-
Sky Lights
Eleven years ago, on a late winter evening in February, young adults – mostly students from local post-secondary institutions – made their way to Vancouver shores for a protest in solidarity with those marching the streets of Kyiv. They lit biodegradable sky lanterns and cast them into the darkness, reflecting on the symbolism afloat and enjoying the company of friends.
The gathering lasted an hour or so before the crowds dispersed. The flickering candles drifted away like reverse snowfall afire, above a city of more permanent embers. The dimming lights settling amongst stars.
Ephemeral wanderers cloaked by the cosmic veil. Yielding to its insignificance.
-
Urbex
Undertaking urban exploration somewhere in rural Scotland, 2016 (credit: DL) -
Wisps of Water
I was stopped at a gas station a couple weeks ago and noticed that rain had begun falling towards the west. It is not every day you get dark collapsing clouds contrasted with a whiter backdrop this clearly, so I took a quick click.
In case you have not heard, Canada is on fire (again and on schedule). The prairie provinces are bone dry and alight. Every bit of rain during the warmer months melts the heightening anxiety among the collective.
Here in B.C., the fire season never truly stopped. The blazes in the far northeast of the province have been burning since last year, as an example. But things will slowly get worse. Every time I do a pre-summer drive from Prince George to Vancouver, as I did in mid-May, I gain an understanding of how bad the wildfire summer is likely to be. Those of us who have even a modicum of experience repeatedly surveying the land during critical periods can get a good sense of conditions.
The equation is simple – the greener, the better. We know it will get hot, we know our effect on the environment, and we know that aside from random dry lightning, people will continue to make stupid mistakes. I have rarely driven past an entirely yellowed or golden-browned B.C. Interior landscape and not seen it become a tinderbox. It does not mean mass evacuations or grand impacts to civilization are guaranteed, but it does not bode well. This year, things are looking bad. Not 2023 bad, which was the worst fire season on record, but bad enough. I foresee opening up CBC News in a couple months and having déjà vu, except I will be reading headlines pertaining to our backyard rather than Alberta, Saskatchewan or Manitoba.
-
Searching for Beacons
Coit Tower, Telegraph Hill, San FranciscoWhat a ten days it has been.
Grand milestones celebrated. Childhood friends revisited. Animated rallies attended. Unfortunate losses counted. All amidst an uncomfortably stratified yet contiguous set of urban existences. More grating to this observer each passing day. A source of growing defeatism rather than drive, though the latter’s leading quota is irreplaceable.
Port City hardly ever disappoints. That post, by the way, is not only my brief ode to Vancouver, but a reflection of its place in my life. A larger metaphor for a transitory phase of existence, one that continues to extend beyond expected timelines. I mean, I have been in Prince George for nearly four years. I should have made a home of this place. And yet… the apartment continues to resemble a waystation. It was about this time last year when I was musing about transience and its associated luggage. Funny how the seasonal patterns ripple in time.
It is a question still on my mind: Quelle heure est-il au Paradis?
Today’s photo is of a tower many of you may be familiar with, its cold white concrete illuminated at night. A landmark – an imposition of beauty – on a similar metropolis not so far away.
Perhaps this picture came to mind because this traveler’s thoughts are on beacons, or lack thereof. The course-correcting kind that arrive in the form of people, decisions, and moral will that seem to always be scarce. We are all living in Omelas and happy to champion its cruel vision.
-
Bee and Bloom
A pollinator at work in Edinburgh’s Royal Botanic Gardens, Spring 2016A welcome lull in the blog continues as I visit with family and friends. The flowering season in full flow. Expect more substantive updates by June.
-
Retreating Ice
Athabasca Glacier in summer melt. Columbia Icefield, 2012. -
Light Art
I cannot pretend to understand all that flies under the moniker of ‘modern art’, but this piece must have made enough of an impression on me as it became my phone wallpaper for many years.
A friend and I were in Montreal in the early Spring of 2019, at the start of their flood season. Medium-scale emergency responses were underway not too far from where we were grabbing fancy breakfasts, visiting bookstores, and touring museums. Not my typical vacation itinerary, but I was happy to yield the planning reins and tag along.
I knew about the disasters, by the way, because I was employed by the Canadian Red Cross at the time. Each morning began with a new bombardment of email notifications requesting volunteers to support with sandbagging, relief efforts, and reception shelters. (I was not eligible to assist as I could not speak French.) I am not sure why we chose to visit the city during its rainiest time, but it was a fun vacation regardless.
A significant part of it was spent discovering hidden treasures like random underground scenes (some literally underground). Places of diverse art, where you could stumble upon a group sitting together listening to a recording of someone’s a cappella humming composition, view an interpretive dance installation, encase yourself in an interactive moon display with beanbag chairs… you get the gist.
-
The Lesser Spotted Sedan
This week’s photo: the lesser spotted sedan in its natural habitat, parked among its much larger (and far more widespread) roadmates in Northern B.C.Driving in this city has become so annoying that I have effectively curtailed use of my vehicle to the bare minimum. My sedan’s tank is about 3/5 full and my budget app says the last time I filled up was February 11. Good. Box checked. (Disclosure: this is entirely due to a set of temporary circumstances which have afforded me the option of working from home.)
Burning less ancient bio-residue is certainly a win, and my primary concern remains the environment, but I will use this opportunity to talk about how unsafe the roads are in this ‘car city’. Drivers are not careful (just visit r/princegeorge and you will find plenty of anecdotes about erratic driving practices), conditions are often testing (the long winters can be rough), and the city is not at all walkable. Unlike other cities where pedestrian paths and safety are prioritized – say, clearing sidewalks of snow first – in PG, automated transportation always gets first dibs in council budgets. The unavoidable nuisance of driving is compounded by the fact that public transit is poor, the populace is unnecessarily spread out, and a certain, entitled NIMBYism prevents denser and more sensible, sustainable development.
Mostly, though, it is those damned trucks that make navigating the roads tiring. Everyone is rolling around in comically large vehicles. I get that this is an industry town where lots of people are engaged in outdoor sports, but it is representative of plenty of broader trends. (See here 1996’s Taken for a Ride, a foundational documentary which discusses some of the wider forces at play. Mainly: the car lobby’s successful efforts at fighting public transit, eco-conscious development, and regulations, at the cost of our general quality of life. Relevant to the entire North American context.)
For example, when I am up front taking a left at a major intersection, I can barely see behind the large trucks also waiting to turn in the opposite direction, effectively blocking the entire lanes behind them. I often need to inch forwards until I am almost into the opposing lane before I can confirm no oncoming traffic. Not ideal. Moreover, PG has a lot of randomly placed pedestrian crosswalks on streets like fifth avenue (busy during morning/evening commutes). If you are in a sedan with a truck slightly ahead, your view of anyone crossing, or looking to cross, is almost completely obscured. And in this city, if you dare slow down or drive with caution, you get honked at immediately. How dare you stick to the limit when the person behind is trying to go 80km/h in a 50 zone? Everyone has somewhere where they need to be right at that moment, it seems.
-
Island Sunset
Sunset at Nanoose Bay, Vancouver Island -
Arborous Myths
It is a false set of stories told on campus tours of the University of British Columbia. That one day, students chose to uproot a tree and replant it, upside down. Their backgrounds and motivations change with each retelling, but the result is the same: the tree, seen above, adapted to its new orientation by regrowing branches and leaves out of its exposed root system. Its top, meanwhile, embedded new stems into the soil below, so it could draw water and continue its existence unbothered.
Looking up at this tangled mess, you may be fooled into thinking the anecdotes are plausible.
Instead, what you are gazing at is a particularly knotted Camperdown Elm. A Scottish cultivar known for its unique trunk formations. This one is situated on Agriculture Road surrounded by the Chemistry and Physics Buildings, the Indian Residential School History and Dialogue Centre, and the Irving K. Barber Library. In case you feel like dropping by and relaxing in its shade. (Benches provided.)
Beautiful and remarkable in its own way, without need for tall tales. No less a gem among its more familiar company.