cjbrett's Blog

Sauntering around Stanley Park

cjbrett — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 13:17:33 -0700

Ok Vancouver, I'm coming home. I'll be back in the park on the 10th of May. The boyos are waiting. If you've never gazed deep into the eyes of a heavy horse, you've never lived. We'll be meandering round Stanley Park and spinning yarns, telling tales telling the truth about Stanley Park... no not the politically correct hail to the far thinking entrepreneurs of old. No I shall tell you of greed and fighting and of politics and strange bedfellows... of cheatin and stealin and the mayhem that is the hidden legacy of the green jewel of Vancouver. We'll wander past the fallen giants of the Storms of '06 and wonder and speculate about their fate.

Ace and Smokey, Flint, Diamond, Reno and Howie, Dudley and Robbie, Pepper and Jack - Belgians, Shire, Clydesdales and Percherons - your hosts and silent guides - we'll take you deep int o the space of this moment. The best spiritual teachers of Zen that you'll ever encounter. They have no creed, no body of written work, no memorable quotes... simply their sweet breath, the deep deep wisdom that lies in their eyes, their depthless compassion and the kindliness of their enormously generous hearts. The Buddha said once that the path to enlightenment was "Chop wood, carry water." And after enlightenment "Chop wood,carry water". Each of these horses is the embodiment of that precept. Each morning they lower their heads for the collar, open willingly for the bit and lean majestically into the weight, taking each measured step with grace and dignity and utter patience.

"But it's so mean to make them work." you say. Far from it. This type of horse is a human construct. Heavy horses never existed in the wild and never could. Big slow creatures get eaten first. Only small fast ones survive to make babies. Not that the life of a wild horse is anything to write home about. The average life span of a wild horse is 8 - 9 years. He won't die of a happy and healthy old age. He will die of disease or starvation or thirst - he will die being eaten alive by some predator. This is the life in the wild. Working horses live an average of 26 - 32 years and more. If they work. If they don't, you can cut a considerable amount off that. Their joints and muscles and bones require weight bearing exercise to keep those massive bodies upright. Weighing in a 2,000 lbs or more, they must be in superb shape or they get very uncomfortable indeed. Arthritis, joint trouble, founder and lymph retention are the uncomfortable fate of heavy horses that are left in the barn or in the pasture without their proper exercise. They like doing it anyway. We have a beautifully symbiotic relationship - they know they are doing something for me that I couldn't do myself. And I do things for them that they couldn't. Come down to the barn some evening at bath time and you will see.

Besides the health benefits for the individual heavy horse, an opportunity like the one we have in Stanley Park is one small step toward the saving of a species. Most of the heavy horse breeds are on the endangered species list. Some are more rare than the Giant Panda. Yes. Domestic breeds of animal go extinct. Farmers don't want them. The family farm has become a giant conglomerate with massive machines that make the heavy horse obsolete. Logging operations rarely use them though they would and should be a most welcome alternative to clearcutting. More jobs and less impact on the environment! In fact the restoration at Stanley Park should be done by horses - all the maintenance work there should be done by horses. Can you imagine the amazing sight of horses maintaining that forest, pulling wagons loaded with brush and leaves... pulling silent mowers, hauling loads of dirt for the flower beds? It would be a peaceful and pastoral place instead of the bustling 'speed dating' style of sightseeing. Stanley Park has been invaded by massively ugly behemoths of tour buses spewing out ghastly clouds of dirty fumes and howling and hissing so loudly that you can't smell the flowers, can't see over them to the water or the trees, can't hear the birds or the wind or the waves. The roar of motorbikes is scarcely less an assault to the ears.

Yes - see the park in 5 minutes... we can zoom past the trees and the water and if we run over a squirrel or two - there are plenty more - and pedestrians? Pho... plenty of them - give em a scare! . Let's have a drag race along the straight stretches or up Pipeline Hill. Oh my gods... I have to go aaaaallllll the way around to get out? I better boot it. Huh... can't waste a minute. Don't bother me with birds and flowers and cute little furry things... I'm a busy person can't you see? Those damn horses cost me a full minute going round the traffic circle! How dare they? I got things to do, money to make, places to get to. And fast.

No. Not for me. I prefer the gentle sound of the horses hooves, the occasional cyclist swishing by, rollerbladers waving as they glide along, effortlessly passing our easy pace. You can go up the hill past Lumberman's Arch on a misty morning in September.Fingers of fog creep through the trees, twining lazily round the horses ankles as lazy leaves drift around like snowflakes in a breath of wind. The silence except for the measured step of horseshoes is the hush between heartbeats, a space between time, a moment that holds you spellbound for an instant and takes your breath away.

Come with me won't you? I will introduce you to 16 of the most powerful spiritual beings this city is blessed to have, intimately acquainted with eagles - you can hear them when you are with us, they come to the barn all the time and show off their catches or simply sail on over with a cry of greeting. Seals accompany us from time to time, swimming lazily along beside us on the shoreline. We might encounter an owl or have a Great Blue Heron swoop gracefully out of the trees to his solitary watch along the waters edge. Families of raccoons may peer at us from the underbrush or waddle across the road. In the spring we'll watch ducks and drakes tenderly escorting one another along the roadside in the ancient dance of courtship - might even encounter Hector the one and only peacock with his lady Penelope. Come with me and be enchanted.

See you at the park.

Change in the workplace

cjbrett — Wed, 25 Apr 2007 08:01:45 -0700

Today I've taken a step to creating a pocket of change in an area where old mindsets and ways are very much in evidence. what does it matter if we are burning trash and using up a case of paper plates every week. We're buried in the north. What does it matter if we shoot a bear? They are so scrawny and hungry and aggressive up here... In the larger picture, there is a bleed in this country in the various natural resource industry whether it be oil sands in Alberta or diamond mining in Northwest Territories. I wrote a story years ago about the march of technology and change and how it affects our dwelling place. I can't place it here because it's too long to type but I will post it on my website clare.ws . It's called the Seven Sisters and was inspired by a trip I took in Northern BC some years ago where I was utterly enchanted by 7 majestic peaks near Hazelton. They inspired me to write this creation story for our province and someday I hope to publish it as an illustrated book.

Embracing abundance and challenge

cjbrett — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 18:40:30 -0700

At the moment I'm up about 50 miles south of Yellowknife on the edge of Great Slave Lake. I came here for 6 weeks to cook for a diamond exploration camp. For many years I'd struggled financially as a singer and as a seasonal carriage driver in Stanley Park and although the music and horses are still my first love, when the chance to do this came up, I jumped at it.

I do that with adventurous things though. I jumped at the chance to go to Taiwan and play bluegrass music in '98 and jumped at the chance to learn to drive a team of Clydesdales. Everything we choose to do - good, bad or in between is a lesson in the making - a challenge to be embraced and integrated.

I'm excited about the possibilities this affords me. Have to admit that living in the wilderness - the only woman for 50 miles around has had its ups and downs. Rising at 4:30 AM to get the breakfast done by 6, Baking bread, cakes, cookies, making massive vats of homemade soup, cooking many roast beasts... Dealing with the joys of outdoor privies and funky lake water to shower in, frozen pipes, cooking with propane on a stove that you just guess at for temperatures - and being surrounded by a LOT of testosterone. Massive young men who operate really big machines, blow up things and get really really grubby. The air is blue with the four letter words, they're just a teensy bit rough around the edges. You can only get them to eat veg if there's cheese sauce with em.. not so great for salads. But hey they'll eat Caesar any day of the week... gotta have that cheese. I get a kick out of them. It's a bit like having a couple of dozen of my son coming in and out all day and some of them have taken to calling me Mom.

There is a real sense of creative satisfaction when they come through the door of the kitchen and their faces light up and there is a huge sigh of ecstasy when they see that table laden with all sorts of good stuff to eat... lasagna, spaghetti, big meat pies, roasts of turkey, lamb, beef, pork - huge hams - tonight Norwegian Meatballs and Sweet and sour Meatballs and I set four loaves of bread to rise too.

Wrestling the dragon in the stove is a bit of a challenge, dealing with a wood stove in the cabin and alternately freezing and roasting.. there seems to be no middle ground. Do I really want to get up and walk to the biffy in the middle of he night when it's 10 to 15 degrees below zero? So yes I really have to go and then the Northern Lights dance me all the way there and back. They say if the generator was off I would hear them dancing - sort of crackling like ice fire.

There is a bear in the area. His tracks were seen by the driller's shack. They are trying to bait it - got that macho thing going - wanna shoot something. A scrawny ragtag bear half asleep doesn't seem like a fair challenge. I spend the morning sending woo loo loo messages to the bear and creating a 'go 'way' energy field around the area..."Go far away. There's danger here. I know it smells good and you're hungry but death waits for you. Go. Go." I don't know if he hears. I hope so. His presence seems farther away by afternoon.

I tell the men he won't be coming round because I asked him to stay away. They look at me as though I've sprouted horns. *grin* If nothing else maybe their energy will change. It's all about choice really. The bear will choose whether he goes for easy food, we will choose whether we challenge him or simply encourage him not to be here... I'm pouring bleach into the sump so the food smell is changed to something he won't like. But the thing is - he isn't in our territory. We're in his. I very much hope we can have a situation of mutual respect and avoidance rather than challenge and warfare. Hmmm... maybe that energy would be good outside the North too!

I wish I had the dogs here. They would warn him away too. Next time I come up I will bring them They will love it.

Archie comes by from time to time. He is a Denae tribesman who takes care of the iceroad - 75 years old, brown and weathered and silent - til he starts telling stories. I always try to feed him but he was icebound one time for 40 days and he don't eat much now. He tells Hank (the crew boss) that I'm a good woman. "She don't talk too much." he says. I am inordinately pleased for some reason. If Archie thinks I'm a good woman then I must be alright.

One day Archie comes by and I've made buttermilk biscuits. His eyes light up. "Dom bannocks" he asks. "Could I have summa those?" I send him home with a bagful of them and make them every day now in case he comes by. And he is inordinately pleased!

The ice is nearly done now. It will candle any day now. it's black in the sun and the ice road is almost impassable. Even though the temp dips below zero every night, it's warm in the day, the dawn is pearling at 4:30AM and the sun doesn't go down til 9 at night.

This is the north. Stark, knife edged, exquisitely harsh but beautiful in its emptiness. I love it here. I will come back.

I can't believe how fast the time has gone by. I arrived on the 18th of March and all of a sudden am counting the last few days before I return home. It's just flown. And the bear notwithstanding...it's been simply wonderful