gathering

Merry Christmas

2011-12-24T17:47:00.000-08:00

Baby (The Nativity), Paul Gauguin, 1896.

"The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighbourhood."

Peace and joy to you all this Christmas...and light offshores as well.

addition and subtraction

2011-12-05T17:50:00.000-08:00

So much give and take in this life.

Surf Art Show

2011-10-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

The theatres have been sold out in town for the past couple of days as the surfing community eats up the 2nd annual Canadian Surf Film Festival. There is a whole lot of cinema stoke floating around, mixed with the anticipation of a potentially solid incoming swell.

Meanwhile, the annual Surf Art Show is having its opening weekend at Laughleton Gallery, my good friends John and Judith Brannen's somewhat hidden gem. It is my favourite annual event in our little surf community. Surfers making art. Artists, who may have never ridden a wave in their lives, making sea and surf oriented art. It is a humble and beautiful celebration of creativity and life by and in the sea. So many of the pieces are stunning this year. There is a lot of whimsy as well, which the surf world could often use a bit more of. The show is hosted in Judith's gallery, where she spends her days creating beautiful and meditatively representative pieces of Eastern Shore art. As always, Propeller John has supplied a couple of kegs of hoppy goodness.

The beer is only there for this weekend, but the show runs until the end of October. Go see what some of your mates can create when not wrapped in neoprene.

OURS!!!

2011-09-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was out for an evening surf at the most populous break in these parts, on a not-so-heavily populated night. Beautiful chest high waves. Light offshores. Sun shining. I was paddling back out as a guy paddles into a nice walled up one. Someone, who looked as though they were in the early days of their surfing journey, did a five point turn about 100 feet down the line, and then started to splash and kick in an attempt to catch the same wave as the one already being ridden.

Already-standing-up guy proceeded to angrily yell, "MINE! MINE!"

I sat on the corner of the point for a while, where I was happily picking off the ones swinging wide, perfect for logging. I sat there laughing at how absurd it seems to ride a wave while yelling "MINE!" at someone else.

A couple of minutes later one of those wide ones swung through. I faded and then hooked into the pocket. As I began a stroll to the nose a fellow surfer looked me in the eye, turned, and dropped into the wave. I gave an "Accgghhh! Acggghhhh!" Granted, I was proudly perched with 5 toes (never 10 for me, only 5) over and a beautiful 50 foot section laid out before me, but my "accgghhh!" wasn't much different than a loud "Mine!". The dropper-inner did a couple of turns and kicked out.

I slowly paddled my log back out while trying to extract another log from my eye.

what are you looking at?

2011-09-10T18:33:00.000-07:00

kicking for points with no one around

2011-09-10T17:12:00.000-07:00

I spent a good 10 years of my life playing the sport of rugby, chasing an odd shaped ball around a finely manicured lawn wearing short shorts, a collared shirt, socks pulled smartly up to my knees. I loved to play that sport, and I still love to watch the game. I played fly half for most of my playing days, and one of the responsibilities that often falls to the #10 position is kicking.

The house I grew up in was really close to my team's home field. On days when I didn't have practice or a game, I would often ride my bike to the park with 2 or 3 balls in my backpack. And then I would kick. Sometimes for a couple of hours. Alone. Place the ball in the tee. Line up. 3 steps back. One step to the left. Breath deep. Kick. Multiplied 2 or 3 times. Then run to retrieve the balls. Repeat. For a couple of hours...and I never became a great points kicker. I was good at kicking for touch. In fact, I was good at most facets of the game. But the part of the game that I practiced the most, kicking for points, was always the weakest part of my game. It wasn't even that I was just OK. I just wasn't that good.

It is said that practice makes perfect. Another bullshit saying in an attempt to get kids to practice piano even though they would rather be playing the drums. Well, practice doesn't always make perfect. I know this for sure, because there are some things in life that I have practiced a lot and have only become slightly competent in. But as the Rugby World Cup has been starting up the past couple of days I have found myself thinking more about those late afternoons in the park than the tries I scored. I have found myself thinking about lacing up my rugby boots on the baseball bleachers. Doing a couple of warm-up laps while tossing a ball in the air. The stillness of setting up for a kick. The long shadows of the cedar trees. The slow jog to pick up the balls settled in the grass. The being alone with this awareness, in my teenage mind, that my practice wasn't really making me that much better at what I was practicing. While not a lot came of that time spent in the park with regard to my rugby skills, I now think that they were some of my most important times as a teenager. I realize now, that there in the park - alone, kicking wide or short more than through the uprights - I learned to be alone with my limitations, to admit that there were some things that I just wasn't going to be good at...and this is OK.

Another thing that is said - you can't be good at everything. I think this one is true. But there may still be some good in practicing those things anyways that we aren't ever going to be all that good at.

Today

2011-08-13T17:35:00.002-07:00

Today my wife made little peach custard pies. She was beautiful while she did so. I love my wife. Today my 21 month old daughter was pushed shoreward a few times by waves while sitting on a surfboard. She was beautiful while she did so. She later chose not to nap, so I put her in the bike trailer and we went for a ride. She soon fell asleep and her head flopped all over the place. She was beautiful while she did so. I love my little girl.

The other day our house nearly flooded. My neighbours have water pumps and hoses. I loved them before they allowed me to use said pumps and hoses. I love them more so now.

Today and the other day and many days before that carpenter ants have been eating our house. They are so shiny and black. They seem to be getting bigger, which makes me uncomfortable as I imagine them eating the studs that hold our house up. I don't really like ants.

Life is full of ants that eat our houses and beauty and good food and daughters that fall asleep in bike trailers after playing at the beach and floods and neighbours with water pumps.

yes

2011-08-13T17:35:00.001-07:00

This is from the Surly blog. I agree.

Some answers to just about any bike forum post I’ve ever read

If you think your bike looks good, it does.

If you like the way your bike rides, it’s an awesome bike.

You don’t need to spend a million dollars to have a great bike, but if you do spend a million dollars and know what you want you’ll probably also have a great bike.

Yes, you can tour on your bike – whatever it is.

Yes, you can race on your bike – whatever it is.

Yes, you can commute on your bike – whatever it is.

26” wheels or 29” or 650b or 700c or 24” or 20” or whatever – yes, that wheel size is rad and you’ll probably get where you’re going.

Disc brakes, cantis, v-brakes, and road calipers all do a great job of stopping a bike when they’re working and adjusted.

No paint job makes everyone happy.

Yes, you can put a rack on that. Get some p-clamps if there are no mounts.

Steel is a great material for making bike frames - so is aluminum, carbon fiber, and titanium.

You can have your saddle at whatever angle makes you happy.

Your handlebars can be lower than your saddle, even with your saddle, or higher than your saddle. Whichever way you like it is right.

Being shuttled up a downhill run does not make you a weak person, nor does choosing not to fly off of a 10 foot drop.

Bike frames made overseas can be super cool. Bike frames made in the USA can be super cool.

Hey, tattooed and pierced long shorts wearin flat brim hat red bull drinkin white Oakley sportin rad person on your full suspension big hit bike – nice work out there.

Hey, little round glasses pocket protector collared shirt skid lid rear view mirror sandal wearing schwalbe marathon running pletscher two-leg kickstand tourist – good job.

Hey, shaved leg skinny as hell super duper tan line hear rate monitor checking power tap train in the basement all winter super loud lycra kit million dollar wheels racer – keep it up.

The more you ride your bike, the less your ass will hurt.

The following short answers are good answers, but not the only ones for the question asked – 29”, Brooks, lugged, disc brake, steel, Campagnolo, helmet, custom, Rohloff, NJS, carbon, 31.8, clipless, porteur.

No bike does everything perfectly. In fact, no bike does anything until someone gets on it to ride.

Sometimes, recumbent bikes are ok.

Your bikeshop is not trying to screw you. They’re trying to stay open.

Buying things off of the internet is great, except when it sucks.

Some people know more about bikes than you do. Other people know less.

Maybe the person you waved at while you were out riding didn’t see you wave at them.

It sucks to be harassed by assholes in cars while you’re on a bike. It also sucks to drive behind assholes on bikes.

Did you build that yourself? Awesome. Did you buy that? Cool.

Wheelies are the best trick ever invented. That’s just a fact.

Which is better, riding long miles, or hanging out under a bridge doing tricks? Yes.

Yes, you can break your collar bone riding a bike like that.

Stopping at stop signs is probably a good idea.

Driving with your bikes on top of your car to get to a dirt trail isn’t ideal, but for most people it’s necessary.

If your bike has couplers, or if you have a spendy bike case, or if you pay a shop to pack your bike, or if you have a folding bike, shipping a bike is still a pain in the ass for everyone involved.

That dent in your frame is probably ok, but maybe it’s not. You should get it looked at.

Touch up paint always looks like shit. Often it looks worse than the scratch.

A pristine bike free of dirt, scratches, and wear marks makes me sort of sad.

A bike that’s been chained to the same tree for three years caked with rust and missing parts makes me sad too.

Bikes purchased at Wal-mart, Target, Costco, or K-mart are generally not the best bang for your buck.

Toe overlap is not the end of the world, unless you crash and die – then it is.

Sometimes parts break. Sometimes you crash. Sometimes it’s your fault.

Yes, you can buy a bike without riding it first. It would be nice to ride it first, but it’s not a deal breaker not to.

Ownership of a truing stand does not a wheel builder make.

32 spokes, 48 spokes, 24 spokes, three spokes? Sure.

Single speed bikes are rad. Bikes with derailleurs and cassettes are sexy. Belt drive internal gear bikes work great too.

Columbus, TruTemper, Reynolds, Ishiwata, or no brand? I’d ride it.

Tubeless tires are pretty cool. So are tubes.

The moral of RAGBRAI is that families and drunken boobs can have fun on the same route, just maybe at different times of day.

Riding by yourself kicks ass. You might also try riding with a group.

Really fast people are frustrating, but they make you faster. When you get faster, you might frustrate someone else.

Stopping can be as much fun as riding.

Lots of people worked their asses off to build whatever you’re riding on. You should thank them.

story

2011-07-18T09:10:00.000-07:00

"When you can state the theme of a story, when you can separate it from the story itself, then you can be sure the story is not a very good one. The meaning of a story has to be embodied in it...A story that is any good can't be reduced, it can only be expanded. A story is good when you continue to see more and more in it, and when it continues to escape you." - Flannery O'Connor, Mystery and Manners.

in my head

2011-07-17T04:12:00.000-07:00

I don't know how it works for others, but music and surfing can't be separated for me. There is a constant, and usually repetitive, soundtrack playing in my head while in the water. There are also certain artists and songs that when heard on dry land make my mind wander to places in the sea that I can feel. Admittedly, as little ACE slides into toddler-hood, some of those songs in my head while in the sea have changed to repetitive songs about the moon and dinosaurs and baby belugas, but the core remains the same.

I often wonder how the music that one associates with surfing, or listens to on the way to the beach, influences the way one surfs...or at least the way one desires to surf. A constant for me while in the water is "Look At What The Light Did Now" by Little Wings. It seems to pop up at some point in every surf. Yesterday morning as I rode my log near home that song was constant, the sun chasing a dark band of clouds up from the horizon and across the sky. At home, or in the car, any time I listen to Sam Prekop I feel a need to be in the ocean. I can't put my finger on what it is about his music, but I hear it and all I want to do is surf.

Mysterious song and sea.

memory #1

2011-07-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

I remember when I decided to start smoking to deal with a broken heart. The warning on the first cigarette pack I bought said, "Warning: Smoking causes heartbreak."

homes

2011-07-08T20:06:00.000-07:00

ACE digging holes with clam shell shovels on Crescent Beach, just as I did on that beach when I was her age.

It was good to be home in BC for a few days. Lake swims and beach beers. Family and old friend times. Big trees and close mountains.

And it is good to be home on the Eastern Shore tonight. Standing in silence with friends on their back deck watching the firebugs ignite and re-ignite. Eating dinner while watching cows grazing a few feet from where a small swell tumbles into the land.

Home is here and there in different ways, but mostly where we are together.

glide

2011-06-21T16:46:00.000-07:00

"There is nothing - absolutely nothing - half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats." - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows.

A few nights ago Lisa and I were out for a bike ride while Grandma and Grandpa hung out with little ACE. We were talking about life as it is and how we would like it to be. At one point Lisa said, "...it would be nice to have a boat to row in the harbour."

I have loved boats as long as I can remember. I have dreamed of crossing oceans in my own sailboat. I have been the first mate on a topsail schooner. I sailed from Victoria to Mexico when I was 18. I remember thinking I may never return home unless a crew position lands me back in B.C. I have owned my own little sailboat, that owned me in a lot of ways. I spent summers cruising the Gulf and San Juan Islands on my parent's boats. I love the lines of almost any boat. A long overhang on the stern of sailboat. The sharp, purposed bow of a tug. There is something that tugs at places deep when I see a boat being driven to windward on a close reach.

Tonight a boat has ended up in our yard. It isn't ours, but it is mine to fix up and ours to row about the shore for a while. She is a 16' Whitehall pulling boat that my good friend John made years ago. It has been growing moss as it hid under a deck. The gel coat is a bit scaly, kind of like a sun scorched tourist on the plane home from Cancun. The floor boards and thwarts are in need of some repair...but Whitehalls row with the flick of a wrist and run forever after a good pull. Boats, like most everything, don't need to be pretty to be beautiful.

Summer has come to the Eastern Shore, and Three Fathom Harbour will soon be graced with click of oars in their locks while ACE drags a hand in the sea. Love, we have a boat to row in the harbour.

father

2011-06-19T13:15:00.000-07:00

My dad floating in the British Virgin Islands.

I love this man.

A dreamer, doer, hugger, encourager, reads Proverbs all the time, a man who can cry. And a floater...I am pretty sure he could fall asleep while floating in the sea.

Happy Father's Day to all those great father's in my life - my dad-in-law Lou, Andrey, Rod, Tim, Nathan, Jason, Jackson, Ricardo...I could go on.

commune

2011-06-18T18:06:00.000-07:00

One Saturday a month Lisa and I sell the coffee that I roast - french pressed and whole bean -and Lisa's chocolate croissants at the Seaforth Market, just a few minutes up the road. It is one of the things that really makes me appreciative of where we live. Neighbours and friends (not that those are exclusive to each other) selling what they make or grow. A lot of the sales are to each other, and there is usually some trading that goes on. It is is three hours of our community being together, celebrating what we can do and make for ourselves and for each other.

These mornings always seem to swell to significant stress levels just prior to market as we realize that we (usually I) left a scale or timer or some other necessity at home, and I swerve around corners muttering under my breath. But they always end in gratefulness.

Thanks Seaforthians.

Date Night

2011-06-18T18:01:00.000-07:00

"Whenever I see an adult on a bicycle, I have hope for the human race." - H.G. Wells

World Ocean Day

2011-06-08T19:21:00.000-07:00

Greasy food and beer with family by the sea. Stella the dog digging holes and swimming. A quick surf in tiny waves. The little one digging around, chasing waves, getting sand in her mouth. A good end to World Ocean Day 2011.

new song

2011-06-07T09:28:00.000-07:00

Lisa and I have never had a wind chime out here at our place. We both love them, but the wind and the weather don't treat things well that swing in the wind. Our Mom and Dad just gave us this beautiful and sturdy wind bell made by Maine Lobsterman, Jim Davidson. The north wind today is causing a random, echoing song.

rainy days.

2011-06-07T09:25:00.000-07:00

some days.

2011-05-30T19:11:00.000-07:00

Sleep in. Family trip to our favourite coffee shop. Espresso and Clever. Friends. Big plans in the works? Dad surfs with good mate J. Mom surfs with neighbour Shannon. Beautiful logging waves. Sun. NPR Tiny Desk Concerts. Coffee on the deck, looking at the stars, while the little one slumbers.

Some days burn the fog away.

beat

2011-05-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

The days and weeks have felt too short for the past couple of months. Little time to just sit, look at the grass growing, remember, dream, conjure up some new plan. A rhythm has been hard to find recently, rhythm with self and God and the sea, which inevitably leads to difficulty in getting into rhythm with others. It feels like this weather has been creeping into my soul. Fog and mildew settling on stuff inside.

I found myself in the sea at first light this morning. 5:15 am. A morning when the waves were heard before being seen, a damp fog hanging on the coast. Pulse and lull. Paddle. Sit. See. Turn and go. Home by 7:30.

take heart

2011-04-30T12:18:00.000-07:00

We are spending some days in Appalachia with the family, in a big cabin in the mountains. We are just a few minutes away from Asheville, North Carolina, birthplace of Thomas Wolfe.

"Child, child, have patience and belief, for life is many days, and each present hour will pass away. Son, son, you have been mad and drunken, furious and wild, filled with hatred and despair, and all the dark confusions of the soul - but so have we. You found the earth too great for your one life, you found your brain and sinew smaller than the hunger and desire that fed on them - but it has been this way with all men. You have stumbled on in darkness, you have been pulled in opposite directions, you have faltered, you have missed the way, but, child, this is the chronicle of the earth. And now, because you have known madness and despair, and because you will grow desperate again before you come to evening, we who have stormed the ramparts of the furious earth and been hurled back, we who have been maddened by the unknowable and bitter mystery of love, we who have hungered after fame and savored all of life, the tumult, pain, and frenzy, and now sit quietly by our windows watching all that henceforth never more shall touch us - we call upon you to take heart, for we can swear to you that these things pass."

— Thomas Wolfe (You Can't Go Home Again)

practice

2011-04-12T08:48:00.000-07:00

Little ACE gracefully making the trip to hang ten toes over. Dad pretty pleased by it all.

abundance

2011-04-07T18:46:00.000-07:00

What you can't see on the other side of the dune that little ACE is running up is a beautiful logging wave being groomed by light offshores. A couple of friends were in the carpark about to head out for a few slides. Lisa was slinging chowders and beers while ACE and I played in the tall grass by the sea. Stella ran around flushing birds. The sun shone down and made the ocean look just right.

We don't have a lot of money. In fact, I would say that we have just enough. By just enough I mean that we don't really have money for new socks or underwear, but we never go hungry. It would be nice to have a bit more, so that we could give more away and maybe re-shingle the house and have a few less conversations late at night that make the dog pace. On the day captured in the photo above I remember sensing how rich our life is. A healthy beautiful kiddo, an honest and growing marriage, a house by the sea, an abundant quiver of friends, some food in the fridge, loving families on both Lisa's and my side, a constant supply of fresh coffee, work that neither of us want to avoid.

Summer is coming so socks can wait, but we may have to eat less cheese for the sake of underwear.

early

2011-04-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

Struggling to keep the house warm today. SSW wind sneaking into the house while the wood just seems to disintegrate in the stove. It is that time of year. Spring yesterday, and back to winter today. I sat in the ocean at sunrise yesterday, all alone. A competition had people lining the bluff the prior evening. No one on the bluff and no one in the sea this morning as I caught my first few waves. It was the first early morning of the year that I could feel the sun warming my back through my wetsuit. While the surf can be inconsistent at best this time of year, I love the lengthening days, the early alarm and the sneaking out of the house trying not to wake Lisa, pulling up to the beach at first light to see that Ricardo has already paddled out after his drive to the beach from town, returning home and having the coffee made as Lisa stumbles into the kitchen.

power/weakness

2011-03-16T16:33:00.001-07:00

oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil. oil...

Japan

2011-03-15T09:59:00.000-07:00

A surfer has a first-hand understanding of the ocean that few others do. We have seen and felt boards snap. We have been pushed so deep that the world starts to go black as you wonder exactly where the air has gone and when it will be available again. We have felt our bodies fold in half the way bodies aren't supposed to fold in half as we somersault beneath. But I never imagined that water could be as powerful and destructive as it was in Japan. I can't watch it anymore. I get shaky, a bit queasy. Big boats being squashed like pop cans. Whole houses being ripped off their foundations and floating down what was a street, looking more like the paper boats I used to send down the ditch then a collection of wood and metal and stone and dreams. I groan, not pray, for Japan today.

solid

2011-03-10T19:34:00.001-08:00

I took this from our back deck a couple of weeks ago. That is a big wave out there.

smelling roses and sighting birds

2011-03-10T19:23:00.000-08:00

Now that the little one has found her full on walking independence, the pace of a walk up the street has changed significantly. This afternoon Annika and I walked about 100 metres up the road and back...in half an hour. It felt like living in a Family Circus comic strip, swirls of dotted lines all over the neighbourhood. I loved every dot of the line, all that wonder in those blue eyes.

Perspective

2011-03-08T18:51:00.000-08:00

I have never really understood prom dresses. I have never seen one I liked, and they seem to turn most girls into uncomfortable looking imitations of Snow White. But girls seem to like them. A few days ago I found myself in a dress shop, shimmering pink and purple and electric blue gowns with puffy shoulders hung like costumes in a back room at Disneyland. Lisa was next door getting her new glasses fitted and Annika had wandered into the store. She was loving it. Mirrors and shimmery fabrics and rainbows everywhere.

After some time wandering about, Annika walked over to a contest box for a fitness centre, the type of ballot box with the pen attached by a spiral cord like on a telephone. Annika immediately held the pen up to her ear and said, "Hi! Hi! Hi!" She had the girls working in the store in the palm of her hand. They exclaimed, "Look how smart she is! She thinks the pen is a phone!" I agreed. Of course I think my daughter is a smart little thing...but then as I was walking out of the store I realized that thinking a pen is a phone is not smart at all. What would the girls have said if I picked up the pen and said, "Hi! Hi! Hi!" into it? Parenting and cute little kids can be the land of ridiculous lenses.

habitual

2011-02-24T17:03:00.000-08:00

It has been flat for a few days now. Truly flat. Early August flat in February. Tonight the wind is rattling the range hood vent as a change blows through and the promise of some swell whistles around the house. It is a strange habit to walk to the same place every morning and look out to sea - search for some white out on the headlands, strain to see bumps rippling along the horizon - when you know full well that the sea is flat and will be for a few more days. But I find myself there each day as the sun arrives. Even if only for a few seconds. I have already checked from the upstairs window. I know what I will see. But with walking the dog as my excuse I extend my neck as I near the shore to see what I know I will see. There is a Haitian proverb that you should take 10 deep breaths of the sea every day. At least.

Fox hunt today?

2011-02-23T17:26:00.001-08:00

I was in a coffee shop today, doing some work, when I looked up towards the counter. Standing in line were 5 women, who as far as I could tell, did not know each other. They were all wearing pretty much the exact same thing. Black tights. A skirt. A fitted wool coat...and those knee high black leather boots. I looked outside to see where they had tied up their horses. No horses. Just SUV's.

getting it by missing it

2011-02-07T13:43:00.000-08:00

I felt the wind shift as I was throwing my boards in the car. It had been WNW all day. Now it had swung SW as I loaded up. "I think I missed it", I said to Lisa as I jumped in the car. I was preparing myself for all of the notices of how I missed it as I stepped out of the car. I had my wetsuit on. I probably wouldn't have paddled out if I hadn't put my suit on at home. It was head high, but really choppy and lumpy. "Hey Mike, you missed it. It was so good up until about 15 minutes ago." I just grinned and paddled out. First guy I paddled up next to..."Hey, the wind just turned onshore."

10 minutes later I was all alone in an alive sea. Everyone blown home by the onshore winds. Head high waves carried on, peeling down the point, all textured and wobbly. There were some closeouts and some wonky double-ups, and it was a lot of good fun. The sun was starbursting through thin clouds the whole time and it was beautiful.

here

2011-01-27T16:59:00.000-08:00

I had never dreamed of a sea that steams like a simmering pot of soup or a pond that freezes a few feet from where waves line up along red mud headlands. I never thought I would actually live where I can tell the time by the tides, or live in a Canadian house without a furnace, heated only by wood. But I do tell the time by the tides and heat our house with wood alone. The ocean steams some times and this past week we skated on a pond with a view of my favourite point break.

I did dream of living in a neighbourhood where we all at least knew the names of our neighbours and people felt free to just drop by to borrow a tool or ask for help hanging drywall or to come over and look at the stars through the telescope, or where the harvests of our gardens were shared freely with wonder in our eyes at what the earth provides. We live in such a neighbourhood. It isn't perfect, and we could definitely be better neighbours. I know for certain that we have let some of our neighbours down. It seems to me that living the life we dream of is about grabbing the moments where the hope breaks through and feels solid, if only for a flash.

Lisa went for a jog yesterday. She does that a lot, but she doesn't always run with a shovel in her hands. When she returned home she told me that she had ran with a shovel so that she could clear snow off the pond. One of the neighbours saw her running and phoned over to tell us that more people were heading down with shovels. Within minutes a rink was cleared and the neighbourhood was skating. Stella the dog was chasing pucks. Annika was in her stroller wondering what was going on. Lisa was doing spins. The pre-teen neighbour boy was trying to look steady on his skates, biting his lip a lot. Everyone was chatting, catching up, and talking about bonfires and bbq's by the pond. Tomorrow night a bunch of neighbours are gathering for dinner and drinks. I have to work, but Lisa and Annika will head over. Our little island gets smaller with every storm these days, and it seems that we all keep growing closer at the same time.

pa pi mal?

2011-01-12T17:24:00.000-08:00

"What is that line in the forest? Where the jungle ends and the grass and dirt begin?" I had no idea.

It was 14 years ago. I was sitting next to the Haitian ambassador to France on a flight from Miami to Port-au-Prince. "That is the border. The jungle is the Dominican Republic. The people have stripped our land of trees for fuel." I had no idea.

"Why don't you reforest the hills?" The ambassador laughed. Quite loudly actually. And then said, "If we meet in a few weeks you will be able to answer that question yourself." I had no idea.

As the plane made its final descent I saw a tent city of sorts stretching for miles. Nearby, palm trees waved and sandy beaches were licked by wind swell, the picture of Caribbean dreams. I was hungry for both. I was essentially a tourist looking for sunsets and car crashes. I wanted to stare at both. I had no idea.

After a few days in Haiti I recall thinking to myself, "The only way for this place to rise may be for a massive amount of the population to die." Garbage and shit in the streets. Babies tied to hospital beds with ripped cloths while rats hung out in the corner, part of the deal. So many missing limbs and strange growths. Kids with no mom or dad, taking care of each other in ravine villages. I had no idea.

I spent time in a rural town. We ate mangoes everyday, picked them up off the ground. My white t-shirts were all stained from mango juice dripping off my chin. I went to the mountains and watched parrots fly and clouds drip on ridges. I had no idea.

I fell in love with the people. Technicolor smiles. Songs. Prayers. Hopes. I laughed at myself and with my Haitian friends, sleeping with my shoes on so that I could run to the outhouse in the middle of the night when my diarrhea woke me up after drinking from a well. I had no idea.

The place was full. Beauty and pain. Almost cursed, but with its blessings pushing through. I can only imagine what it is like now. I want to go back. Why? I have a few ideas and I have no idea.

spaces

2011-01-10T08:45:00.000-08:00

There was little sleep last night. Annika cried for 3 hours, from 11 until 2. No fever. No obvious signs of anything, other than the crying. This is what she has to use these days, the crying. She doesn't have a sign for "sore stomach", "I am constipated", "Damn my teeth hurt", etc. And so she cries. I imagine that we often mess up the real truth behind what we are feeling by speaking, rather than screaming and crying in the middle of the night in the arms of those we love and with whom we feel safe.

All is relatively quiet now. Annika napping. Lisa at work. Stella the dog snoring on the couch. A NW wind blowing the tops off the swell hitting the shelter island.

The calm of nap time feels more precious than usual these days. With both Lisa and I working part-time and starting a new business, life is full with a puzzle-ish schedule. A jar full of rocks where there are spaces, random and difficult to know what to do with. Some of those spaces may be people and my longing to be with them. Some are simple tasks - clean up the pile of scrap wood, chop kindling, clean the tub. Fill them or let them be spaces?

For now we are gathering the slow times close like Annika does with her blanket before a nap.

stumbling

2011-01-04T16:21:00.000-08:00

In learning, consistency is one step towards improvement. I am at least that one step away from improvement.

friend

2010-12-30T18:23:00.000-08:00

7 years ago on New Years Eve Lisa and I married. We square danced in a barn while snow gathered deep on the ground.

Amazing mother, loyal and patient and loving wife, and my best friend. Peace-bringer. An even keel. She prays when she runs and she runs a lot. Gives me perspective. She keeps it real. A beautiful soul...she also has great abs and is really good at baking.

ssshhhh...

2010-12-28T15:59:00.000-08:00

It must have been really good somewhere else today.

I don't get barrelled very often. Mainly because I am a bit of a wimp and not very committed to taking off under the lip. No choice today with the offshore winds gusting to 60 km/h. Barrel of my life followed by a couple hundred metres of racing wall. Alone. I would have gladly shared.

Stumbled home in the dark on the cobbles and boulders. Shivered in the cold. Giddy with post-tubal joy. No one around.

You should have seen all the waves I didn't surf (I think they always look more beautiful without a surfer on them anyways).

Really. It must have been good somewhere else today.

howling

2010-12-28T08:27:00.001-08:00

It looks and feels like winter out there.

other days

2010-12-23T19:35:00.000-08:00

I drove past the point on my way home from town on Wednesday. It looked as good as the point has ever looked. It was 1:30 pm. There was a bunch of coffee that needed to be roasted. I told myself that it would take a couple of hours and I would be able to run out for a dusk surf. It was my first day of full-on production roasting. I was finished at 7:00 pm. Dark. Once I started roasting I only thought of surfing twice, the two times I stepped outside and saw the waves breaking at the mouth of the harbour behind our house, manes of whitewater blowing off their tops and out to sea. I don't miss it very often, but I knew I was missing it that day. And I didn't mind. I love roasting coffee. Not as much as I love surfing, but as I said, I don't miss it very often. And that day I was roasting coffee. There have been other days, and I trust there will be more.

Thankful. Blessed. Hopeful.

I like small waves

2010-12-19T18:47:00.001-08:00

And I like big waves as well, but this weekend was about small waves. Nothing amazing, far from perfect. Just small and offshore. A fun and beautiful weekend of waves and slow times with family.

This afternoon I made the walk out to a well-known spot that isn't surfed by that many people, a point that on the good days can offer up long waves as perfect for logging as any wave anywhere. The rides were short and the waves small and a bit wobbly today. I sat close to the low tide rock and took off in the little suck-up. While the waves weren't remarkable, the erosion from the past couple of storms is definitely remarkable. Just a year ago the walk out to the point would end in a last minute surf check from a bluff. Not a big bluff, but big enough that the sea never washed over it. There was a bit of grass to sit on, a post that some people tied their dogs to while they surfed. Some of the long-timers have told me that only a couple of decades ago this bluff was a legitimate headland. As of this past week that bluff is gone. Just cobblestones and a small patch of red earth. I know the stuff of these headlands ends up somewhere, but these headlands aren't coming back any time soon.

I like big waves and I like small waves, but it seems to me that the big ones aren't so kind to our shores.

(the picture above is not the spot with the missing bluff...but another spot where the land is disappearing, where rounded rocks make up the high spots not long ago covered in grass)

beachcombing

2010-12-18T17:53:00.000-08:00

I don't think any human hand could make a christmas tree ornament more beautiful than this.

emptiness

2010-11-30T14:55:00.000-08:00

After surfing really good logging waves for two days straight - either alone or with my mate J - I spent the afternoon watching beautiful waves peeling down points on opposite sides of the bay. Lefts and rights all day long. Offshore winds. And no one surfing them. Beautiful. Just waves and sunlight and red mud headlands.

Annika is in bed early and now it is time for sweet potato and black bean burritos and some McAusland Oatmeal stout.

romance

2010-11-26T15:53:00.000-08:00

Thrift is the really romantic thing;

economy is more romantic than extravagance...

thrift is poetic because it is creative;

waste is unpoetic because it is waste...

if a man could undertake to make use of all the things in his dustbin,

he would be a broader genius than Shakespeare."

- G. K. Chesterton

"taller than trees/and brighter than starlight"

2010-11-23T07:54:00.000-08:00

To those who aren't Damien Jurado fans I am guessing that his most recent album, "Saint Bartlett", will just sound like more of the same. And I suppose I get it, but I can't get enough of this album these days.

I am guessing we all have artists that we rarely grow tired of listening to. Damien Jurado has been one of those for me for at least 10 years. I often find myself laying on the floor as I listen to an album of his from start to finish. These collections of short stories, dark and shadowed, the odd ache of hope, the melancholic reality, keep me coming back. My favourite is still "Waters Ave", but this new one is working its way into constant play.

kooks

2010-11-20T15:54:00.000-08:00

Went for a bike ride today. 1 degree. Strong winds. Sleet. Felt good to spin a bit, but I must admit that I was a bit miserable. As I was riding I started thinking back to my first surf trips to Oregon. The wind and the rain.

Those trips were magic. We would drive through the night and arrive for first light. None of us owned our own board so we would just pull up and stare at the ocean for a while as daylight broke, waiting for the surf shop to open. Every time I go into a surf shop now, I go back to those days. That smell of neoprene and wax was what I had dreamed of as a kid. And all of those little white boards. Riding them seemed so unattainable.

We would pile the car high with Bics, 5 or 6. You know the look. We surfed anywhere there was beach access. Spots? Didn't know about them. Onshore. Sideshore. Offshore. Didn't matter. Wave models? Swell forecasts? Buoy reports? Hadn't heard of them. We just surfed. Reforms all day long. By the end of the day our calves would be sore from hopping in chest deep water for four hours straight. There was no way we were going to make it outside, so we would just stand and wait for a reform with a clean face.

But every once in a while one of us would find a rare and odd lull in the wind swell and paddle like mad to get outside, not really knowing what we would do if we would make it there. Sometimes one of us would make it. I remember sitting out there scared of sharks and catching a wave, wishing I had kept hopping around in the whitewater. When we did catch a wave we would ride the wave until our fins crunched the sand and we could step off on dry beach as the wave receded. We hooted and our friends hooted. We were surfing. We were kooks. And it was magic.

yeah, but he walks up the stairs

2010-11-20T15:50:00.000-08:00

Perspective...more evidence that we all view the possibilities of this world through different lenses.

house & home

2010-11-19T07:03:00.000-08:00

Annika moved into her first box fort today. I love my memories of building and playing in forts of all sorts and sizes. The property that I grew up on had a decent sized forest in the front yard. We filled it full of forts. Big triple decker forts. Small platform forts way up in the crotch of a tree. Forts with slides and poles as exits. Good suburban kids developing a passion for land development at an early age.

sightlines

2010-11-16T07:28:00.001-08:00

As I was grabbing my bike out of the shed yesterday I could see, through a gap between the house and the roastery, a crumbly east swell lazily rolling down the point. One of the things I love about our property is the way that different views of the sea still surprise me after a few years here. The calm harbour. The lined-up points. The swell exploding off the rocks on the shelter islands. I am continuously thankful for a life lived by and in the sea.

Lisa and I went out to hear some live music last night. Grandma and Grandpa lovingly spent the evening with ACE. It was so nice to sit in the warm confines of The Carleton, just the two of us at at a table with some wine and good food and unhindered conversation. Lisa and I have never really gone on "dates." We have ran and surfed and hiked and rode our bikes together. We have spent hours walking by the sea. We saw no need for dates. It honestly kind of felt like our life was one big date. But now with the three of us we are realizing that a little intentionality may be a good thing. It certainly was last night.

some days

2010-11-13T15:17:00.000-08:00

It felt like summer today. Annika and I played barefoot on the sun-warmed rocks while Lisa surfed decent sized lined up rights. I got out with a couple of friends earlier as the tide pushed in and the swell increased. The sea was blue again after a couple of weeks of brown and grey. Some days I know that life can't get much better.

365 days

2010-11-09T16:04:00.001-08:00

A year ago, pretty much to the minute, my little daughter started her journey in this world. This girl with the brightest eyes and the wild hair and the quick smile has redefined love for me. The two babies that we never met have been on my heart today as well. So much mystery and madness, light and darkness, spread through out all of the magic of this life.

I thought I would write about my surf this morning, as it was pretty all-time. But sitting here thinking back about the last year and the gift of our little girl, I realize that while I hope for many more decades of early morning surfs with a friend or two, I would give up a lot more than surfing for this little one. Surfing is one of the good things in my life, but Annika is so much better...although, surfing a mellow point with Annika and Lisa?

baby steps

2010-11-01T16:57:00.001-07:00

It feels like this has been a long time coming. The foundation was poured three months ago and the roastery was framed that weekend. And then I have slowly picked away at jobs with the help of friends and my father-in-law. The old (but refurbished) Diedrich roaster from California, waits patiently for some action...and now I am waiting on trades. Ducting and then propane hook-up. I am holding off on our first big green bean purchase until the roaster is completely operational, but we have been sampling like crazy. We are so stoked to start getting coffee into Eastern Shore mugs.

With Lisa back at work now I have been spending way more alone time with Annika. The kid is so much fun. It seems like every day is a new game or discovery or skill attained. She really rarely stops moving, which is resulting in a dramatic increase in bails and head bonks. And she isn't even walking yet. We are in no rush for that, but some friends gave us their little Fisher Price walker and now I have a feeling it is only a matter of days until we have a walking child in our life. She navigated that thing around the house all day long with the hugest, self-satisfied grin on her face. It is an amazing thing to watch a little human develop so rapidly in so many ways.

new arrival

2010-10-21T17:22:00.001-07:00

A new little grom arrived on the Eastern Shore late last week. Congrats Jason and Deb on the birth of Lylah Kenedy Van Meer. Such beauty.

dry

2010-10-14T18:00:00.000-07:00

The well is empty tonight. Literally. We have no water. This is the third time in 4 years, 2nd time in a month, that we have run out of water. I love life on this little island, but the water realities get me down at times. If we used copious amounts - or even "regular" amounts - of water I wouldn't be as annoyed by running out every once in a while. We don't drink our water. Lisa and I each rarely shower more than 3 times a week. We only flush the toilet when we have to. We do laundry at our parent's house. We use very little water. And tonight the well is dry.

For most of my life I have just turned on the tap giving little thought to where our water comes from. Cold? Take a 20 minute hot shower. No problem. The house I grew up in had an indoor pool. That pool probably used significantly more water in a year than Lisa and I have in the four years in our house.

What other resources in my everyday life do I regularly approach with daft ignorance?

in the backyard

2010-10-04T15:39:00.000-07:00

a good month

2010-09-25T07:46:00.000-07:00

The sea is relatively calm today, and so is our home. Stella the dog is snoring on the couch, Annika is napping upstairs, and Lisa is heading out for a run. Our little piece of the Atlantic has looked like a lake the past couple of days, beautiful and alluring in a different way than the swell-stacked sea of a week ago, and I am OK with this calm for now. The consistency of our winter swell season seems close at hand.

The changing of the seasons is once again coinciding with some significant change in our lives. Lisa is heading back to work a few hours a week. I am starting a new job. Together Lisa and I are starting a new business as well. We are growing used to change, as it seems the norm in our lives, but the mystery and questions and doubts of it still demand a deliberate focus to ensure that these things do not cloud the hope and opportunity and dream of what these changes may mean. As we try to navigate parenthood and work and life with our neighbours and friends, holding tight to our commitment to being as present as possible to our daughter, the pushes and pulls are many, but we feel that this is the path for us. It is the longer route to paying off debt and pursuing some other dreams, but we trust and hope that there will be time and space for those things at other stages of life. The dream of a simple life by the sea seems engaging enough right now.

so good

2010-08-30T18:45:00.000-07:00

It doesn't get much better than the past three days. Warm water. Warm air. Long period swell. A driveway and yard that was a revolving door of friends full of smiles and stories and stoke to just get in the water again. A beautiful dinner at J & D's last night. Lisa and I were able to surf together for a couple of hours on Saturday while Grandma and Grandpa watched Annika. Lisa got out alone again today while Grandma and Grandpa were on duty again.

Tonight I grabbed what seems to be the last push of this swell. It was just me and neighbour H trading glassy chest-high waves. Lisa took photos and kept Annika and Stella from eating too many rocks or mouths of sand while I watched the sunset from the sea, and then we slowly walked home. Dinner was late and good and quiet.

This past weekend was some of the best of what hurricane season can bring. It looks like this upcoming weekend may not be so friendly. Batten down the hatches.

Summer, don't go.

2010-08-21T16:50:00.000-07:00

This morning Lisa and I slowly rode our bikes up the road to witness the wedding of our friends Tricia and Taro. Lisa looked gorgeous riding her bike in her old brown dress and the sun was shining warm and bright across the sea. The wedding was in T and T's yard. They were calm and full of joy. Just them, Lisa and I, and Judith officiating. Afterwards we sat and drank champagne on the couch while the papers were signed. Simple. Beautiful. We just arrived home from the reception, rode our bikes slowly with Annika in her trailer, a couple of drinks under our belts.

Between the wedding and the reception, after my dad-in-law helped me with the ongoing project around here, I ran out for some surprise right-handers at the little cobblestone point. The water was warm and the waves were really fun. I dove deep between sets and drifted through the sea grass. When I paddled out it was just neighbour "Propeller" John and Grandpa Paul paddling into waves with his grandkids on the front of an old windsurfer. I was soon alone again in one of my favourite spots of solitude.

As I sat alone I was thinking back to the suburban days of my youth, when we would sit on the beach thinking, “we could try and blow the island up.” To a bunch of suburban, adolescent skaters not yet old enough to drive, Vancouver Island seemed like more of an obstruction than an opportunity. Large amounts of explosives seemed like the only way we would ever achieve a surfing life. We knew that there were waves out there somewhere, but they seemed distant. We would sit on the beach after an afternoon of skimboarding, realizing that this was just another stand in for what we were really longing for. At times skating was just skating, but often it was imitation and longing. Oxford Street was our Waimea and Baxter’s Hill our Puerto. We dreamed of a surfing life, not really knowing what that meant, but sensing that it was something worthy of pursuit.

Now six thousand kilometers away from those shores, I no longer am looking to plant explosives in any islands. I feel like I live a fortunate life. Every morning I pull back the curtain while still under the covers to see what the surf looks like. I am kept awake at night by the sound of cobbles rolling up and down the shore under the influence of a big swell. There are stretches where I will surf a few times in a week without ever getting in my car. I am living the dream of that 13 year old, but it is way better than I thought (and my surfing is nowhere near as impressive as I pictured it would be). It is life by the sea with my wife and daughter and dog, and it is a good life.

But I surf alone quite often, which has shaped my surfing life more than anything else. For most surfers in the world, a solo session is something rare. It has its limitations, and there are definitely moments when I question the safety of surfing alone on a foggy day when the water hovers near freezing. But I suppose I would rather ask those questions alone in the midst of it than alone on the beach.

For me surfing alone is the norm, and has taught me that I am actually never alone. You see more and different things when surfing alone. You have time to watch more waves, to quietly observe the way three different swell directions indicate their arrival further up the point. It is easier to let a set slip beneath you so that you can watch the sun set for another couple of minutes. Surfing alone has taught me that the actual riding of waves is just a part of the surfing equation. The gifts are much greater than that.

And then there is that presence. I call it God – call it Mother Nature, ego, a deeper sense of self, God, whatever you want, it may be a combo of these things – and I don’t always sense this when surfing with others, but I almost always do when alone. Whatever it is, it confronts me, restores me, and has me walking back home feeling different than I did walking the opposite direction. While in my weaker moments surfing in a crowd can at times end in me walking up the beach feeling like I have lost something of myself, the opposite is often true when I surf alone. Paddling out feeling fractured and disjointed, a surf alone usually results in me feeling somehow more whole.

Looking at the models tonight I have a feeling I won't be surfing alone in a few days. Patience my friends, patience.

Gulp

2010-07-31T16:35:00.000-07:00

I was surfing at sunset last night and a tiny herring latched on to my thumb. I shook it off, and as it flew through the air it looked back at me and said, "that was for the Gulf of Mexico you oil guzzling buffoon. That may be a limestone wetsuit, but the rest of your life is wrapped in petroleum." The first part definitely occurred. Not sure about the rest.

I have had a dream day today. Sunrise surf on both the log and alaia. Got a bunch of work done here today on a little project soon to be revealed in full. Thanks to Tero for the labour, Nat for the tool loans, Mom and Dad Sawch for the helping hands and precision work on the saw. Lisa and I also got out for an afternoon surf together while Grandma and Grandpa watched the little one. It was our first surf together since Annika was born. I love surfing with that woman. Her smile while paddling out after a wave is such joy.

comings and goings

2010-07-25T03:52:00.000-07:00

His arrival has always remained a boldly written entry. Uncle Darrel slumped into the house, having left New York and a difficult marriage behind. I was too young to really understand all that was going on, but I knew that my uncle was sad. I also knew that he was cool. He wore a leather jacket and listened to Springsteen. That was cool when I was 8 years old.

I have always had a soft spot for Darrel. Smart and quick witted with a mischievous brightness in his eyes at times, more of a groundswell than a flash. Lisa and I spent some time with Darrel and Diane on the Oregon coast a few years ago. Darrel had just gone through a rough couple of years where he had been pretty low emotionally. We had a couple of skimboards with us at the beach. Darrel wasn't dressed for the beach, but I could see him eyeing up the skimboards. He eventually rolled up his the legs of his khaki pants and the sleeves of his oxford denim shirt and ran lankily through the tidepools. He ended up flat on his ass in the water with a look of great success on his face. I saw him unleashing the weight of some hard days with child-like play that day.

In the last few years I felt even more of a kinship to him as I realized that we have both been vocational nomads, following more of a career choose your own adventure than a path. Darrel hit some bumps along the way, but seemed to find harbour with his wonderful second wife Diane. He also had a long but secure tether to a faith in God.

It was about a year ago that doctors discovered Darrel's brain tumour. And a few days ago Darrel passed on from this part of the journey. My uncle with the groundswell eyes finished strong. He seemed to rise to the challenge of bravely, but not naively, facing cancer. I will miss my uncle Darrel. I loved that man.

this morning

2010-07-13T16:38:00.000-07:00

Play it by ear. Swell murmur and lip smack. In the pre-dawn middle light. On the fog-wrapped shore. Cobble song and mellow morning bird call. Horizon here and there. Closes in. Drifts away. Wave slide with soft steps. Gulls arrive and disappear. Wave slide with high trim. Cloud settled sea. Watch check and play it by the clock.

in it

2010-07-11T15:56:00.000-07:00

There were things to be seen and experienced out in that fog.

2010-07-01T11:24:00.000-07:00

After a few years of running our own business that often kept us busy on holidays, and a few recent months of little to no schedule - everyday feeling a bit like a holiday or a weekend - these days I am finding myself diving headlong into the experience of weekends and holidays. Walking slowly down our road. Smelling my daughters skin. Lingering over a cup of coffee. Sitting quietly with Lisa in the afternoon, without the need for sleep rapidly approaching. Surfing two different spots before 10:00 am. Sitting and watching the diapers dry and bleach in the wind and sun. A 2:00 pm beer. The slow days, when the clock isn't king or queen, feel enriched and also more critical. It is days like this one today that I often think of Seth's great graphic novel, It's A Good Life If You Don't Weaken, a story of coming to grips with this rapidly changing world. In the slow and the still times we find again what doesn't and won't change, some pieces of home in the tidespace.

in a mood

2010-06-21T17:11:00.000-07:00

Living where the windows frame the sea, where the tide goes about a subtle tick and tock, the ebb and flood, where the fog banks roll in through our open door. Living here puts me in a mood.

the woman has skills

2010-06-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

Lisa knows her way around the kitchen. Pain au chocolat for Father's Day. I am not feeling so hot today, sore throat, bit of a fever, my right knee is rather screwed up and not getting better as quickly as I would like. A day of watching soccer and eating croissants should help.

this time

2010-06-20T06:25:00.000-07:00

Annika and I sat for at least an hour this morning, playing the xylophone together, accompanying Choral Concert on CBC Radio 2. I found myself thinking about time and change and self and relationship. I often find myself yearning, and hear others yearning, simply for time. Time to learn another language, shape a surfboard, write a novel or even just a hand-written letter. Michael Chabon, in Manhood for Amateurs, suggests that it is more like "one damn thing after another, and often several damn things at the same time, overlapping swaths of color on the digital calendar, conflicts and cancellations, two tasks half-done badly where one might have been pulled off in style. There is never, in the words of Irish poet Tom Paulin, any 'long lulled pause/before history happens.'"

History obviously happens and is happening, and we are making pieces of history with each of our decisions. The arrival of our little daughter has found me facing this reality with more intention. It seems to me that the journey of fatherhood, parenthood, is one of discernment in the realm of selfishness and self-preservation. Seeking self-preservation so that we can be genuine in our love for our family seems to me to exist near the fine line where selfishness begins. I am not going to stop surfing.It is good for my spirit and soul and marriage and other relationships. However, I feel certain about this - twenty years from now I will not be regretting the times that I opted out on a surf to play the xylophone on the floor with my daughter.

A few years ago it became clear to me that one certain thing about relationship is that we will let others down. This may sound a bit pessimistic. I just think that it is true. I let Lisa down often, and I will let Annika down as well (and I can't imagine this, but Annika will also let me down one day). I am certain of this. But there are certain relationships where grace is given to work through, and sometimes just look past, the ways we fail each other. If there is a measure of success in relationship, I guess this is it to me. I am thankful for those who have forgiven me and hope that I continue to find the grace to do the same to others, however long and convoluted that process may be in some circumstances.

I am thankful today for the the gift of being a father, alongside my wife who is such an amazing mother. The grace and joy with which she navigates motherhood makes being a father a whole lot easier. And I am thankful for my father-in-law, who was able to raise such a wonderful woman without giving her too many of the father-daughter issues that so many women spend their lives working through. And lastly, I am thankful for my dad. A man of integrity and optimism. A big man in so many ways. A dreamer who will never stop dreaming, generous, loving, able to cry, and more often given to laughter. I hope that when Annika is my age her feelings for me are similar to those I have for him.

World Cup commentary

2010-06-18T16:05:00.000-07:00

I wish that these were my words:

I am reminded of the Monty Python sketch where Graham Chapman wrestled himself to a standstill (live at the hollywood bowl - you tube).

Unfortunately this was neither funny nor entertaining.

There were three teams on the pitch today. England: A timid, leader-less, un-coached group, who were engaged in a pitched battle with England: their own egos, their alter egos, their fears, their self doubt, the expectations of their fans, sponsors and trophy wives VS. Algeria: scampering about amongst the shadow boxing between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with pace and energy.

What Shakespearean drama - King Lear putting out his own eyes. What Pythonesque madness - the Luton Gynecologists versus the Long John Silver impersonators.

The Algerians played a good game of entertaining soccer. I liked the way they didn't defend with 10 behind the ball, they defended with speed and energy.

England is my "home" team, and I really appreciate some of the players, but someone needs to tell them that you can not play soccer on a 330' by 210' leather psychiatrist's couch.

NoSco Gold

2010-06-18T15:10:00.001-07:00

The windows and doors are open wide to the sea breezes and bug buzzing tonight. The yard is exploding with blooms, and my guess is that more will be unfolding their summer wardrobe any moment. I played on the grass with my baby girl and felt like I was the most fortunate man in the world. There is a lot of pain in this world and in this life, so much comfort and peace to be sought and offered, so many things to get angry, and maybe even stay angry, about, and so many things to shut our mouths about and try to act and make a change...and it seems to me that there are times to just lay on the grass with your daughter and think simple but maybe large thoughts.

This evening was made even better by the generosity of mom and dad Sawchenko. They delivered dinner to us tonight. Watermelon and burgers and salads and beers. Old Bob Marley is spinning and most feels well in this house tonight.

I got off work early today. A fortuitous event. On this 28 degree afternoon I found myself with a perfect bank, all mine, no one within a few hundred feet. Chest high. Light offshores. Warm air and the warming sea. The rights were long with just enough wobble in them to make it interesting.

Oh Nova Scotia. You treat us well. So much to be thankful for.

4 + 2

2010-06-12T10:45:00.000-07:00

Four boards, 2 spots. An egg, a hull, a longboard, and an alaia. All in one day. So warm. So good.

first things

2010-06-09T02:31:00.000-07:00

Morning light, a warming sea, and good company. Thanks for the surf and conversation Ricardo.

budget

2010-06-06T11:31:00.000-07:00

It was a little wet and foggy last night, but we were all itching for a walk on the beach. Our friends Dan and Petrina recently gave us a waterproof dog jacket that doesn't fit their dog Henry. It doesn't fit our dog Stella either...but it fits our daughter.

stillpoint

2010-06-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

gesundheit...

2010-06-06T09:21:00.001-07:00

The man said, "Remember, that's what surfing is - a gift. Never take it for granted. Respect the ocean. It's creatures and others that play in it. For as easy as a gift is given it can be taken away.''

I was thinking of these words from "Way of the Bird" (Andrew Kidman and Andy Davis) yesterday morning as I was sliding fun logging waves at our popular point. I am working at the hospital these days and am constantly face to face with the reality of how quickly our health can be taken away. Most of my work takes place in the ortho clinic, dealing with fractures and such, not usually much of a big deal. Breaks heal in most cases. But I am based right at the entrance to the hospital, watching streams of people with health issues - known and perhaps not yet known - looking for a bit of hope and some healing. I regularly see people so large that they can barely walk, their obesity often due to something out of their control. I stepped on to an elevator on Friday after a stretcher covered in a black bag was pushed out and down the hall. I rode that elevator down a few floors. It was permeated with the inevitable.

I was thinking of this while surfing yesterday because I was reflecting on a lot of the grumbling that goes on in our young and growing surf scene. There were just a few people out yesterday. A few good natured souls, and a couple of swivel-headed guys, barely able to balance while sitting on their little thrusters, but throwing stink-eye nonetheless, and repeatedly paddling up inside of people. As I was starting to get annoyed, I thought of the hospital and the words of the old man in Way of the Bird, and was reminded (once again) of how fortunate we are here on the Eastern Shore. Relatively clean water. An embarrassing abundance of point breaks. Comparatively small crowds. The frustrations of a somewhat immature surf community are really not that significant when we look at the big picture. I guess I am just realizing (once again) that we should just be thankful for the gift of that last wave we rode, and the health that allowed us to do so.

alaia

2010-05-22T14:19:00.000-07:00

Such a simple pleasure the alaia is. The swell was small and the winds were gentle this morning, and I was filled with such lightness as I skimmed over cobbles all alone, laughing out loud at how simple and pure and fun this thin piece of paulownia is. Prone. Standing. Backwards (not on purpose). I found myself somewhat irrationally thinking about liquidating the Janz family quiver and fully committing to the alaia. This is not going to happen, but the plank will definitely be in the car for every trip to the beach this summer.

It felt strange to be in the sea this morning after seeing so many pictures recently of the Gulf of Mexico. We often describe a smooth swell as "oily." This descriptor doesn't seem so tasteful these days. The somewhat clean sea is just one of the many things I take for granted on a daily basis. Our well line broke this week and we were without running water for 5 days. Not a big deal, but a nuisance (and our yard is a mess from the excavator), and a light shone on the fact that running water is just another thing that I take for granted. I am guessing that there are some very real conversations about things being taken for granted these days with those whose livelihood has depended on the waters of the Gulf for generations.

yet another divine drug

2010-05-13T18:00:00.000-07:00

The sea is just about as flat as a sea can be today, and the prospects look minimal and marginal over the next few days, but there is the swell of spring about. The counter is full of flowers. My shoes are stained green with the reminder of lawn cutting. The new raised vegetable beds are built and waiting to be filled with earth and fed with compost and sprinkled with seeds. More than once in the past week I have found myself wandering plant nurseries. I am not a "man born to farming," my thumbs aren't all that green, but I do often have dirt under my fingernails this time of year. At times it can feel more like a murderous pursuit, but I persist. Put the seed in earth, take care, trust and hope, see what may come.

"The grower of trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,

whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,

to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death

yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down

in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.

His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.

What miraculous seed has he swallowed

that the unending sentence of his love flows out of his mouth

like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water

descending in the dark?" - Wendell Berry, A Man Born to Farming.

the girl has wheels

2010-05-13T17:53:00.000-07:00

Perfect day for towing little Evenstar around in her chariot. Sweet ride for a sweet kid.

Post-Mother's Day

2010-05-10T17:01:00.000-07:00

Great mother, wife, and friend...and our really cute daughter.

tell me a story

2010-04-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

So many stories all around us. I am thankful for those with keen eyes to see and hear them, and the ability to tell them well. Ira Glass and his team have done this with grace and style. Lisa and I are hooked on "This American Life" these days.

weeds

2010-04-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

There is this little shack down the road from our house with this bush growing inside the storm door. I walk by it whenever I surf up the road, and often find myself pausing and just looking at it, not really knowing what to think. The woman who owns the place comes out for a couple of weeks every year and spends her time doing renovations. Last year she renovated the kitchen and built a deck. The year before she worked on the bathroom. But she has never removed that weed from the front door, and I am beginning to wonder if she even sees it anymore. That thought sends me down all kinds of pop-psychology trails.

This last swell hung around for a while, and I am guessing it gave almost everyone a chance to get out and go left or right or straight or whatever. I chose to go right at a few places. Last night was as logular as logging can be.

Anybody out there know any good tricks for getting your 5 1/2 month old to sleep for more than an hour at a time? Our champion sleeper seems like she is in transition right now and decided that sleep is no longer what the cool kids do.

Saturday-ish

2010-04-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

Some Saturdays feel more like Saturday than other Saturdays. Today was one of those that felt like a Saturday. Time seemed to stretch a bit today as the air warmed and the wind dropped. Cottage cheese pancakes in the morning. A long walk on the beach with Annika snuggled close, while Lisa surfed and Stella dug for rocks. An afternoon surf with a neighbour and then a lazy chat on the front step, barefoot, wetsuits half removed, picking up rocks between my toes. It not only felt like Saturday, but it felt a bit like summer today as well, so we made a trip to the cardiac shack for the first fish & chips of the year (doesn't it just seem proper to use the "&" sign rather than write "and" when writing fish & chips?). So greasy. So good. This little piece of coast that we call home, with all of the coastal erosion and soap opera style in-fighting thrown into the mix of beauty and diversity and generations of rootedness, sure is a paradise all its own style.

Sam-I-Am

2010-04-24T16:01:00.001-07:00

Has anyone else noticed this? Sam-I-Am duck diving his green eggs and ham? Not bad form. I was thinking that he could have his hands a bit further forward, but I am probably underestimating the weight of the ham.

Again

2010-04-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

Unemployment has its advantages. 4 days straight of really good waves, picking time of day by the tides, surfing lonely or friendly style, just me and the waves or a couple of friends. Overhead, knee high, everything in between, and always offshore...but I have grown tired of this fruitless job search. Applications, resumes, cover letters, tweaking and twisting, putting myself out there and getting nothing back. My vocational path has been unorthodox and meandering and it feels like that path has led to a dead end these days. So I am pushing and knocking and hitting send, hitting send, hitting send. Just looking to pay the bills while the next venture takes shape, and it is taking shape. Off to Vermont in a week and a half to take the next step. Stay tuned. It is going to be good. And in between I am watching the horizon, holding my beautiful daughter, sending Lisa out the door on her bike, walking quietly by the sea.

building

2010-04-18T07:44:00.001-07:00

Our quiet little island is getting busier these days as we move towards lobster season. Wharves are being repaired, traps prepared, diesel engines serviced. There is a constant flow of trucks (and a noticeable increase in the number of Tim Horton's coffee cups and beer cans on the roadside). I could do without the litter, but I love this time of year on this little piece of shifting land. The abandoned-looking shacks become warm with lamp glow in the evenings and the wharves are full of purpose.

In the past, lobster season has also meant less sleep, as we inevitably wake at 4:30 or 5:00 as the fishermen fire up their engines and head out to check their traps. We are already sleep deprived going into the season this year, so I don't think it will make much difference. Annika has changed her sleeping habits and doesn't seem to want to sleep more than 3 hours at a time. Could be worse. Could be better. But we are tired. Lisa more so than I am, but we are a collectively tired gang. Even Stella the dog seems a bit worn down by the wakings in the small hours. Lisa has been getting out more consistently for bike rides and runs, which always seems to help with the perspective.

My favourite little point offered up some magic last night. One of the joys of living right by the sea is watching a swell build from nothing. A small - but building - swell arrived last night along with an incoming tide. The sky had at least a dozen moods with hundreds of possible permutations, and all the while a consistent waist high swell was slightly rippled by a light cross shore breeze. I have been dreaming and scheming a lot lately, pacing the floors of possibility, and it felt so good to paddle across the bay, float alone, to glide and trim, to hear and see and feel it all fall away for awhile. Now I am back to the dreaming and scheming.

I want to go surfing.

2010-04-14T17:01:00.000-07:00

Critical Sliders from Nathan Oldfield on Vimeo.

If this video by my good friend Nathan Oldfield doesn't make you want to go surfing than not much will.

MacKaye's Idea

2010-04-07T12:08:00.000-07:00

We hiked a short section of the Appalachian Trail yesterday, the well-worn result of Benton MacKaye's big idea. There is always a bit of magic setting your feet on a dirt path through the woods that has been travelled by so many. We only saw a few "sectioners" yesterday, and one white-bearded, Gandalf-looking character from Maine who had made it to Georgia last year and was heading north back to Maine this year. I found myself walking along, deep in my head imagining a few months walk with Lisa and Annika, the possibility of some of the simplest days imaginable. Our boots, packs, a stove, some waterproof fabric, a lot of quiet, late night star ceiling-ed discussion, and some good socks.

Cover Shot

2010-04-01T07:50:00.001-07:00

This morning I surfed the right hander ripping down the cobbles in Yazzy's TSJ cover shot from a few years ago. When I first ripped open the envelope containing that issue of the Journal and stared in wonder at that photo. At the time I had not even considered living in Nova Scotia. Today I drove a few minutes down the road and placed myself in that photo (minus the snow) with a few friends and friendly faces enjoying long rides.

Lisa and Annika and I are heading inland for a few days, off to Virginia and Washington DC, for some old style family time. I always feel a bit anxious about leaving the sea, even just for a few days, but the return is always sweet...and a few days of hikes and board games and beer and conversation with the Philippine contingent of the clan are long overdue.

Such a good read.

2010-03-29T03:26:00.000-07:00

"Having lost his mother, father, brother, grandmother, the friends and foes of his youth, his beloved teacher Bernard Kornblum, his city, his history - his home - the usual charge levelled against comic books, that they offered merely an easy escape from reality, seemed to Joe actually to be a powerful argument on their behalf. He had escaped, in his life, from ropes, chains, boxes, bags, and crates, from handcuffs and shackles, from countries and regimes, from the arms of a woman who loved him, from airplane crashes and an opiate addiction and from an entire frozen continent intent on causing his death. The escape from reality was, he felt - especially right after the war - a worthy challenge. He would remember for the rest of his life a peaceful half hour spent reading a copy of Betty and Veronica that he had found in a service station rest room: lying down with it under a fir tree, in a sun-slanting forest outside Medford, Oregon, wholly absorbed into that primary-colored world of bad gags, heavy ink lines, Shakespearean farce, and the deep, almost Oriental mystery of the two big-toothed, wasp-waisted goddess-girls, light and dark, entangled forever in the enmity of their friendship. The pain of his loss - though he would never have spoken of it in those terms - was always with him in those days, a cold smooth ball lodged in his chest, just behind his sternum. For that half hour spent in the dappled shade of the Douglas firs, reading Betty and Veronica, the icy ball had melted away without him even noticing. That was magic - not the apparent magic of the silk-hatted card-palmer, or the bold, brute trickery of the escape artist, but the genuine magic of art. It was a mark of how f$@#ed up and broken was the world - the reality - that had swallowed his home and his family that such a feat of escape, by no means easy to pull off, should remain so easily despised." Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon.

Who does this sort of thing?

2010-03-27T13:58:00.000-07:00

These pictures aren't set up at all. Amazing. It is even more amazing that this isn't unusual. Our road, a rural, seaside, side road, seems to be the unofficial dumping ground for the excess of the lazy and ignorant. What should I do with these 5 cardboard boxes? It is Saturday and recycling day isn't until Tuesday. I guess I should go for a drive and dump them 10 feet from the ocean, right in front of a no dumping sign, on the side of the road, where people live and walk their dogs and raise their children. Or what about these 4 propane tanks? I know. I will go for a walk on that nice sandy beach and then set the tanks in the sand right by the sea. Maybe someone will be able to use them as seats while they watch the sunrise.

The worst part is that it has only just begun. Lobster season is coming which means a roadside and beach strewn with Tim Horton's cups, vodka bottles, and Wildcat cans. Time to start walking, jogging, and riding the bike with a garbage bag tucked in my pocket.

paint your own

2010-03-25T17:20:00.001-07:00

Evening glass off. Right hand point break. Two others out. Sunset. Conjure up your own picture. Just make sure it is beautiful.

Gifts

2010-03-24T15:53:00.000-07:00

Lisa and I are so often amazed that we live where we do. Yes, we chose this place as our home, but so often it feels like it chose us. The wind and the tide and the swell are right at our door. There is no ignoring life and death and shifting sand and decay when you step on or around the results on the shore every day. It was three years ago that we bought our little home, three years that have seen two babies not make it to breathe this clean air out here, and one that made it and who seems to already know how to breathe deeply of this life. There have been many tears on cheeks with regard to all three, and now so much joy with Annika Cedar Evenstar.

I got back in the water today after a couple of weeks of tending to the healing of my axe wound. It felt so good to navigate the cobblestones and paddle into that undefinable moment of every wave. I surfed a spot near home that when good is really good. It doesn't break that often, and when it does I am often alone there, as I was today. It was good when I paddled out, and it continually got better. Long rifling rights. Long enough to warrant walks back up the cobbles. Just me and some gulls and many unridden, beautiful waves. Waves that you want to watch as much as you want to surf. Waves that make me believe that riding waves is only one of the many gifts of being a surfer. It felt so good to get in the water again, and it always feels good to get waves without getting in the car, just a rock hop around the corner.

under our nose

2010-03-22T16:44:00.001-07:00

I am an incessant side road wanderer. A bike ride is an excuse to ride down side roads, looking in yards, slowly rolling down alleys, touring a not-yet finished house. I never feel like I have been to a town or city until I have walked for a few aimless hours. Because of this, I am always deeply surprised to find a gem of a road or trail really close to home that I have never walked or driven or ridden. This past weekend Lisa, Annika, Stella, and I went for a hike on the Crowbar Lakes Hiking Trails, just a few minutes from our home and a world away from our usual seaside wanderings. Alpine-feeling lakes and bluff views. Forest as far as our eyes could see. So much more, right under our nose.

to live by the sea

2010-03-18T16:14:00.001-07:00

Sunset walk tonight with the girls. The swell is dropping, as is the swelling in my hand.

irresistible

2010-03-17T12:23:00.001-07:00

Lisa had paddled half way out to our favourite point today before she noticed that Stella was right there with her. I love to be in and on and near the sea, but I think our dog Stella may love it even more.

turning to light

2010-03-17T05:08:00.001-07:00

One of those mornings when the water turns to light in the liminal land. I sit and stare.

new friends

2010-03-17T04:56:00.001-07:00

The friendship is tenuous from Stella the dog's perspective these days, but Annika can't keep her eyes off of her little fur buddy. I am guessing that Stella will find new affection for Annika once food starts dropping all over the floor.

In other news - that isn't really news - the recent swell is dropping off, and I have watched it from shore as the gash in my hand heals slowly. Geez do I want to get in the ocean right now. Sometimes that patience wears thin.

deviation

2010-03-15T14:04:00.001-07:00

There have been many walks recently, long walks, with discussions that are often longer than the walks, about which way to go. The conversations are often circular and sometimes dead ends. And yet we walk and talk and wonder. There are many ways that I appreciate my vocationally nomadic ways, but at times it can feel like such a hindrance, a drogue.

done for the day

2010-03-12T17:48:00.001-08:00

Dusk light from the back deck tonight.

foundation

2010-03-12T08:12:00.001-08:00

A wise man was once recorded as saying that it is best to build your house on solid rock.

ouch

2010-03-10T15:51:00.000-08:00

Beware the freshly sharpened axe. I had a wood chopping accident yesterday, and the throb in my left knuckle tells me I will be out of the water for a few days. Just a couple of stitches and a tetanus shot, but geez does it hurt right now. I am guessing that laying tile in the entrance will be postponed as well. Perhaps a good time to perfect my one-handed typing.