Homeward bound

We saw plenty of open range, with frequent warnings posted that livestock might be on the highway. Fortunately, we didn't encounter any critters on the road, though we saw plenty in the fields and on hillsides beside us: antelope, deer, elk, horses, and several varieties of cattle.



We also stopped at some inspiring and wonder-filled places along the way, one of them at the site of what's known as Custer's Last Stand, Little Big Horn.

It was very moving to see the number of grave markers there, especially those of the Indians who called the encounter the Battle of Greasy Grass.


The closer we got to home, the more we could see that the season had begun changing. While we'd had mostly summery temps, there'd been a few cool days, but the colours in the trees made it obvious that autumn was nearing.

Along with autumn approaching, I knew that my life was about to change again -- from the leisurely pace of poking my nose into new places and looking out the window as we cruised down the highways, to the sometimes-almost-frantic world of readings and workshops and deadlines.

But hey, after these wonderful adventures (and if you missed any of them, here's a link to the beginning of the trip), I think I'm ready -- to welcome autumn and to immerse myself in the many cultural activities closer to home.

Camping, with all the trimmings

Once we turned back towards home, we took some time for relaxing and stopped in a town that had caught our attention on the outbound trip, Deer Lodge, Montana. This was my morning view from bed, out the back window of The Rattler. Kind of made me want to stick around...

It's just a little bit of a town, but they've kept so much of their history, there's plenty to see and do.

You can visit the Old Montana Prison which has been converted into a museum.

The gift shop there is lots of fun, even for a non-shopper like me. Who knows, you might want to buy yourself a pair of the traditional striped prison garb. Despite their sad history, they look as though they'd make excellent pyjamas.

There's also an auto museum and a free-to-explore outdoor collection of classic rail cars.

But maybe my favourite attraction in town was the Olympic size swimming pool where I spent a vigorous half-hour (before they closed for the day) making up for some of the time I've spent sitting in the front seat of the RV as we sailed down the highways. And lucky me, aside from the lifeguard reading her book beside the pool, I was the only one there. Twelve feet deep and over 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Might be reason enough to go back.

For now, I reckon I'm satisfied to get onto the road back home. 

The wrong name

If you've seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind, you'll be familiar with the site called Devils Tower. Driving there, you can see it from miles away. And while the draw for us wasn't as crazed as that portrayed by the characters in the film, the closer we got, the more exciting it felt.

When we got there, we spotted a few brave adventurers climbing high up on the rock (you have to look closely -- or else, click on the image to zoom in some), but settled for following the path on an easy walk, not much over a mile, around the base of the rock.

While we walked, we couldn't help noticing that some of the trees had bits of coloured cloth or medicine bundles placed on them. Signs cautioned walkers that these hold religious significance and are not to be disturbed or removed.

There's a bit of a story of how this rocky mountain got the name Devils Tower (including of how it lost its apostrophe -- somebody's typo), There's also more than one telling of how those 'claw marks' on its side came to be. If one can imagine them as really being the marks of a bear, that bear must have made a grizzly look like a miniature.

Considering the negative connotations of anything with 'devil' in its name, I'd like to hope that it won't be long from now when the site can be renamed. I like the idea of calling what the Lakota people did, Mato Tipila, or in English, 'Bear Lodge'.

We were lucky enough to get a campsite near the base of the mountain and the pink rays of dawn on the rock were awe-inspiring. The whole place truly felt like much too sacred a site to be stuck with the name Devils Tower. And while this was a wonderful place to camp, the next place was also great, but in quite another way.

Dynamite art

I'm not sure whether that's actually the name for it, though that's certainly what it is. When the side of a mountain gets turned into a sculpture, the only tool big enough is TNT.

When we arrived at the Crazy Horse monument, the fog was thick -- enough so that our vehicle (by this time we'd joined up with pals who had a car) -- was granted half-price admission and a note stating we could come back for free, provided we could do so within the next three days.

Hoping to wait out the weather, we visited the treasure-laden museum. Of the exhibits, the art that most fascinated me were works by Denise Lajimodiere. She's skilled at a technique called birchbark biting. It's a traditional method I'd never seen or heard of before. My only regret is not buying one of her pieces.

After we'd wandered through the museum, we entered the auditorium for a very informative DVD presentation, So, even though we still hadn't been able to glimpse the mountain, we felt reasonably satisfied with all that we'd learned. But then, when a hoop dancer's performance was about to start, we decided to stay a while longer.

When the dancer (and the children he'd invited to join in) was nearly finished, a beam of sunlight struck through, burning off the fog and revealing the magnificent representation of the warrior Crazy Horse.

So far, only his head is complete, but the plan for the sculpture is ambitious and will show him on his horse, pointing to his lands. There's a certain amount of irony in this monument as, by all accounts, Crazy Horse never permitted any photos of himself -- apparently owing to the belief that one's soul could be stolen by the camera.

The biggest stumbling block to completion of the monument is the fact that the project is funded only by private donations.

The sculptor who began the project, Korczak Ziolkowski, determined that no public monies would ever be used. While this may seem pig-headed, especially in light of a large amount having been offered by government (and turned down), it's an imperative that his descendants seem to be honouring.

So, when we went down the road (less than 20 miles) to Mount Rushmore, I have to admit that it seemed a bit of a letdown. Maybe because I'd already been up the noses of some of those presidents (thanks to Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest) or maybe because I'd just seen a similar sculpture that dwarfs the art on Rushmore, the place was less than I'd expected. And who knows, maybe it's just a lack of rah-rah US patriotism in me. That might well be what you need to be blown away by this particular example of dynamite art. But our next stop represents another kind of art -- one created strictly by nature.

Wildlife abounds

So many different examples of wildlife live within the bounds of Yellowstone. In many instances, we'd spot them because the side of the road would be lined up with cars, people in and out of their vehicles, clicking with cameras and phones. I admit, I was certainly one of them, or I wouldn't have managed the above shot of the bear climbing down from the tree he'd been in (although yes, I stayed in the truck and used my zoom).

Still, there were many times we'd just watch as the animals grazed or strolled about.

In some ways, the elk were the ones that made me saddest. They'd obviously grown so accustomed to humans, they gathered in the town of Mammoth (on Yellowstone's north side) and lay around beside the buildings, taking advantage of the shade. Although there were many warning signs to keep one's distance, many foolish souls ventured (I thought) too near. With all that forest and grassland about, it was downright weird to see them lolling about on lawn.

The nearby town of Gardiner had antelope grazing on its high school football field. I suppose they keep the grass down nicely, but clearly, they too were accustomed to humans. There's something about this intersection of people with wildlife that makes me wonder who will win out. Somehow, as I consider coyotes, raccoons, deer -- and even bears -- who keep 'invading' what we like to think of as 'our' space, I question whose space is whose, or can land really ever be claimed by anyone?

To me, the most majestic of the animals were the bison. Whether they were standing atop the crest of hill, or simply grazing in a grassy field, they are such a powerful reminder of what this continent looked like not even 200 years ago.

Our luckiest viewing of them was one where we were (for quite a few minutes) the only people who'd spotted a small herd of them attempting to ford the Yellowstone River.

The bull who was obviously their leader watched from the shore as a group swam out into the river. Although I couldn't hear it, he apparently gave some sign and, as one, the herd turned back. Soon after, they set out from a spot slightly further north on the shore and this time, they managed to make it. Quite the sight, and one I will long remember -- almost enough to make me think I might be living in the 1800s and not the techno-2000s.

After they crossed the river, we thought we might have seen the best of Yellowstone, so again, we moved on -- this time, into South Dakota.

Yellowstone rocks!

Apparently, Yellowstone can't help being a place that rocks, as it's home to over half of the world's geysers. I learned that from a fabulous piece in the May 2016 issue of National Geographic -- an issue that's worth getting your hands on -- almost as good as a visit. [Note: Okay, that's a huge exaggeration, but perhaps the NG might offer consolation if you can't go.]

And just as I was taken aback by the power of seeing the Grand Canyon 'in person', I had a similar experience with the geysers and steaming pools at Yellowstone.

For one thing, scent isn't part of any visual presentation, not even in an IMAX theatre. And scent is definitely part of the Yellowstone adventure. Although there were variations, the smell was primarily of sulphur. Stinky, I suppose, though -- along with the steaminess -- it enhanced the reality of being there.

Another thing about Yellowstone is that the geysers are just about everywhere. Looking out over a field of grass where elk were grazing, I'd see whiffs of smoke here and there, as if a raft of careless campers had failed to put out their fires.

While 'being there' is much different than any vicarious experience, 'being there' in 2016 is one that has clearly been affected by social media.

I was amazed (and frankly, horrified) by the number of people who seemed interested only in doing a selfie with whatever monumental phenomenon might be behind them. It was as if the park were only scenery for a fashion shoot --Sports Illustrated used the park for one of its swimsuit issues -- but the people taking selfies were definitely not in the league of professional models.

The most astounding example of this was in evidence at the eruption of Old Faithful, the giant geyser that since the earthquakes of 1959 and 1983 is not quite as 'faithful' as it once was. We saw two 'performances' of this geyser, and oddly, in both instances -- even though people had waited around for the eruption to begin -- as soon as people had taken their photo, they left, without waiting for the explosive waters to subside. It was if they were merely checking off items on a 'been there, done that' list.

There are plenty of videos of Old Faithful on line, and while they're not as good as the real thing, they give you a small idea of just how impressive this testament to the power of nature is.

But there's more to Yellowstone than geysers. Click here for some of the wildlife we encountered.

On the road again

We're not as ambitious this time as we were for our road trip in 2011, when we drove and camped across North America and back -- Pacific to Atlantic and back to the Pacific again. Still, this should be an interesting journey, as the goal is Yellowstone, and a bit beyond.

We don't go as fast as some of the traffic, though we keep up our pace and pull off to the side when we can for speedier vehicles. Now and then we pass someone who deserves to have their photo taken, as was the case with this vintage RV and car.

As you can see, we had passed them, but did so too quickly to get off a good snap. So instead you get to see them through the eye of the side mirror, complete with a snippet of our own beloved RV, The Rattler which has taken us so many wonderful places.

A rainy day, not so good for hiking, but great covering a lot of miles. Onward! To see our next stop -- click Yellowstone.

A new understanding of Architecture

Where this is the day so many of the faithful (and probably the not-so-faithful) make their way back to school, I thought about what I'd write if I were assigned one of those 'How I Spent My Summer Holidays' essays.

Among things I learned was to fret less (at least I think I did). As a reminder, I kept as reference the character from Bridge of Spies whose response to why he wasn't worrying more was, "Would it help?"

But another 'lesson' that came my way was one from the blackberries. I prune them regularly from March through August, sometimes if only to allow me to get in there to pick. They grow so densely -- and as I observed this summer -- the 'wild' branches do more than block the berries from pickers. They provide strength and 'propping up' to the berry-bearing branches. They do this by forming arches, the original weight-bearing structure. As a result, I finally deduced the source of the word, Architecture.

This probably seems like a bit of a 'duh' realization, but it's one that made me only admire my beloved berries all the more.

So, that's how I spent my Summer Holidays. For now, I'm just glad that I don't have to go back to school.

Inspiring

That's the best word I can offer for the workshop I attended on the weekend. Presented at Art in the Country by the well-known illustrator, Michael Kluckner, it opened my eyes to a realm of possibilities I hadn't considered before.

Subject of his presentation was graphic novels. I've read a few -- even did a review of a recent one based on the journals of Susanna Moodie. And I've just finished reading Michael's a very real story, Toshiko, based on the internment of Japanese-Canadians in World War Two. As for considering creating a graphic novel myself, I'll admit the idea had never crossed my mind.

For one thing, I am not very skilled at drawing or sketching. But Kluckner made the impossible seem almost possible.

My plans for this coming season include roughing out some ideas in a sketchbook of my own. I am sure my efforts won't touch the beauty of Michael's work (evidenced by the travel sketches he shared), And though I'm not going anywhere near watercolours, I'm still going to get myself a nice soft pencil and give this genre a try.

And the livin' is easy...

...At least that's what the song says about summertime. Somehow this time of year isn't always "easy" as one might think, as it's often pretty darn busy. Much of that 'busy-ness' is at least outdoors -- and not 'on the computer'. Although this isn't really a heartbreak for me, it does mean I've been lazy about stepping out onto the big limb.

The photo above is an alcove on our deck -- a special spot where I like to read or even take a summertime nap. I call it The Boathouse. No particular reason, though I suppose the worn boards contribute to the feeling of someone's boathouse on a lake. So, even though Goolwa isn't on a lake (it's on the sea at the mouth of a river), the boat print serves well as part of the outdoor art.

But the thing is, this summer has been busy enough that I've barely spent any time in my beloved reading/relaxing spot. I'm thinking that maybe this will change in the next few days, especially where we've just had a celestial event that's supposed to signify big changes all around. (Am I the only one who remembers the song that celebrated the "dawning of the Age of Aquarius"?)

In the spirit of seeking change, but at the same time being realistic, I'm aiming for Monday as a day for relaxing and reading in my boathouse. I picked up two delicious-looking novels at the library, so I'm set, especially if I can finish all my projects in the kitchen!

Partly because all the fruits have been ahead of schedule, I've spent an awful lot of time freezing fruits for winter, making jam and even baking. To finish off this year's bounty of plums, I'm going to have get out the canner, as there's basically no more room in the freezer.

Yet even as I contemplate how to deal with the flavourful blessings, I've had to go out and pick again this afternoon. Not a bad little batch for ten minutes in the sun. They should make a very nice dessert.

So even if the livin' ain't always completely 'easy' I'm not about to complain.

Down to earth, for the Earth

The Kinder Morgan Pipeline plan remains under consideration. At least there's now a Ministerial Panel holding meetings, fielding further input before the final decision gets made.

It's hard not to be discouraged when things take this long, especially after the initial optimism so many of us held when Justin Trudeau was elected.

Despite the size of Surrey, and despite the fact that the proposed 'twinned' pipeline will pass through part of the city, no Task Force hearings were scheduled for here. As a result, I made my way instead to Langley, the nearest such event.

The jar pictured above, containing the thick sludge-like material, bitumen, was passed around the room as part of one of the presentations. Where everyone was limited to five minutes, facts were flying fast, and it was nearly impossible to keep up with any note-taking. Luckily, it appeared that there were court-style stenographers, keeping better track than I of all that was said.

I wasn't the only one who'd come from outside Langley. One of the most passionate (and informative) speakers was a woman who identified herself as a 'mom' from White Rock. There were also engineers, former oil patch and refinery workers, all of them with strong reasons for opposing the
plan.

Okay, not fair, I did hear one presentation that seemed in support of Kinder Morgan's plan and I was glad that the assemblage remained respectful, despite the elephant so obviously in the room.

As for my presentation, I took, as might be expected, my own track and read part of the poem I wrote as a fundraiser for the Burnaby Mountain Defenders. As introduction, I cited the Han Shan Poetry Project, which succeeded in saving a forest -- a forest in Langley, no less, and on a site not all that far from where the day's meetings were being held.

I was also happy when, at the break, one of the government representatives asked if I had a copy of the poem. I was very glad I'd brought one of the original fundraiser chapbooks, as it's now on its way to Ottawa as part of the input gathered by the panel.

There are more meetings coming up -- in Burnaby, Vancouver and other cities in British Columbia. The full schedule is at the link cited earlier in this post -- but, in case you can attend (or even submit an email response), here's that link again.

Celebrating Amelia in Atchison, Kansas

Well, I don't think she'd be flying, but if she were alive, today's the day Amelia Earhart would be celebrating her birthday, turning 119. If nothing else, she'd probably have a hard time getting her pilot's licence renewed. The gorgeous cake (yes, that's actually a cake!) represents the line of luggage sponsored by Earhart, one of the many products she endorsed to finance her flights.

But even though she isn't around, every year when her birthday approaches, the town where she was born throws quite the celebration in her honour. This year, for the 20th anniversary of the festival, I managed to be there in the midst of it.

The range of events soared from the lofty to the less-than-sublime, and I'm pleased to say that I sampled the full range.

An important part of the festival is its Pioneering Achievement Award, which recognizes outstanding women and their accomplishments. The women recognized at the Earhart Festival are kin of sorts to the famous pilot, as Amelia was all about women's rights and our ability to accomplish whatever we set our minds to. Much to admire, much to live up to.

Past recipients of the award include US Air Force Colonel Eileen Collins, first woman to pilot a space shuttle and athlete Lynette Woodard, the first woman to play for the Harlem Globetrotters. A number of other past recipients attended this year's festival and took part in a thought-provoking panel on Saturday morning. They included Tori Murden McClure (first woman to row solo across the Atlantic), Sophia Danenberg (first black woman to summit Mt Everest), Ngozi Eze (working on behalf of women in Africa, towards ending female circumcision and providing medical aid to victims of war rape) and the very special Ann Pellegreno who in 1967 completed the around-the-world at the Equator flight Amelia Earhart never finished. Yep, heady company, and I haven't named half of them.

But the weekend wasn't only about serious talk and accomplishments. Craziest event of the weekend had to be the demolition derby, just slightly up the road from town at the local dirt track. Among events was a first for me: a smash-up derby, but between school buses! Otto, you would have loved it.

After a lovely (and decidedly civilized, much in contrast to my afternoon at the track) reception at the Amelia Earhart Birthplace Museum, Saturday night gave us perfect weather, with just a breeze coming off the river while crowds gathered along the bank.

First, there was the excitement of the aerobatics show, with lots of people snapping photos. On the right you can just see the Amelia Earhart Bridge over the Missouri River. Later in the evening, its lights flashed like a rainbow.

And really, what July event in the US would be complete without the finale of a magnificent fireworks display. Just one warning with these: unless you turn your volume down, you're bound to hear me laughing.

Only in Surrey?

When I saw this sign, warning of construction, I wondered whether the sign-makers had made a mistake.

You see, I live only a few blocks from 160th and 20th (that's confusing enough, though one is a 'street' while the other is an 'avenue') and hadn't seen anything there that resembled construction.

It was only later that the penny dropped for me. They meant the other 160th Street.

Yep, there are two 160th Streets in Surrey, separated by the wide band of a North-South freeway.

I guess when the street-namers were counting off their numbers, they anticipated a different configuration than what we have today.

Is there any other city or town that has such crazy-making signs?

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.

A gooey Canada Day?

I suppose my celebratory image for Canada Day looks as though someone might have spilled maple syrup on the berries resting on this maple leaf look-alike. The gooeyness is just the result of a few squished berries. Because I didn't have a container when I picked them, I used the leaf they'd grown near as an impromptu wrapper.

They're thimbleberries -- a fragile and somewhat fleeting gift of summer, a forager's delight. Even the way that I came upon them was a surprising treat.

I'd had to have a test at the nearby hospital, and on my way home I took a shortcut through a parking lot. Along the undeveloped, non-street side, I ran across a plenitude of thimbleberries and couldn't resist picking a few.

These berries, native to our region, must be some vestige of a once-upon-a-time forest that was here in what's now a settled (though undergoing change) neighbourhood. I'm just glad some little piece of our native wildlife remains. Next year, if I want the taste of thimbleberries, I'll know where to go looking.

And if you'd like to know more, I'd encourage you to visit the site of The Northwest Forager where there's a video with lots of info about these berries -- even some interesting applications for the leaves!

A berry early summer

Yes, summer is officially here, but this year's berries seem way ahead of schedule. Strawberries have come and been (witness all those jars of jam), and it isn't even Canada Day.

As for raspberries, I've already gone out to the farm in Aldergrove picking two rounds -- close to twenty pounds each -- so the freezer is starting to get full.

But now, here come the blueberries! Not that I'm complaining; they're big and delicious. But it sure seems early for them. Other years, I've been picking them in August.

Especially where I saw some apples ripening the other day, it makes me wonder what will be around by the end of summer. Pumpkins?

I wondered

...about the name for tonight's moon, the one they're calling the 'strawberry moon'. I like the idea of it being the time for picking berries. Already, the back yard is offering enough raspberries for daily eating and even a few strawberries as treats.

But when I went outside and took a photo of the big solstice moon in the sky, the camera seemed to add its own strawberry garnish around the moon. I never understand these tricks of the light, though I always appreciate them, especially when they arrive on the day of solstice.

This coinciding of a full moon with solstice is apparently quite a rare event, one that won't occur again until 2062. In other words, it's one that most of us will likely never see again.

It officially turned into summer this afternoon, and even the garden seems to be in agreement.

Under the rainbow

I know I'm not the only one still reeling at all that's happened in Orlando this past week. People with guns gone so very wrong and even an alligator. It's hard to think about so much sadness in just one place, especially a place that's known for its beauty, a place where people go to be happy.

The executions at the Pulse Club -- a hate crime by anyone's definition. It's hard to imagine how anyone could develop such loathing for others based simply on who they are. As for publicity about the shooter, I don't want to learn more. And I will certainly never say his name.

The funerals in that sad city have begun. The healing is sure to take a long while. I can only look with hope to a time when a person's sexual orientation will have no more consequence than whether they have blue or brown eyes. A time when we can again soar over the rainbow, and not be bogged down underneath all that it stands for. Besides, I'm pretty sure if you're underneath where someone else sees a rainbow, you won't see anything but clouds.

It sounds like officials for the City of White Rock have fallen off the deep end and into a pool of something that's making them talk funny. They sound as though they're spouting April Fool's Day pranks.

It's a plan to 'improve' the waterfront, to the tune of 30 million dollars. From blockades down there already, it looks as though they're serious about carrying out a plan that I can only look at and call insane.

Half of that 30 million would go towards dredging the seabed to 'reclaim' 6,500 square metres of land from the sea. That's 1.6 something acres, or a little bigger than the area of a CFL field.

Creating a new park sounds civic-minded, I suppose, but at a cost of $15 million for that 'reclaimed' land?

And how would such a plan affect the sealife offshore? After all, the bay still contains crabs, fish, and even the occasional visiting whale. And really, haven't these officials heard about rising sea levels?

I suspect all of this has less to do with improving life for the citizens of White Rock than with setting the stage for a pricey marina that will complement the all-too-likely casino on land that was once called Semiahmoo Park.

Today is World Oceans Day, a day when we should be thinking of ways to clean up the waters, to look after our oceanfront, not destroy it.

Season of the bribes

Well, it looks as though it's started. Even though the next provincial election isn't until May 9, 2017, the B.C. "Liberals" have already started with the handouts. Although Tuesday's wasn't so much a handout as a reinstatement of funds they were taking away, it does mean $25 million will go back into education.

Then came Wednesday's announcement of additional day care spaces. It's money that will provide just over 1800 spaces, so it's hard to see how this lives up to the government's brag by Minister Stephanie Cadieux that  "These new licensed spaces will help bring peace of mind to thousands of B.C. parents who can drop their kids off in the morning knowing they'll be well cared for in a rich learning environment," 

How exactly she's determined that under two thousand spaces will help 'thousands' of parents is beyond me. But oh yes, I'm forgetting -- this is all part of the ramp-up to full-blown election mode.

It's nearly a year until we'll vote -- longer than the gestation period for one of the many (over 40,000) babies who will be born in this province by next May 9th. So yes, there will likely be thousands of parents who will be hoping for peace of mind about reliable day care for their children, but I don't think this announcement will be the one that accomplishes that.

I wonder what the next bribe will be. It's sure to be soon. Stay tuned.

Too many books?

This was the scene at the Vancouver Public Library's Book Sale. Because I was already downtown, I dared to stop in -- but only to take a snapshot of the scene.

Considering the number of books that share space in this house, I knew I didn't dare go down the stairs, as surely I would have found a few more 'treasures' for my already-overcrowded shelves.

Because I was pretty sure there's some famous quote about not being able to have 'too many books', I googled the phrase. Sure enough, I came up with too many answers.

The most authoritative -- or at least earliest -- seems to be from Rudyard Kipling. But his adds more than books to the list, claiming both red wine and ammunition as must-have items. I can only hope he didn't mean an excess of those two in combination.

The most famous one, and likely the most hideous, is one I'd expected to be attributed to Dorothy Parker. But apparently, it's from someone named Carter Burden who -- as might be expected -- is a Vanderbilt descendant. Easy for her to say, that one can never be too rich, too thin or have too many books. Further searching led to Wallis, Duchess of Windsor, who's credited with the first two elements in that particular maxim -- the books seem to have been an add-on from Burden.

And then there's the one from Drew Barrymore, claiming one can never have too many books. I can only conclude she has a much bigger house than ours. And probably someone who dusts them now and then.

Probably the closest to my own sentiment is the homely little phrase from one of my all-time heroes, Frank Zappa : "So many books, so little time."

Back to the mountain again?

Last week's announcement about twinning of the Kinder Morgan pipeline through Burnaby seems to contradict almost all the election promises I thought I heard Justin Trudeau make. Is the National Energy Board still operating as if the previous government is in power? Or did I miss something?

The photo above was taken in November, 2014, during the protests on Burnaby Mountain.

Maybe it's time to go back up to the mountain and make our presence known again...

The mountain where my children named the seasons by their berries:salmonberries huckleberries, blackberries, salal. When to gather, which to eat, which to leavebehind, nourishing mercies for their brethren. 

Unexpected

But then, I suppose, a fire is never something you plan for. While it's certainly nowhere near the scale of the Fort McMurray experience, this was more than enough to remind the many members of our community who'd gathered quietly, watching that yes, it can happen here -- or anywhere.

I took the photo about an hour ago, close to twelve hours after the fire was first noticed. It's hard to think that it still continues. I can only hope it will be under control and out soon -- and in time to salvage at least part of this apartment building. The one behind it, under construction, is gone.

Difficult to know what to say or think, beyond yet again being grateful for all being well here at our house.

What a wa$te!

As if the recent phone scam with fraudsters claiming to represent the Canada Revenue Agency (CRA) hasn't been enough of a bother, I need to now add a new annoyance -- one that was actually sent out by CRA, though apparently in error.

To go back to the beginning of these woes, I (along with many other Canadian) received a series of quite nasty, threatening calls, telling me that there had been a problem with my recent tax return and that I'd better pay up -- pronto -- or get a lawyer to make contact on my behalf. Since the caller actually left a number for me to call, it seemed easy to report this as a nuisance call, one that no doubt was part of a fraud scheme.

When I reported the call to the police, I was somewhat surprised that I was immediately transferred to a staff member dedicated to this particular problem, as I hadn't known then how widespread this was. He took down the details, and when I offered that my caller had identified himself as "Officer Riley Smith" he chuckled a bit, stating that "Ryan Smith" was another of the pseudonyms used, suggesting they must be working their way through the R-names. He told me I could also report it to my phone provider to see if they might be able to help. Ha.

The phone company's solutions at first seemed reasonable: block the caller's number. Yet when I tried this, the message came back that I couldn't. Because this seemed weird, I contacted a service agent for help, as I figured I'd probably hit the wrong 'pound key' or 'star' combination in my efforts to block the number. But no, that wasn't the problem.

It turns out that even the phone company can't block this particular number from calling me again. The rep explained that their software isn't capable of dealing with the matter of blocking that caller. In other words, the fraudster's software is 'smarter' than the phone company's. Confidence-inspiring, isn't it.

But back to the 'legit' message from CRA, which arrived in yesterday's mail. This was a notice stating that I hadn't yet paid my income tax assessment, and that the amount owing (to be paid by May 25th) was thus-and-such, an amount that had clearly had interest added to my original amount.

When I went to my bank account, sure enough, the money was gone -- and as of the date when I'd paid it, April 29th, a whopping twenty-four hours in advance of the April 30th deadline.

Yet the delinquent payment notice I'd received from CRA was dated May 5th, six days after I had followed their recommendation and paid online.

So, I picked up the phone and called (luckily, they at least provide a 1-800 number), only to be told that my balance was zero, and that yes, their records show I paid in full on the 29th of April and all is well. Then, I asked, "What happened? Why did I get this notice?"

The poor guy replied that he couldn't even tell me how many of these notices had gone out -- and all in error -- and that he and his colleagues were just about crazy from trying to explain to people that it was a mistake, that they didn't owe anything and that all was well.

But really, I thought, all isn't well. The postage alone cost nearly a dollar (to say nothing of the paper, processing, etc.).

What I'd like to know now, in strictly, dollar-terms -- not even in counting the hours of phone calls the agents had to waste their time dealing with -- just how much tax-payer money was wasted by Canada Revenue this week?

And why is that I suspect that this, like the unblockable numbers the fraudsters can devise, is a problem where the 'blame' goes to the software and to the machine -- the machines we humans have supposedly been in charge of, the software programs we have written.

Yet, when the software is making such expensive and troublesome errors, isn't it perhaps time to take back some of the powers we've granted the machines -- or at least try, while perhaps we still can.

Fearsome contrasts

This is the beautiful rhododendron that grows in our front yard. If it looks a little fuzzy, that's because I took the photo last night at dusk when the light was beginning to fade. Still, I loved the glow that the blossoms seemed to emit.

In the twenty years we've lived here, these flowers have always opened for Mother's Day. The only year that proved to be an exception was last year, when just about everything seemed to be a bit late. As if to compensate, everything in this year's garden has been early.

Considering all that's been on the news this week -- the conflagration in Fort McMurray -- this bush with its glorious blossoms seems like a full-blown miracle. Here, the world comes in colours -- lush greens and vibrant flowers. There, it's become a world of ash -- stark tones of black and white, the aftermath of hell.

But back to those rhodos. Being the lazy gardener that I am, my slogan is pretty much, "If it comes up on its own, I am happy." Thus, my satisfaction at daffodils and tulips, those stalwarts whose bulbs do all the work in early spring. And now, the lupins and daisies are opening, with the lilies sure to follow them in turn.

If I can be called the lazy gardener, my friend Jane would be my polar opposite. She knew more than anyone I've ever met about flower gardening. Vagaries of weather, soil conditions, what to grow in shade or sun, rain or drought -- she knew it all. Today marks the day that she arrived on the planet and should have been a day when she would be here to glory in the blossoms of the season. Yet again, a candle is alight on my kitchen counter, though my greatest remembrances of her today are outdoors in the midst of all that life and colour. In addition, I am doing something I'm sure she'd approve: making a donation to the Red Cross and its relief fund to help the residents of Fort McMurray