Everything we believe in is perception, reality only plays a supporting role​

Think about it. Religion is an obvious example, but how much of what you believe in is based on fact? What makes people sexy - is it the person, or how they carry themself? Ok, I'll give you math, but is physics based entirely on facts or, perhaps how we interpret (perceive) those facts.  And don't even start me on diet - when I was 15 we were all eating tons of sodium and bacon while shunning sugar. (Frankly I have yet to get it right) This is why I think it is more important than ever for us to reconnect with our food. I like to use edible flowers as a great demonstration. If you have a regular salad of lettuce, tomatoes and carrots it is fairly tasty but visually bland, Add some borage or pea flowers and it is a whole new experience. Or think of wrapping some asparagus with a pea vine - stunning. I only wish I had thought of it while I had peas.

Every day people are bombarded by thousands of advertising messages. These messages are necessary for our economy and more - it is how we learn about many aspects of our lives, not just what we buy. Greenpeace does ads just like Heinz does. It is how organizations and companies define their brand. They help define our perceptions. 

Food on a plate doesn't stand much of a chance by comparison. 

One Year Gone By

11 years ago today we celebrated our wedding on a Tofino beach. 1 year ago today cancer took you away. The last few years have been a long, tough road. I am sad that you never saw the house that I share with our son, but glad that you did have the chance to stand on this land and see the beauty of it. I think you would be proud of how our son is coping without a father and learning to take on a bigger share of the chores - and there are a lot of them here: he feeds the chickens, the dogs, the kittens and is learning to be a beekeeper as well as doing regular chores like laundry and dishes. I think you would be glad to see that your other boys are growing into independent young men and finding their way in the world. 

I still miss you. Not the man who was fighting for his life and career while sharing in the challenges of raising four boys in a life strewn with chaos and upheaval. 

I so miss the man I fell in love with. Who shared ideas, and hopes, and dreams. Who would sit with me and contemplate both the complexities and simplicities of life with a glass of wine. Who could have a meaningful discourse with me on things he learned in philosophy courses and the writings of so many while we shared lunch. I miss the man I knew before life took its toll.

I remember you telling me that you had a dream where you lived on a small farm. I remember laughing at how impossible that seemed.

Well honey, I am here on the farm. Well, it is almost a farm. The southside is fenced but not cross fenced yet. The greenhouse is built and planting is started but there are still grow beds to prepare. Most of the fruit trees are planted and we have apples coming along. I postponed the sheep and goats until we can get the barn built. We are able to live in 1/3 of the house while we slowly chip away at getting the rest of it finished. I am not complaining, I love being here and being able to sit in the forest or look out to the mountains from the deck. We have chickens and bees, and the dogs think they moved to heaven. 

Considering I am doing it on my own while I work and raise our son, I think I am doing OK. I would love to have it all done by now. In fact I planned on it. But things happen and sometimes there are more sideways steps than forward ones. But that is OK. As long as I get one thing done each day we are moving forward. Today I will get two more grow beds started and move some of my seedlings into them. Then I am going to pour a glass of our favourite wine and watch the sun disappear behind the trees while I contemplate this life. 

And that will be enough.

life, death and moving on

My husband died three days ago. It was our tenth wedding anniversary. Originally we were supposed to marry on May 28th 2005, which would have marked 2 years from the day we first met. We had to change our wedding date so my late mother's sister could be there.  Maybe he would have lived another five days if we had stuck to the original date. 

He was only 60 years old. He was healthy, a runner, he should have lived longer. We had plans. We thought we had a future.

He was brilliant. Described by a friend as uncannily brilliant. He knew things. Secrets he took to his grave. 

He was the one who had always chastised me for not having a Plan B when I started a project. But he was not prepared to die. He believed that if he prepared for death it would be admitting it could best him. 

He did not believe he would die because he had beaten almost every obstacle he faced in life through tenacity, research and intellect. But death would not be cheated, and cancer devoured him. My son and I watched him wither to a wisp of the man he once was. He was never a big man, he was tall and lean with arms that were stronger than they looked. Watching the arms that had once held me turn to bones with a thin layer of skin clinging to them was the second hardest thing I have done. The hardest was telling him it was OK to leave us. That we would go on after he died.

Cancer stole my son's childhood. It took away a father who never got the chance to teach him how to play baseball, or drive a car, or shave. 

Cancer stole my husband's voice. For years we talked. I remember having philosophical conversations that could last for hours or even days about life, humanity, ethics and morals. He was unwaveringly rational in his approach whereas I was consistently emotional. It made life interesting. When his health took a turn for the worse, he stopped talking. As time went on and the various protocols and therapies did not work, he stopped eating meals with us. When his legs got too weak, he stopped going for walks. When he got too tired, he stopped caring.

Cancer stole my husbands body and now it will die because it has nowhere to live. But it could not steal his spirit. Just before he descended into a coma he turned to the doctor and said, "time to send in the clowns". Shortly after midnight I wished him a happy anniversary. An hour later I was dreaming of baseball when I got the call that he was taking his last breaths. I know it was him telling me goodbye. The next morning I felt him caress my back. I know he was telling me he still loved me.

I know he chose to die on our anniversary to tell me that it is time to move on.

I'm trying.

journeys

This is a shot of a river that winds along the logging road enroute to my favourite spot on earth. Bamfield. I have been going there since I was 8 years old. When I can't sleep I imagine walking down the path to Brady's Beach (before it was a road). There was a swamp full of skunk cabbage at the half way mark and then tiny streams that would cascade down the rocks into the ferns as you got closer. I always picked huckleberries. You would smell the ocean and hear the waves crashing well before you could see the beach. And there was this little house right at the end of the  trail. I never knew the person who lived there, but I dreamed of that little house.