Wasteful

At least that's how this scene looked to me. 

On the weekend, there was a house there. One, I learned, that had been built in 1967. And here it was, the end of the line for it. 

Why, I wonder, do other towns and cities value their older homes? Is it because they have a greater respect for history, or do they consider the materials and craftsmanship that went into their making?

When this one was coming down, it didn't crumple easily, but withstood repeated blows from the digger. I couldn't help thinking, as I saw it sway from those repeated thumps, that it would have withstood a substantial earthquake. But then, looking at the materials it had been built with, its sturdiness was no surprise. 

It had been built with two-by-fours from wood that's far more substantial than the lumber that's for sale today. Why weren't those salvaged? Why wasn't that house taken apart, bit by precious bit? Windows? Doors? Light fixtures? All of these are items that cost plenty. And really, why should all of those be going to the already overfull landfill?

A man was strutting around while all of this was going on, pretty much nodding his head in approval. I suppose he'll be the new neighbour moving in to the undoubtedly mega-house that will be built there. I'd gone down to another neighbour's place, returning a piece of mail that had been mis-delivered to our house and tried to catch his eye to say hello each time I passed him. But no, his eyes may have well have been made of glass, so glazed over were they, so unwilling to engage. 

Today, to give the workers credit, the lot is tidy. There's even a fair amount of lawn-like grass, as if the site is getting ready to be turned into a neighbourhood park. But no, I am sure that isn't the case. 

The weeds shall inherit the Earth

It's been about the driest summer I can recall. There was maybe one brief rain shower in July, and not much more this month--at least not yet. So most of the lawns in our neighbourhood are golden brown. 

Only, not all of them. 

It amazes me, but there are actually people who live nearby who have artificial turf instead of lawn. I suppose it's easy to have a lawn that never needs cutting, but...

I'll avoid going into my objections over such artifice even though they make up a longish list of gripes. The day is too beautiful to be indoors typing, so I am going to go back outside. 

But I must say that there's something quite agreeable about seeing such a tangle of invasive morning glory (bindweed) as well as some other sprawling weed exerting themselves across their would-be finery. 

Neighbourhood bunnification

  
I'm not sure why, but lately there's been a proliferation of bunnies around here. They're awfully good at holding still -- something I'm sure they do as a protective response, feeling safe as if they're wearing little invisibility cloaks. I don't mind, as that stillness makes it easier to take photos, even allowing me to zoom in on them.

And no, they're not part of our city's official beautification plan, though I admit to seeing them a bit
that way.

They tell me that our little biome, a mini-version of the temperate rainforest, must seem natural enough for them to move in. Although, maybe it's because we're one of the only such areas left around here.

I hope that's not the reason, and can only say I'm grateful for bunnification over gentrification, though I suppose not everyone will agree that a neighbourhood in suburbia isn't already 'gentrified' space. Still, we're seeing an awful lot of mega-development nearby and know that it's only a matter of time until we'll be crowded out by giganto homes and/or condo developments.

For now at least, home still feels like a haven, even after having been mostly confined to it for so many weeks.

And in case the bunnies want to move in and stay, we've even built a tiny little house for them. Silly? Probably. Fun? For sure.

The challenges of isolation

The more we hear, the more I believe we may need to be getting accustomed to this practice of self-isolation.

Even though signs of spring have been with us for a few weeks, a chill remains in the air -- and I don't mean just the temperature, though that's been coolish too.

Some of us have been trying to counteract this. My next door neighbours have what I call a 'love tree' in their front yard. It's just hearts, a few with messages on them, but it cheers me every time I look at it.

Another way we've been trying to meet the challenge is with an evening 'meet-up' in the road on Saturday nights. Seven o'clock, and we gather -- keeping at least the prescribed two metres apart -- each in our little thickets of family groupings.

It's just chitchat, to be sure. But it's also a way of ensuring that everyone is well. It's also a way of helping each other out. Several of us are on a quest for toilet paper (of course, what else!). If we manage to get some, the neighbour across the street would be grateful if we can share.

Small things, but tiny steps towards reinforcing a spirit of community. Neighbours being neighbourly, and in a responsible way.

This Saturday again (provided it doesn't rain) we'll be out there with our lawn chairs, lifting cups or glasses to each other -- from our spots on either side of the road.

Weedy

Nope. Not the kind of weed you might be thinking.

Even though today is the proverbial 420, the weed in question here is not that green one that's finally been legalized (even though there still isn't a store between here and downtown Vancouver, but whatever). This is about the plain old dandelion.

I've got nothing against this readily identifiable plant. I've used their leaves in salads, even roasted and ground the roots to make ersatz coffee (once only, I admit). Apparently, this has become trendy (what hasn't?) with some comparing it to matcha.

I've even got a poem that praises the dandelion bouquets my kids brought me when they were little. So, no, it's nothing personal against a little yellow flower.

But there's a difference between a kid-sized handful and an epidemic of weeds poised to spread throughout the neighbourhood.

Our lawn isn't exactly in the running for any landscaping prizes, but sheesh, unless you're planning to make dandelion wine, is it necessary to have a lawn that looks like the one above?

It's the same every spring. It's only this one yard in our neighbourhood that looks like nobody's home, even when they are. And it's not just in the spring (when the dandelions come out like an announcement to remind us) that they let their yard look so rundown -- this will go on all summer. It's hard not to think they don't give a damn. Harsh-sounding judgment, I suppose, but it sure seems true.

About the only positive spin I can conjure is to think that they're happy to share -- with everyone's yard in the surrounding area. It's just too bad that what they're sharing is dandelions. Something for the rest of us to pick or dig out.

What's up here?

...besides the patch of grass that's supposed to pass as a lawn.

Our neighbourhood is displaying a new phenomenon. It started a few years ago, with one or two yards here and there that looked like the one in the photo. Somehow the phenomenon has spread.

Now, nearly every block has one of these yards -- and not just on the houses with 'for sale' signs that have a 'sold' sticker. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but it almost makes me wish this was something the city would take a stand on.

I'm not confusing this uncut lawn with the 'wild' yard look -- one that's planted with vegies, or floral arrangements or even those that are the results of scattering wildflower seeds.

Those exude a folksy kind of charm, and often serve the purpose of feeding the people who live there.

The ones I'm talking about just look neglected. They make the house -- and in turn, the neighbourhood -- seem like nobody gives a damn.

The uncut lawn of straggly grass and weeds is not a look I am hoping will proliferate. Especially not with all the dandelions that are sure to come along with the practice. And really, if you can't manage to cut it yourself, hire someone -- it's good for the economy when humans have jobs.

More trees coming down

I've been hearing chainsaws in my neighbourhood so long now, I am almost (that's a very large 'almost') getting accustomed to the sound. I've learned that the noise usually means that a 'normal' house is coming down along with the trees around it and that an oversized pseudo-mansion will be erected in their stead.

This morning I managed to track down the sound of the latest round of nearby buzzing.

I was horrified at the thought that another entire subdivision of small houses might be in process of getting erased. Fortunately, for once, that isn't the case.

Earlier this year, a tree fell on one of the units there. It did damage to the roof of one of the homes, but at least no one was injured. Not long after that, two more nearby trees fell. Luckily, both fell between buildings, so no damage was done.

Still, these events led the strata council to look into what was going on.

After hiring arborists, they learned that a number of their trees were in danger of falling and of damaging homes, potentially causing injury (or worse -- everyone still with memories of the woman who was killed by a tree falling on her house in March).

I'll admit, I'm never happy when a tree comes down. And I know there's a contradiction in that -- our house is almost completely lined in wood -- wood that once was trees.

Still, this time I can at least understand that there is a reason for the cutting. And I'm also relieved to learn that this felling doesn't mean yet another batch of moderate-income housing will be eliminated in the name of the mega-house. It's just a matter of looking after the people who live there. Exhale.

What's wrong with this picture?

Or, for that matter, what's wrong with this house?

Aside from the boarded-up windows, it appears to be sturdy and well looked-after, right down to the up-to-date chimney fixture for a gas fireplace.

The only problem seems to be that its measurable footprint is probably only about 2,000 square feet. And it doesn't seem that anyone wants such a tiny, little house any more.

So yes, it's coming down -- not even being relocated (the way the Queenslanders seem to do). And considering that it was gone the day after I took this photo, I suppose there wasn't even any salvage of materials done.

This level of waste embarrasses me. And the most frustrating part is that I don't have a clue about what I can do about it.

How is this an improvement?

The world is changing -- especially in the part of the world where I live. Not so very long ago, this lot held a modest house and a number of trees stood in the yard. Not any more.

I'm no fortune-teller, but I'm pretty sure there will soon be a very large house rising here -- one that will extend to the farthest legal reaches of the lot, both sides and back.

Interestingly, the people who live in the modest house just next door are apparently planning to stay, as they are in process of installing a new roof.

Something seems very wrong when houses that are barely forty years old are demolished, just so extreme (some call them 'monster') homes can be erected. It seems to me that if I wanted a mega-mansion, I'd want to build it on a piece of land worthy of such a house, and not squeeze it in on a lot in a neighbourhood where it doesn't look at all like it wants to be part of the same community.

Disappointing

Last night was a presentation by four of the six candidates running for election in our riding. The topic for the evening's discussion was homelessness and housing. But nearly all of the answers they gave were discouraging in the fact that they were such non-answers.

Or, if they did respond to the topic, they gave answers that were much more applicable to other, faraway parts of the city.

It was as if they all lived in the same protected little cottage, one that's covered so completely in flowering ivy it's impossible to see out.

Not one of the candidates alluded to the biggest issue in this part of the city: the fact that so many perfectly good houses are being torn down to make way for an ever-increasing number of monster houses.

If these new homes were even occupied by people who planned to stay in the neighbourhood and become part of the community, things might be different. But no, it seems inevitable that within 12 to 18 months, they get flipped.

Trees are coming down and crime is going up.

But did these candidates have anything to say about this? Not a peep.