Father’s Day - It’s Complicated!

I try to have low expectations of Father’s Day. My relationship with my father was complicated, and I don’t have biological children of my own. My step-daughter’s relationship with Father’s Day was heavily impacted by the guilt of split loyalties demanded by her biological father.

It’s easy to ignore a Hallmark Holiday based on traditional family values, and that’s usually what I try to do. Unless you open social media, watch TV, or connect to the outside world, adverts and promotions for the “happy day” abound. Which can be rough if you have a challenging history, and I’d say many of us do.

My lovely wife tries to compensate for my lack of interest in the day with some special activity, meal, or nice gift, and I certainly appreciate her effort. However, this year, my wife has her own Dad to care for, and he’s got some health challenges, so even those efforts may be muted.

Not all is negative, though. Last night, on the eve of Father’s Day, I was reading the book “First Wilderness” by Sam Keith, and a passage about words that his father spoke to him hit me hard. Sam Keith relates his story of moving to the Alaskan wilderness and telling his father. His father’s reaction, quoting a few lines of Robert Service’s poem, The Cremation of Sam McGee hit me right in the feels.

““There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,” he recited. “The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold.””

— First Wilderness: My Quest in the Territory of Alaska by Sam Keith

Sage advice, indeed, for a trek into the unknown. And this quote got me thinking about what, if any, sage advice my own father had passed down to me. What teachings could I learn from and pass down to my step-daughter? Unfortunately, I couldn’t come up with much advice (at least that was fit for publishing), but I did recollect some pleasant memories with my father, which was a nice side-effect of this thought exercise.

I remembered my dad teaching me how to work on cars as a small boy, which was necessary when I was young, as finances were not strong. Though it took me another decade to determine that a half-inch wrench had a real descriptive name, and wasn’t a four-letter curse word! My dad taught me how to drive a motorbike when I was 10, drive a car when I was 13, and a forklift when I was 17. I have a fun memory of watching the Blue Jays’ World Series game in the early nineties at a pub in Vancouver. I especially remember my Dad picking a fight with a fan of the opposite team sitting next to us and having to defuse that situation! What fun. Unfortunately, my contact with my own dad fell apart after that, and we weren’t close again. He passed away some 8 or 9 years ago and we hadn’t spoke in years. Luckily, I’m at peace with that. In fact, it was probably better that way.

Thinking about Father’s Day when your memories aren’t great is rough. Or, when you don’t even think about your father at all. But, trying to come up with some positive memories, even if fleeting, can be a positive experience. Maybe there is a pearl of wisdom somewhere that you can pass along. I hope that Father’s Day isn’t a negative experience for you, wherever you are.

Prairie Valley #13: A Short Walk In The Woods

Somedays, it's hard to believe the beauty in my local area. I live in a valley surrounded by mountains and trails. For a fun hike on a Sunday morning, I ventured out onto a trail on my local mountain, and took my new drone for company.

The scenery was stunning, so here is the video I shot. Winter hikes: Amazing!

Prairie Valley #12: Hey, Bear!

I grew up during the theatrical release of The Jungle Book (a long time ago!), and one of my first ideas of bears was Baloo scratching his back and singing "The Bear Necessities." Lovely fellow! This association with friendly, cuddly bears likely contributes to my lack of fear about these sharp-clawed animals in the wild—and having been a city dweller for so many years, bears weren't something I've ever given much thought to.

I now live in a more rural area, with a couple of bears regularly patrolling my neighbourhood - evidenced by the large, triangular deposits left behind or the occasional raid of a neighbour's garbage can if left outside. Luckily, these are black bears and not their aggressive relatives, though one is still pretty big. They walk through my street mostly at night to get from the hills where they live to the orchards on the other side of my house.

Mrs. T is much more prudent about bear safety and insists on carrying bear spray when we venture into the trails. She carries a bear bell when hiking or will set up her phone to play music and make noise to avoid creeping up on a bear. I go along with such measures largely for marital harmony. However, if I'm hiking deep in the back woods, I'm likely to strap on a can of bear spray. I've had bears walk through my camps, but they haven't woken me up, and I tend to be bear-aware with food to avoid potential problems.

Last weekend, I had my first close-up bear encounter. We were camping on a property some miles to the West of us in a beautiful wooded valley. I was taking Coco, our Lhasa Apso Princess Puppy, out for a walk when I noted a big black bear in the meadow a couple of hundred feet from us. Mr. Bear was doing beary things and foraging around the meadow, paying us no mind. Coco was likewise entertained by the sniffs of white-tail deer that had passed through the campground the night before. Indeed, it was The Peaceable Kingdom, with nobody paying any mind to anyone else.

So, I did what any self-respecting iPhone-carrying moron would do and broke out the camera to get a couple of pictures of the bear. I'm not suggesting I walked closer to get a selfie or anything that daft, but seeing a bear in the wild doing bear things was interesting. Very cool.

That was until Mr. Bear noticed us and started walking towards us. I didn't think much of it at first, as I was trying to keep an eye on the dog doing that circular walk that we all know means relief is coming soon. I looked up and saw that the bear had suddenly gotten much closer. Even at a walk, a bear moves quickly, and when it's looking straight at you and walking in your direction, it moves like the wind.

At about 100 feet away, I was tempted to pick up Coco, throw my phone at the bear, and shriek like a little girl while running away as quickly as my plump little legs would carry me, but this meant I'd be an appetizer for Mr. Bear. I could say I fought him off with my pocket knife and wrestled him into submission, but the truth is a lot less scary.

I said louder than usual, but not a shout - "Hey, bear!" And Mr. Bear turned tail and ran off through the back of the meadow. I felt bad for scaring the big loaf. And the experience has not taught me to be afraid of bears any more than before. Cute buggers when you see them up close. At least the black ones.