Sunday, July 28, 2024

After Death, the Wake

Bryan passed away. 

Passed this way with his wake upending our hopes he would remain longer. As a man who exuded lightness and effervescent warmth, we had assumed he had greater buoyancy and wasn’t anywhere near close to his last casting off. In his wake he left the wisdom of his advice to many a board, his stories, and a legacy of generosity. By the time I knew Bryan, he had learned to steer himself towards opportunities and friendships with an ease that maybe belied former times of tumult and uncertainty. The joy of his presence remains in his wake. 

Bryan's Island on the Right

He owned an island. He loved his island. He loved telling stories about his British Columbian island. How he noticed an ad for it, crossed over to it at low tide, and ran all the way around it before having to wade through the incoming tidal waist-deep water to get back to its larger and closest island, Lasqueti. If you imagine his island, think of it as a stone, tossed from Lasqueti. Not too small. Not too large. Just right for one man. An island, which when it was plopped into the water, set off its own wake of pleasure that one day ensnared Bryan, a lucky guy. 

Solitude was Bryan’s most constant guest on his rock, but he did invite a select few to join him in celebrating its water, eagles, old-growth forest, and its lovely sunsets. 

Photo by Bryan

With Bryan’s methodical bent, he assembled island paraphernalia. No easy feat considering one cannot take a vehicle on the small local ferry from Vancouver Island to Lasqueti. His vehicle had to be parked somewhere. Generators had to be separated from their batteries for two trips on the little ferry. Kayaks had to be scheduled for hauling. Then, some arrangement was made to haul stuff from one end of Lasqueti Island to the end closest to Bryan’s island. And then boat it over. He had no running water. No cabin… not even one built of driftwood. A screened cook tent and a sleeping tent sufficed. Visits in the winter were near impossible. The island suited Bryan and he became its custodian for many years. 

Photo by Bryan

Bryan’s choice of living mostly by himself meant his stories are archived with those he befriended. He never married—although he loved more than a few. Never fathered children. And yet it was obvious at a celebration of his life, he had birthed many stories and friendships. He left an archive of memories, a multitude of ripples.

Early in my friendship with Bryan on a morning walk along a wooded dirt road up my canyon, he told me a story from his college years. He said school came easily. He rarely studied and got straight A’s in high school. But when he got to college at the University of Colorado, he received a C on his first physic’s test. He was dismayed. He studied for his next test and earned an A. The instructor called him out, accusing him of having cheated on the second test. No one had ever before moved directly from a C to an A in his class. So Bryan provided proof. He took a friend with him as a witness. Upon arriving at the classroom where he was to meet the professor, he said nothing but went to the chalkboard and proceeded to write out the entire proof of the problem from the last test. From then on, he got A’s and became friends with the professor.

Proof. Although Bryan considered what might come after his death, he couldn’t find any proof of an afterlife. He expected none, but if there is one—knowing Bryan, he will quickly study up and insert the missing connections and excel in whatever comes next. 

Last year, when Bryan waited for the results of a biopsy (Waiting for the Results of a Biopsy), he gathered those close to him and consulted on everything he thought was essential to tidying up in case the prediction of his demise would become reality. Harry, his brother, arrived in town to assist and his friend Jen stepped in to help orchestrate details. Those of us who accompanied Bryan on his last casting off have poignant memories of his leave-taking. Of his courage and of his optimism. His exhaustion. His efforts to greet visitors, usually dressed in one of his beloved plaid shirts and with hugs. Sometimes shaky with tears. Martie, his dear friend who housed him in her little cabin in the woods his last many months, and Lori, his love, kept the rest of us apprised of his course. But Bryan was at the helm, at times confident and at other times desperately examining the charts.

The ripples of his wake haven’t entirely subsided. Those of us who knew him well can still remember him in focus. His smile sharp. His wit lingering. Back on his island, Bryan must have spent many hours over many summers sitting on some chunk of driftwood on its shore while listening to the lapping of the water, the ripples from afar. He would appreciate that we derive pleasure in having known him and still are listening to the lapping of his wake.   

Photo by Bryan





Sunday, July 7, 2024

A Dog On a Walk...

Chester on a Walk

A dog on a walk

Is like a person in love

You can't tell them

It is the same old world.

             — as seen on a sidewalk in St. Paul, Minnesota, author anonymous

Although Chester and I went on a long, long trip, his dog walks were in the same old, same old world. Every location had interesting dog smells. Every location had dogs. Every location had people. With my six million olfactory receptors compared to Chester's maybe three-hundred million receptors, I experienced the world on the trip differently than him. How could I convey the difference in a human way?   

After some thought, I decided to make every trip photo of him in a different phone-app style. Every photo (as it was taken) shifted to something radically-different than what I had seen and photographed. Each picture became not my view, but a view with three-million tiny differences distant from the original.

In Chester's "words":

I was game on walks even with the wind blowing my ears askew.

No smell. How wierd.

I hate wet feet, but Kathy had to come into this freshly washed restroom with water pooling on the floor. Is that my reflection? Good look'in dog.

Darn frustrating when Kathy's scent disappears into some place I'm not allowed.

I love following Art into the woods. He led me to those odd-smelling mushrooms.

If I were off leash, I'd be sprinting down that path. Who invented leashes? Bugger 'em.
 
Too hot to walk any further.

New dog to me. Adorable. He comes to the name of Opal.

We're best buds already. Couch-surfing together.

No, we weren't watching T.V.

I got a new dog toy for the journey back home. Quite fishy, hardly any smell.

Done walking where I haven't been before. Home is same old, same old.



Photos Not to Miss from an Adventure to the Midwest and Back Across Canada, 2024

Alley View of Hotel Alex Johnson in Rapid City, South Dakota

I have a new phone with a great camera, a Samsung 21. Every morning, I slid it into my back pocket for the roadtrip of 4,500 miles, looping across America to the Midwest and returning via Canada. These photos aren't ordered in the sequence of the trip, but are organized to best display the diversity and beauty of what I saw. First off is the photo above taken of the graffiti in the alley behind the Alex Johnson Hotel in Rapid City, Sioux Falls. Rapid City was the surprise of the journey: creative purpose for graffiti (an entire alley's worth), great bookstore (Mitzi's), best book (Birding While Indian by Thomas C. Gannon), hiking close to downtown on Piss Hill (read the above book for the reason for its name), and a great outdoor store (Roam'n Around).

Below is my favorite photo from Hot Springs, South Dakota. I wasn't there long because I got a flat time and had to go up to Rapid City to wait three days for a replacement.

Building in Hot Springs, South Dakota


Jackalope in Walls, South Dakota

Who can't stop to snap photos of a distracted-looking jackalope?


Waterfall and Rainbow at Lundbreck Falls in Alberta, Canada

Provincial campgrounds in Canada are at stunning locations.

Cloud about to Grab the Road East of Winnepeg, Canada

A Wall Cloud Dragging Blue Rain

My campsite for one night was at the Stephenfield Provincial Park in Manitoba, Canada—just on the other side of these clouds. While I was on the gravel road leading to the campground, I drove into dense rain. The storm was moving so fast  though that it was sunny by the time I had eaten dinner.

How about a few museum photos?

Of Its Time. Notice the Coca Cola Ad at the Foot of This School-Crossing Police Officer. 

Popeye Says, "Eat Your Spinach!"

Irresistably Charming Zuni Pottery Bird

The Carnegie Historical Museum in Fairfield, Iowa (Jefferson County Carnegie Heritage Museum), has been collecting artifacts since 1876 and is an amazing museum. Recently relocated to a former Carnegie library building near the town square, it showcases local history and its collection of Native American pottery and baskets. Worth a visit to Iowa.

More reasons to visit Iowa:

An Eyelash Mushroom

Find the Speck of Orange above my shoe. It is the eyelash mushroom above!

An Artist's Mushroom. My drawing.

The Top Side of that Artist's Mushroom Above.

My friend, Art McBreen, led a mushroom walk in Brinton Timbers Park in Washington County, Iowa. The tiny orange eyelash mushroom and the artist's mushroom were my favorite of the many we saw. That rough-looking mushroom can be drawn on its underside with a sharp tool, and the image will remain. Here is a link to photos of the other mushrooms we saw that day:  https://iowamushroom.smugmug.com/Forays/Foray-2024/Brinton-Timbers-15Jun2024

For those of you who are foodies:


A Latte and an Horchata Waffle at La Luna Café, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

The Cabrese Avocado Toast at La Luna Café again, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Cat-faced Sandwich at the Cattitude Cafe, Sioux Falls, South Dakota

Sioux Falls wins the title of "Best Food on the Trip." The food at La Luna was as delicious as it was beautiful, and I could have hung out with the adoptable cats at the Cattitude Cafe. Quite fun. I missed getting a photo of the cardamon latte at The Breaks Coffee Roasting Company. I'd move to Sioux Falls on the basis of that latte alone! Their latte will at least entice me to return. It is only a twenty-and-a-half-hour drive. 

More simply fun or artistic sightings:

Kiss me on the Balcony? Minneapolis, Minnesota.

More Rapid City Art. Sky Imitating Sky.

As Good as Graffiti, a Butte, Montana Wall.

What a pleasing trip. You might have noticed I have not included any photos of Chester, my canine companion on the trip (He'll get his turn next.) or people. So, here is a finale photo with people. This delightfully-engaged couple were taking a self-portrait in the Badlands. They did get a copy of this one too. 

 
Get on the road! See what you can see! Travel safe.




When You Set Off on an Adventure...

…you know not what you will find. Places abandoned, but once lively like in this photo taken through the window of Iona Cafe in Butte, Montana. How long has it been since a waitress (it was always a waitress) poured a cup of coffee from a glass carafe and drew those drapes against the late afternoon western sun?
What tragedy closed its door? 

Recently, I returned from an adventure, circling from Washington state out to South Dakota, Iowa, Minnesota, and back across Canada. I had partitioned the trip into four episodes—the Going, the Purpose, the Returning, and the Welcoming back. The Purpose was to do some genealogy work, see old friends, and meet Swedish-descendant family members. Usually for longer trips, I forget the Welcoming home part, but it seems as essential as the journey itself, like the capstone on an arch. After all, if I have forgotten to insert the Welcoming back episode, I may forget to anticipate the adventure to be found on my home’s own stoop. Forget that leaving it didn’t mean I was tired of it or loath of it. The Welcoming back is an adventure in itself—the adventure of rifling through the trip’s experiences, images, and its tests while coming to a better understanding of what I didn’t know about myself before I set off. Back to Iona Cafe.
Butte, Montana was in the Going part of the journey. I stood across the street from Iona’s— derelict (even with an historic designation)—and considered what work the dear old cafe would need to be expertly renovated, coffee warming on the holding burners again. When I bought my cabin, it was in quite a derelict state—not as bad as Iona Cafe, but I was undaunted by the work it needed. I like that sort of thing. Throughout my journey as I walked city streets or drove through little towns sidestepped by highways both in the Going and the Returning, I saw lots of buildings, some of which like Iona’s set me again to speculating on how they might be rejuvenated, reimagined, or brought back to a condition conducive to the lively sound of footsteps.
Sometimes one element of a structure like this tile outside a building on the town square in Fairfield, Iowa would set me to thinking. My foot is reflected in a plate glass window, an unfortunate remodel to the front of an early 1900s building—currently empty. The wall with the plate glass window had been set on top of the older entrance tile, interrupting its inviting path. I could see the tile continuing inside on the other side of the plate glass window. 

 Even old commercial buildings with their advertising (fading but intact) appealed to my sense of possibilities. Ever optimistic, I considered options for their reinvention.
Butte, Montana
Bow Island, Alberta, Canada
Hot Springs, South Dakota
As I walked away from the Iona Cafe, I contemplated my limitations. I would never, never have the capacity to renovate her. By the third or fourth building I eyed with a contractor’s eye, I felt the sweep of impossibilities, followed by a small disappointment with my own financial or physical capacities, and then a chuckle. I am an optimist; an adventurer for whom some of the adventure is spotting old structures and speculating on their reconstruction into something useful. I saw buildings that needed work most days of my travels. Being a derelict-building spotter is as entertaining to me as birding or fishing or bar-hopping might be to others. This I know about myself. And for the first time, I considered that others, possibly many others, don’t engage in this form of entertainment. Their adventures—Going and Returning— will be different than mine.
The one project I know I could manage was this house in Fairfield, Iowa. As charmed as I was by the house’s dismantled expression, I could see the bricked-in doorway being cleared and a porch remounted. Then it would be a house which would be worthy of a Welcoming home after a long adventure.