I'd be remiss if I went any further without mentioning Holly (Wynn Ann's sister) and Steve in Calgary who put me up for the night a few weeks back. They, along with their puppy Charlie, took me in on my way to Fernie.
After my employer and I parted company in January, I felt a little, I don't know, unsure? It wasn't a surprise but it did come a little earlier that I expected. It's like leaving a relationship you know is doomed yet when it happens, you're still a little thrown by the whole thing.
It was Steve who reminded me of my dream to travel the country, as we sat watching Lisa's last basketball game. I tried to change the subject. He persisted. So thanks for the nudge Steve!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
What about FERNIE, you ask?
I hadn't forgotten Fernie. That's impossible! I procrastinated, waiting for the perfect opportunity when I had time to give it the attention it deserves. What happened instead was more days went by, other things happened, and the next thing I knew, there's this huge gap in my writing about the place and people that mean so very much to me. Time to remedy that, right now.
When I was a child on Bell Island in Newfoundland, I recall sitting on the floor with a red viewfinder to my eyes. I pulled down the lever and gazed at picture after picture. One that captured my attention was a night scape of a mountain, blanketed in snow and surrounded by innumerable stars. I couldn't seem to look at it intensely enough to absorb the beauty on that little piece of celluloid. I sat there for the longest time forcing my eyes to take in every little detail.
Twenty some years later, I'm in a truck with my then boyfriend heading to a little town in the southeast corner of B.C. It was a black night. I couldn't make out any details and soon fell asleep. We arrived a few hours later. It had been a long, anxious day and I was exhausted by trepidation and excitement.
The next morning I woke early and walked into the kitchen. The curtains were drawn yet the room was lit with brilliant sunlight. I peeked out and was blinded by its brilliance. Hauling on my boots, I walked out the door, turned the corner and was dumb founded by what I saw. I thought then, and still believe, I was looking at the same mountain I had seen all those years earlier.
It would be a number of years before I understood it was providence, not him, that was responsible for my being in Fernie. It would take longer still before I could see that relationship, painful as it was, as the vehicle that would deliver me to my destiny. Sometimes I fancy it was a little girl's dream realized. Who's to say?
That relationship ended and I tried to grow into a new life in that beautiful place. I still had some hard lessons to learn, mostly about actions and consequences. Then in 1982, in a shared laundry room in a fourplex on 9th Ave., I met a person who would change the directrion of my life. That person was Wynn Ann, my dear dear friend who could tell you it wasn't an easy journey.
I didn't have much left in the way of trust so trying to persue a friendship with me was akin to Thomas Edison's efforts to invent the light bulb. It took a lot of attempts on her part but she kept on trying. As a result of that friendship, I gained a whole other family. Besdies Wynn Ann, there were her siblings, her husband-to-be Mike, his mother Jean (yes, Jean of Revelstoke), and later their two girls Krista and Lisa.
When Lisa was a little girl looking at a picture of her mom and family when they were kids, she asked, "where's Aunt Pat?" She couldn't figure out why I wasn't in it. Wynn Ann had to explain to her that I wasn't really her biological aunt.
During that same period I started, as I referred to in an earlier blog, picking friends like flowers. And what I garden I have. Mine are perennials. There have been some annuals, the kinds of friends with whom a lot of time can pass but when you see each other again, it's like no time has gone by.
During this decade I left Fernie once but returned 18 months later. There was something about the place that kept drawing me back.
The second milestone in my time in Fernie came in 1990 when I answered an add in the Fernie Free Perss. WOULD-BE JOURNALIST WANTED is how it read. Would-be Jouralist Wanted. I read that and thought "I would be that". I never questioned where that thought came from and, more importantly, I never questioned the fact I would answer that ad.
I called then editor Laurie Turyk and she invited me for an interview. What I remember about that interview was the question, "so what have your written?" and my response, "well, nothing really". Perhaps I should have felt sheepish but I didn't. Instead I said, "I think I'd be good at human interest stories".
Why I thought that is beyond me but I did. You see I had been creating stories in my head ever since I was a child. It was my refuge, where I went when I needed to get away. I had attempted to write little stories earlier but they were not that good.
Laurie told me they wanted someone to follow around and write articles about the local hockey team. I told her I hadn't been interested in hockey since Derek Sanderson was with the Boston Bruins in 1972 and that had nothing to do with hockey. She thanked me for coming in and I thanked her for seeing me.
The next morning she called me and said there was a new drug and alcohol counsellor in town and how would I like to do an interview with her. "See what you can put together and bring it in to me".
I got off the phone astounded by the call then immediately paniced by the prospect of writing an article. Afterall, what did I know about writing anything. What I did know was movies and all the movies I saw about newspaper reporters. I particularly remember Cary Grant and Rosslind Russell in "His Girl Friday" and Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey in "Pat and Mike"
So I said to myself, if I were a reporter what would I do? I got a writing pad, pencil and called my friend Jean-Yves and asked if he had a tape recorder I could borrow. He had one of those box shaped black things with six silver press buttons. I showed up the next day and immediately fell into what would be my style of interview - chatting. I figured that they knew everything on the topic, all I had to do was ask tthe right questions.
Thus started my freelance writing career. I called Laurie when I was in town recently to say thanks for taking a chance on me. That decision, all those years ago, started something inside of me. I wish I had asked her why she took a chance on me but I'm sure that moment in time is not as chrystalized in her psche as it was in mine.
In the late 90s a full time Sports/Community writer position came up and I applied for it. I had proven myself as a human interest/community writer but what I knew about sports you would fit in a jock strap (sorry, couldn't help myself). My competition was a young fellow (I was about 40 at this point) who knew a lot about sports. The editor, Steve, gave us two scenarios, sat each of us at a computer and told us to write two articles. I was used to deadlines, could whip up a story quickly, had an outline and nothing to lose. So I just went for it and got the job.
My week was supposed to be 32 hours, I'm sure I worked forty or more. The pay was lousy. My weekends were taken up with hockey and community events. One Friday night I had to meet a bus at midnight and after a hockey game I was confined to a dungeon-like room in the basement of the Free Press developing film from that night's game, often at 1 o'clock in the morning.
Yet, I was happier and more fulfilled than I had ever been. Nothing mattered because I was doing something that I felt passionate about - it filled something inside of me like no other job had.
Previously, I worked for the Fernie Women's Resource centre and it gave me equal satisfaction but the work was short term though I continued on as a volunteer.
Another plus of the job was getting to know so many people in the community. One thing that used to throw me was my own notoriety. When I wrote something, as soon as it went to print, I forgot about it. I was on to the next story. It always startled me when people came up to me to comment on something I had written weeks earlier, especially if they weren't too crazy about it. I was blindsided a few times but I got used to it.
I kept working for the Free Press until I left in 1999 to return to Nfld. six months after my mom was diagnosed with cancer. The battle was lost and I knew if I wasn't home with the rest of my siblings, I would regret it the rest of my life. The new area manager at the time would not give me a leave of absence so I literally walked out of my life, a week later I was in Nfld.
I always say I was born and raised in Newfoundland but I grew up in Fernie. All the important life lessons, all the true and loyal friends, many of my best memories, all come from Fernie. When I go there, it feels like going home.
When I was there recently I felt like a minor celebrity. It may have stroked my ego a little but the biggest impact was on my heart. You see those people grew up with me. We know each others struggles and successes. We've got years of history together in a town that grew along with us. Would I ever live in Fernie again. I certainly can imagine myself doing so. Will it happen? I don't know. Part of me remembers the old adage that says you can never go home. Don't be surprised though if you hear one day that I have.
Ok, now I feel I've given Fernie the hommage it deserves. I do wax sentimental but those who know me well will not be surprised. I actually got through this without tearing up. That will surprise them!
When I arrived in Fernie this time I stayed with my friend Philo and family.
A night or two after I arrived Philo and I called some gals and invited them to supper. I wanted to see as many people as possible. Everyone showed up at The Brick and we spent a few hours eating, chatting and laughing. It was a wonderful time!
I prepared a few meals while I was there to say thanks but also because I love to cook for friends. I like that whole process. I hung out at Freshie's either to update my blog or see if anyone I knew would walk in. I met a lot of people I knew just walking down the street. More than once I got a double take and comments like "oh my God, are you back?" "No, I would say. I'm sad to report I'm now a tourist to Fernie. How sad is that?"
Others suggested a remedy, "just move back". I keep thinking I can't afford to live in Fernie since it's been discovered. A shack which you couldn't sell one time will now go for $200K+. Times have changed. My ability to make money has not.
A highlight of my stay was hanging out with my buddy Jean-Yves. He was the one who encouraged me in photography and has taught me so much. As a matter of fact, he was the one who found my first camera in 1990, a Chinon which was probably 15 years old when I purchased it but it has served me well. I won a sports action photo contest from the Sterling newspaper chain. It was cowboy being bucked from a horse at the Fernie rodeo. It was one of the first action shots I took so I was proud of that feat.
The thing he and I share is a love of photogrpahy. It's great for both of us to be in the company of someone who feels about phography they way we do. When you're with someone without a camera, you're always having to hurry up with a shot. But when you're with another enthusiast, you can take as long as you like because the other person knows what's involved in getting a good shot. One thing that's become clear to me over the years is that I take pictures, JYO creates them. There's a enormous difference. I'm more into capturing a moment. He likes to create the moment. It's an education when I'm in his company out in the field.
When I was a child on Bell Island in Newfoundland, I recall sitting on the floor with a red viewfinder to my eyes. I pulled down the lever and gazed at picture after picture. One that captured my attention was a night scape of a mountain, blanketed in snow and surrounded by innumerable stars. I couldn't seem to look at it intensely enough to absorb the beauty on that little piece of celluloid. I sat there for the longest time forcing my eyes to take in every little detail.
Twenty some years later, I'm in a truck with my then boyfriend heading to a little town in the southeast corner of B.C. It was a black night. I couldn't make out any details and soon fell asleep. We arrived a few hours later. It had been a long, anxious day and I was exhausted by trepidation and excitement.
The next morning I woke early and walked into the kitchen. The curtains were drawn yet the room was lit with brilliant sunlight. I peeked out and was blinded by its brilliance. Hauling on my boots, I walked out the door, turned the corner and was dumb founded by what I saw. I thought then, and still believe, I was looking at the same mountain I had seen all those years earlier.
It would be a number of years before I understood it was providence, not him, that was responsible for my being in Fernie. It would take longer still before I could see that relationship, painful as it was, as the vehicle that would deliver me to my destiny. Sometimes I fancy it was a little girl's dream realized. Who's to say?
That relationship ended and I tried to grow into a new life in that beautiful place. I still had some hard lessons to learn, mostly about actions and consequences. Then in 1982, in a shared laundry room in a fourplex on 9th Ave., I met a person who would change the directrion of my life. That person was Wynn Ann, my dear dear friend who could tell you it wasn't an easy journey.
I didn't have much left in the way of trust so trying to persue a friendship with me was akin to Thomas Edison's efforts to invent the light bulb. It took a lot of attempts on her part but she kept on trying. As a result of that friendship, I gained a whole other family. Besdies Wynn Ann, there were her siblings, her husband-to-be Mike, his mother Jean (yes, Jean of Revelstoke), and later their two girls Krista and Lisa.
When Lisa was a little girl looking at a picture of her mom and family when they were kids, she asked, "where's Aunt Pat?" She couldn't figure out why I wasn't in it. Wynn Ann had to explain to her that I wasn't really her biological aunt.
During that same period I started, as I referred to in an earlier blog, picking friends like flowers. And what I garden I have. Mine are perennials. There have been some annuals, the kinds of friends with whom a lot of time can pass but when you see each other again, it's like no time has gone by.
During this decade I left Fernie once but returned 18 months later. There was something about the place that kept drawing me back.
The second milestone in my time in Fernie came in 1990 when I answered an add in the Fernie Free Perss. WOULD-BE JOURNALIST WANTED is how it read. Would-be Jouralist Wanted. I read that and thought "I would be that". I never questioned where that thought came from and, more importantly, I never questioned the fact I would answer that ad.
I called then editor Laurie Turyk and she invited me for an interview. What I remember about that interview was the question, "so what have your written?" and my response, "well, nothing really". Perhaps I should have felt sheepish but I didn't. Instead I said, "I think I'd be good at human interest stories".
Why I thought that is beyond me but I did. You see I had been creating stories in my head ever since I was a child. It was my refuge, where I went when I needed to get away. I had attempted to write little stories earlier but they were not that good.
Laurie told me they wanted someone to follow around and write articles about the local hockey team. I told her I hadn't been interested in hockey since Derek Sanderson was with the Boston Bruins in 1972 and that had nothing to do with hockey. She thanked me for coming in and I thanked her for seeing me.
The next morning she called me and said there was a new drug and alcohol counsellor in town and how would I like to do an interview with her. "See what you can put together and bring it in to me".
I got off the phone astounded by the call then immediately paniced by the prospect of writing an article. Afterall, what did I know about writing anything. What I did know was movies and all the movies I saw about newspaper reporters. I particularly remember Cary Grant and Rosslind Russell in "His Girl Friday" and Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey in "Pat and Mike"
So I said to myself, if I were a reporter what would I do? I got a writing pad, pencil and called my friend Jean-Yves and asked if he had a tape recorder I could borrow. He had one of those box shaped black things with six silver press buttons. I showed up the next day and immediately fell into what would be my style of interview - chatting. I figured that they knew everything on the topic, all I had to do was ask tthe right questions.
Thus started my freelance writing career. I called Laurie when I was in town recently to say thanks for taking a chance on me. That decision, all those years ago, started something inside of me. I wish I had asked her why she took a chance on me but I'm sure that moment in time is not as chrystalized in her psche as it was in mine.
In the late 90s a full time Sports/Community writer position came up and I applied for it. I had proven myself as a human interest/community writer but what I knew about sports you would fit in a jock strap (sorry, couldn't help myself). My competition was a young fellow (I was about 40 at this point) who knew a lot about sports. The editor, Steve, gave us two scenarios, sat each of us at a computer and told us to write two articles. I was used to deadlines, could whip up a story quickly, had an outline and nothing to lose. So I just went for it and got the job.
My week was supposed to be 32 hours, I'm sure I worked forty or more. The pay was lousy. My weekends were taken up with hockey and community events. One Friday night I had to meet a bus at midnight and after a hockey game I was confined to a dungeon-like room in the basement of the Free Press developing film from that night's game, often at 1 o'clock in the morning.
Yet, I was happier and more fulfilled than I had ever been. Nothing mattered because I was doing something that I felt passionate about - it filled something inside of me like no other job had.
Previously, I worked for the Fernie Women's Resource centre and it gave me equal satisfaction but the work was short term though I continued on as a volunteer.
Another plus of the job was getting to know so many people in the community. One thing that used to throw me was my own notoriety. When I wrote something, as soon as it went to print, I forgot about it. I was on to the next story. It always startled me when people came up to me to comment on something I had written weeks earlier, especially if they weren't too crazy about it. I was blindsided a few times but I got used to it.
I kept working for the Free Press until I left in 1999 to return to Nfld. six months after my mom was diagnosed with cancer. The battle was lost and I knew if I wasn't home with the rest of my siblings, I would regret it the rest of my life. The new area manager at the time would not give me a leave of absence so I literally walked out of my life, a week later I was in Nfld.
I always say I was born and raised in Newfoundland but I grew up in Fernie. All the important life lessons, all the true and loyal friends, many of my best memories, all come from Fernie. When I go there, it feels like going home.
When I was there recently I felt like a minor celebrity. It may have stroked my ego a little but the biggest impact was on my heart. You see those people grew up with me. We know each others struggles and successes. We've got years of history together in a town that grew along with us. Would I ever live in Fernie again. I certainly can imagine myself doing so. Will it happen? I don't know. Part of me remembers the old adage that says you can never go home. Don't be surprised though if you hear one day that I have.
Ok, now I feel I've given Fernie the hommage it deserves. I do wax sentimental but those who know me well will not be surprised. I actually got through this without tearing up. That will surprise them!
When I arrived in Fernie this time I stayed with my friend Philo and family.
Philo tells the story of when we first met at the Fernie Bakery in the early 80s. She had heard me say the word out in such a way she was convinced I must be from Ireland. When she asked me if I was, I responded "No, but I wish I was". We've been friends since.
Thanks Philo and Barry for the bed, sons Jon for the conversation and insight, Chris for sharing your music and Damien for the autographed copy of his first book of poetry, Absolute Heart.
A night or two after I arrived Philo and I called some gals and invited them to supper. I wanted to see as many people as possible. Everyone showed up at The Brick and we spent a few hours eating, chatting and laughing. It was a wonderful time!
Ladies at Supper! My friend Buelah sits right behind me. I came to know her when we were neighbours. She said before we met, she'd often listen to me sing. I'm one of those who sings like no one is listening. I can carry a tune, just not too far! It was because of Buelah I started to sing again in public. The first time was at her place and the song was "A Daisy a Day". I learned so much more from her. She's a prolific multi media artist, musician and a woman with a gentle spirit. I love her dearly.
Others suggested a remedy, "just move back". I keep thinking I can't afford to live in Fernie since it's been discovered. A shack which you couldn't sell one time will now go for $200K+. Times have changed. My ability to make money has not.
A highlight of my stay was hanging out with my buddy Jean-Yves. He was the one who encouraged me in photography and has taught me so much. As a matter of fact, he was the one who found my first camera in 1990, a Chinon which was probably 15 years old when I purchased it but it has served me well. I won a sports action photo contest from the Sterling newspaper chain. It was cowboy being bucked from a horse at the Fernie rodeo. It was one of the first action shots I took so I was proud of that feat.
The thing he and I share is a love of photogrpahy. It's great for both of us to be in the company of someone who feels about phography they way we do. When you're with someone without a camera, you're always having to hurry up with a shot. But when you're with another enthusiast, you can take as long as you like because the other person knows what's involved in getting a good shot. One thing that's become clear to me over the years is that I take pictures, JYO creates them. There's a enormous difference. I'm more into capturing a moment. He likes to create the moment. It's an education when I'm in his company out in the field.
Setting up a shot for his on-line Strobist Sunday group assignment.
Getting down with Indian Paint Brushes.
Indian Paint Brush
Trying to describe the beauty of Fernie is impossible. A picture does paint a thousand words, so I give you the following, you can come up with your own!
The Three Sisters
The Three Sisters watch over Fernie. The mountain to the left, Mt. Fernie is the one I saw that morning when I first arrived in Fernie. It's taller than it looks from this perspective.
That's Mt. Hosmer in the background. In the summer, around 7pm a shadow appears on this mountain called the Ghostrider.
Looking down the valley
If you can look closer, you'll see bald eagle. It's there I promise. Just click on the image and zoon in.
The green tinge on the water is actually the reflection of the trees on the opposite bank.
Reflections!
Why the bus is on its side is anyone's guess but image being a kid playing on the school grounds with this as the background.
I was glad to get a visit in Bev from Sparwood. We got together for lunch, compliments of her husband Peter. We followed that by coffee at the golf course (which lasted four hours) then decided, on the spur of the moment, to head to the Crows Nest Pass for supper. We visited John and Lorraine whom we've known forever. I'll always remember the April Fool's prank he pulled when he wrote an article about tunnels he and someone else discovered under Fernie. Boy, he got me good on that one!
Bev, me and John. A lot of history.
The last night in Fernie, I was invited by Cindy to a poetry writer's group with Mary, Sandy and Keith. Wow, wow, and wow. It was so inspiring to hear what others are writing. Thanks for including me!
My last supper was with the Roberton's, Loie, Pat and Joel (Happy 28th). Joel is a chef at Banff Springs and shares a passion for food with his dad. Thanks for your company and the fine food.
"A thing of beauty is a joy to behold! "
My biggest regret is not making it to Fernie in time to see my friend Monique, another flower from the 80s but we'll see each other again, I have no doubt. I stayed longer than anticipated but as someone pointed out I'm on my own schedule so I can stay as long as I like. So true. To quote Arnold S. "I'll be back!"
Monday, June 14, 2010
A Close Encounter
I arrived at the Kean residence in north Calgary sometime after supper on June 10. I was going to head out early the next morning but was persuaded to spend another day when I was invited to join them the following afternoon at Spruce Meadows, an international show jumping event just outside the city.
I've attended before. It's a great opportunity to get up close to the action. Friday was no exception. I was as close as I could be without actually stepping onto the field. I love photographing horses, such beautiful creatures. I submit the following for your viewing pleasure.
To view larger picture, click on image. To return to blog, press Alt. then press left pointing arrow.
So I'm taking some shots and I look to my right and think, hmm, that guy looks like Bruce Springsteen. Wait, I heard his daughter Jessica was competing at the event. OMG, that's Bruce Springsteen! Ok, so I'm not a groupie but I have a history with Bruce Springsteen, albiet one-sided. When I was a young woman, lo those many years ago, in Fernie, B.C. my friends and I would go to a place called the Sundowner. Man, I haven't thought of that place in decades. Anyway, it was a downstairs club, low ceilings with a projection screen on one wall and each time Bruce Springsteen's life size image appeared on that wall, I would abandon whomever I was with and start dancing with Bruce. Major flashback as I stood there looking at him but I knew I wouldn't approach because I'm far to mature to make that kind of fool of myself. He was surrounded by a number of folks, so close I assumed they were family. A woman more mature than myself and a man approached him but he politely refused their request for an autograph, afterall he was there as a proud dad, not a rock legend. Soon the security came by and ushered the people away. I was within 20'. There was a female security person next to me.
"I don't have to move, do I?" I asked. "I'm not too close."
"No, you're fine there," she responded "but I will ask you to move on up the stairs before he leaves."
"No problem, " I said grateful for the heads up about where he would exit, which was directly behind me. I made my way to the top of the stairs, and waited, knowing he would be moving my way soon. I did get a few shots while still standing there, as discreetly as possible.
Bruce at Spruce!
He walked up the steps, fronted by a few security people. I was off to his right.
When he reached the top of the steps the same woman who tried to get his autograph earlier was in front of him. "Oh Bruce, Bruce Springsteen I love you," she said in a heavy Eastern European or Spanish accent. I couldn't really tell because I was mortified someone that age could do such a thing. The security ushered her away just as he reached me.
"I'm afraid I don't love you," I said "but I do like you a lot." I chuckled and touched his arm, (he was that close). I was rewarded with eye contact and a smile that seemed to say 'good one'. I told the Keans and company about my encounter and anyone else who would listen. Suddenly I understood how a mature female could make an absolute fool of herself. Still, I was glad it was her and not me. I had planned to leave that morning but made the decision to stay and am I glad I did! Not just for the Bruce encounter but for the chance to spend time with friends, people I've known forever. Although seeing Bruce took me back to a
moment in time, my friends, the Keans, represent a thousand moments over time all woven together to make a life. This one encounter pales in comparison to the many with them - the times we spent, the memories we've made. Bruce at Spruce was nice (for my ego) but really what does it mean to my life? Nothing really (no offence Bruce - but let's face it, he's not sitting around today talking about his close encounter with me!) Friendships, on the other hand, are what warms the cockles of my heart and are the real measure of success. I may not have a lot of money or much stuff but I am rich in friendships.
"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours." Ludwig van Beethoven
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