distractions other than the joy of seeing the first tomato blossom and the beans pushing themselves upward towards the sun. I believe in the story of Jack and the Beanstalk because pole beans grow so fast . We begin to observe the growing patterns of both the good and bad vegetation and marvel at how adaptable they really can be. Weeds are only plants that grow where they are not wanted.

Because I compost and then use the product - I have all kinds of rogue plants in places they are not wanted. Some of my best and strongest tomatoes grow in amongst the carrots and sunflowers pop up all over the place, although I never planted them. I am not the only gardener in our yard.

Squirrels and chipmunks share the patches and crops of oak trees and numerous other plants show up in the plots. After a few hours I realize that my time in the garden must end as supper is waiting, and I feel refreshed.

Nature does that to me. And a minister once told me vehemently that I was nothing better than a damn pantheist. I guess he was right - I do love nature.

Omingmak Frolics in the Arctic

The sun finally gets its head above the horizon and the Inuit begin to plan for a week long celebration. After 6 dreary months with limited sun for most of the time and no sun for three months it is time to let loose. Many communities in the Arctic calculate the day on which the sun makes its appearance in the south eastern sky and for a few minutes there is cause to rejoice.

Groups of people gather and wait on the tundra to glimpse the worm red rays of life. Everything comes to life so quickly, as the summer cycle has to be completed in the long days of a two month spring and summer. The first sign is the return of the Snow Bunting sitting on a snow bank shivering but hopeful of warmer times.

In Cambridge Bay (Iqaluktutiak) where I lived for a few years, the mood changes overnight with the memories of last year's celebrations and the planning with enthusiasm to make this year's ever better.There are Inuit games of skill, dances, special bingo, feasts, outside entertainment, snow mobile races, and religious gatherings. This all starts with a parade and everyone takes part. Muskox burgers, caribou burgers, ribs and muktuk all served to the community outdoors. The temperature is sometimes still in the - 20 degree range.

I think about this at this time of year because it was one of the fondest memories I took with me from the far north. This is special because it is a happy time and characterized the real spirit of the Inuit. They have had such a struggle to move into the modern age in the last fifty years when it took us hundreds of years to accomplish the same. I shall write a little every day about this subject and share my love of the Arctic and its wonderful people.

Building a Pegola with a Friend

What is a pegola? I didn't know until my wife placed a picture on the kitchen table and told me that is what she wanted on our patio. In the picture I saw a beautiful structure surrounded by professional landscaping making a perfect scene right out of homes and gardens.

I studied the picture and quickly became excited for the prospect of a project such as it was. I got out my sketch book and drafted a plan and listed what I should need in materials. I was satisfied that I could build the thing but how much better it would be if I could coax my son to help. He is always there when I need him for big jobs. He is strong and can see ways of improving my thinking in a way as to not rattle my ego and to make me think it was my idea anywhere.

I asked my wife if she would like to come to Home Depot to price the project and see if all the materials were in stock. She declined the offer and told me I needed time alone so get on with it. I love shopping in hardware stores where I can handle the good tools and dream of owning them come Fathers Day.

After a half hour I had the list priced and was amazed that the price came close to that which I quoted Theresa earlier in the day. Under $400 for a pegola 12 by 14 feet. The one at the store was 10 by 10 and cost nearly a $1000. Wow - I was saving $600. I never think of the labor cost or the volunteer help.

After the phone call to my friend, my son, we planned to get started next morning when he was off work and would complete the task in a day and a half. I was responsible for getting the materials to the sight and I made two trips with my van and loaded it to the roof. The hardest part was getting good product. I needed 6 by 6 timbers and went through two piles to get good ones. When I finished it looked like a disaster in the store. Getting 2 by 8s and 2 by 6s was even more difficult.

My son and I work almost without communicating about the task. We seem to know how to work together; sharing the different skill jobs and working at a fast pace we erect the timbers. My son does the measuring and I do the cutting. We do make mistakes but these mistakes become plan B and we move on.

All through the day we move from one stage to another. We plan to cook supper on the barbecue but we have lost the sense of time. It is seven pm when we finally take a rest.We were so engrossed that time did not matter. My son realized that we have practically completed the job except for a few small items.

We kind of laugh and start to prepare our steak and potatoes remembering the past when we did the same thing on another project. I lose all track of time when working on a labour of love. On this day the labour of love was being united with my son for a whole day by myself. We ate heartily and talked of the work completed and how we could have made changes for the better but we were satisfied. The next morning after a long breakfast we finished the unfinished and called Theresa for a final inspection. Her smile told us we did well and we were satisfied.

My son was off home in the early afternoon and we made plans for our next project, laying a hardwood floor in my granddaughter's condo. I hope the projects never end so I might call on my friend to spend a little time alone with his father.

May 24th

Every year about this time we would start to think about the May 24 holiday. This was the opening of trout season in Cape Breton. For we boys fishing was almost a religion. Our small group planned the first day and dreamed of the first fish. Tommy, Orville, Harry and others would be ready for the opening day. The night before was almost like Christmas as we prepared our bikes, packed our lunch and tried to sleep.

At five in the morning we would creep out of bed , dash downstairs and pack our sack with all the essentials. The weather was of no concern. For my lunch it was always bread , cut thick with jam and peanut butter packed down and stuffed in a bread wrapper from the co-op. Some cookies if available, an apple and matches for the fire. The worm can overflowing with juicy eye catching crawlers was the most important bait. Black fishing line and a can of hooks of various sizes and a sharp knife for any use called upon.

With a warm jacket and sometimes even gloves, we hurled our bikes into action to meet at Sexton's store step. Someone was always late and began making weak, useless excuses when within earshot. Heads counted, we rode at record speed to reach the big pond bridge where we looked over to check for fish. With none being seen we tore through Florence and headed for the swinging bridge at Little Bras D'Or where we saw the whirlpools on the right side of the bridge, meaning the tide was going out.

The next part of the trip was uphill for a couple of miles. In those days the road from here was not paved and the going was rough. Near the top we dismounted and walked talking of the fish waiting to be caught. McKenzie Brook was our destination and we arrived at our secret spot and hid our bikes and made for the alder woods to cut a fishing rod. Always the same thing, get a gad about 6 feet long, straight if possible. Quickly remove the bark and take in the strong scent of the new growth and cut a notch at the end. The black line was quickly made into a noose to be placed over the notch. The slip knot was pulled and we were ready for the hook and small sinker.

All this completed we started to make the game work. A pop for the first trout and another for the biggest. A nut bar for the most.The bets made - and a mad dash for the favourite hole which promised many fish. With skill the large worms were threaded down the hook and at last, we were fishing.

What a pleasure, what a feeling when the tug on the line meant a pure gift. Shouts were heard and calls about the big one an so on. For hours we drew in our little speckled trout and each of us had at least two dozen. We stopped for lunch and the crushed lunch wrappers we opened and grasped by worm infested hands but that did not matter. We were fishermen and this was part of the fun. The sun shone hot on our faces and our first spring burn was well underway. We gathered moss and packed our precious cargo to return home to show our bounty.

On our bikes again we drove at break neck speed and when we got to the top of the hill overlooking the lake we again made bets. Who could go the farthest without peddling and who could go down the hill with hands behind the back. With shouts and squeals we descended to the road below and continued forgetting the bets but wishing to get home to show Mom and Dad the fish.

As we approached our home we said our goodbyes and raced to our respective homes. Mom I'm home and look at the fish I caught. Mom's smile made it worth the day. When we sat for supper Mom said in a proud manner, "these are the fish Henry caught today", I was so happy. I was so tired and I was ready to go again tomorrow.

Brother Murray

My older brother Murray passed away last week. Murray was 76 years old and during all those years - other than the years he lived at home before he joined the RCMP - we met very few times. He lived a full life and had many experiences that few of us know about.

As a young boy growing up in Sydney Mines, NS he was a typical youngster taking part in all the usual activities which presented themselves. Sports were on his schedule and he played a fair game of hockey and baseball. One activity which took much of his spare time was fishing and he could cast a dry fly just as well as Dad. He knew the names of the flys and at Trout Brook he would use a black knat. This fly was so small but used properly it was effective. Dad tied some of these flys and Murray would have done the same but he had other matters to attend to.

Murray joined the RCMP as a 18 year old and was so proud of his uniform and kit. He looked like the picture boy for the force with his clean cut 6 foot frame and perfect posture. For the next number of years he worked in law enforcement in various capacities. He once was the chief of police in Sioux Lookout. While there he used his learned skills working with a large aboriginal population. He loved his work.

Murray married several times and fathered a number of children. He was particularly proud of his last two daughters and spoke of them in glowing terms in every phone call. I personally lost contact with Murray for a number of years but rekindled my relationship with him about twelve years ago. This came about as I was travelling through Creston and stopped in several times for short visits. All the years in between, Murray tried his hand at business and had a popular country store called Charlie Brown's Country Store at The Mira. Here he made the best pizzas and people would come from miles around to experience the speciality.

Once our relationship was reunited we phoned on a regular basis. It was during these hour-long conversations I discovered the brother I missed. Murray would often tell me in great detail about his experiences, and there were many. My sister Glenda hooked up with Murray about seven years ago and became close phone friends talking and sharing many experiences. Their friendship was very good for both of them and they lived life through their mutual need of a friend to share. Sometimes they spoke more than once a day.

Murray was ill during his last years and accepted his role by fighting the pain he suffered and concentrated on enjoying life through the TV and the phone. He did get around Creston on his scooter and knew many folks along the way. Murray and Glenda watched hockey together and interacted like brother and sister should. The only difference was, they were 2500 miles apart.
As Murray passed on I finally knew him and only wished that that all his family and friends could have shared those final years with him.