A Row of Problematic Willows

     I love having deciduous trees around our house, because of the cool shade they provide during the summer.  However, the willow saplings we transplanted when we bought our house almost fifty years ago, have grown so huge and tall, that they now create a threat for the house if they blew over.  Several times now I have had the willows topped when they got to tall, but the trees grow so vigorously with new limbs, that the upper limbs of the trees that sprouted from the cut top, make the trees as high as they were before they were initially topped.

    Sadly, it is now time again to get them topped once again, and this time I want to get the trunks shortened way down, so they don’t create such a threat to the house.  I also want to get those trunks that lean toward the house removed.  Next week the arborist will be coming over to take a look at the project.  

    Topping a tree is one of the worse things you can do to a tree, because cut allows the fungi to get into the trunk, which cause rot that will weaken the trunks and eventually kill the tree.  Like I said, they have already been previously topped a couple of times, and if I get them topped lower, hopefully the trees will once again sprout out new branches, and having the trunks considerably shortened will at least, not threaten the house if they do begin to rot.

    I also have to think about the threat of forest fires.  Most fire prevention plans urge all trees close to the house to be removed, but deciduous trees with their moist leaves, do not burn as readily as conifer trees, and willows grow in moist places and I think the cool shade they provide to the area will help hamper a fire.  At least that is my hope.

You can view buy paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Yesterday's Prince George Trip

    I always hate to have appointments in Prince George during the winter.  The two and a half hour drive there is long and dangerous enough during the long days of summer, but it always scares me more during the winter.  When an appointment is made, we never know what the winter driving conditions will  be when we have to go:  Icy highway?  Big trucks causing whiteouts in front of you during snow?  Rocks thrown up by passing cars from the “sand” on the highways? and of course, there is always the danger of wild animals darting out in front of you.

    I started yesterday’s trip, leaving the house in the dark, at 7:00.  As I was going down our road headed for the highway, I was delighted to see the moon, just a narrow crescent, rising over the Cariboo Mountains.  (photo above).

    On Highway 16 just west of McBride, I saw, in the distance, the lights of several vehicles parked along the highway.  I slowed, and when I got closer, saw that there had been an accident.  There was a car completely turned upside down in the snow-filled ditch beside the highway.  The accident must have just happened, because there were no first responders, just people who had stopped to help.  Beyond the turned over car, I noticed fresh blood on the highway.  I assume a deer or moose was hit causing the driver to loose control.  I don’t know anything about the condition of the driver.

    Yesterday fortunately, the highway to Prince George was clear of snow and ice, so I was happy that I didn’t have to deal with that along the way.

    When I approached the Slim Creek Rest Area, I notice that the rising sun, just coming up behind me, was illuminating the mountain slope to the west of me, while still leaving the lower trees in the valley shaded.  It was really interesting light, with the orangish light on the treed slope and gray-green trees in the foreground.  I had taken a photo of the same color phenomenon years ago, but couldn’t help but take another shot yesterday:

    Upon arriving in Prince George, I scrambled around doing shopping, eating lunch, then going to the periodontist.  it was 2:00 when that appointment was over, so I immediately started my drive back to McBride.  About an hour outside of McBride, I noticed some nice light hitting a snow-covered peak in the Park Range of the Canadian Rockies, so I pulled over and took the photo below through my windshield. 

    Upon finally getting back to our house at 4:30, I unloaded the car, wondered where to put all of the foodstuffs I had purchased, then had a bite to eat, and tried to relax for 30 minutes, before putting on my western shirt and going to square dancing.

    It had been a long and exhausting day with all of the driving and activities, and I really hadn’t been able to unwind, so I was happy when I was finally be able to crawl into bed.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

A Flicker, A Blast of Winter Color

     I have a short section of log that I drilled some holes in which I hung on a tree, and fill with peanut butter every morning.  All of the local birds love the peanut butter, especially the woodpeckers.  A few days ago, there was a beautifully colored Flicker that came for some peanut butter.

    Flickers are certainly a distinct and visually striking bird, and I was happy that even though it saw me through the window, it hung around long enough for me to take the photo above.   I really like those orange tail feathers and the polka dot chest.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

A Memorable Bike Home From Wor

             Whenever the conditions in our mountain community were tolerable, I used to bike to work.  We lived on a country road without much traffic, and the only real dangerous part of the trip was biking on the highway with the big tractor trailer trucks zooming by as you were on the Fraser River bridge.

    One day in June of 1996 I was biking home after work.  I had safely crossed the bridge and was on our road, just past what used to be Dettling’s house on Moccasin Flats.  I was beginning to quicken my pace to help give me some momentum for the upcoming climb up the Mennonite Church hill.  Suddenly  when out of nowhere, two aggressively barking dogs appeared behind me on the road, and began chasing after me.

    I slammed on my brakes thinking I would stop, and get off the bike to shake my fist and yell at them.  Unfortunately, I must have pressed the front brake lever too hard, and that, along with my fast momentum, caused me to flip over the front of the bike, landing me on the edge of the road.  

    Fortunately, no cars were coming.  The barking dogs quickly turned and hightailed it back to the house, no longer wanting to be part of the episode.  Luckily, my bike wasn’t damaged, I was shaken up, but managed to I pedaled slowly home.  I survived the accident with just my left wrist hurting, and my left leg was sort of “rope burned” from my jeans.

            After that I was always a bit wary when approaching Dettling’s place on my bike, and while the dogs still barked at me, they allowed to go by without the chase.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Hey, That Was My Truck

         This story gives me an excuse to show off one of my favorite paintings.

        The 1980’s and 90’s were the golden age of social activities and friendships for us, living in McBride.  Several times a week we would visit friends to socialize.  It seemed that all of us we busy building on our houses, and labor as well as tools and equipment were freely shared.

    One Saturday we drove our car up to Prince George for a shopping trip in our.  Along the way we saw a lot of wildlife grazing on the side of the road.  There were a couple of moose, a caribou (not a common sight), and a mother black bear with a tiny little cub.

    When we got back to McBride and were driving up our road headed for our house, a GMC truck that looked a lot like mine, passed us coming in the opposite direction.  I didn’t notice the driver, but saw it was carrying a load of old railroad ties. 

    When we drove into our driveway, I was surprised to discover that my GMC truck was gone, but I didn’t panic, because there was another vehicle parked in its place.    I assumed that one of our friends must have borrowed it.

    A few hours later my old GMC truck came down the driveway driven by our friend John, and the story unfolded.  Earlier in the day John had come over to borrow the truck, and discovered that the truck was there with the keys in it, but we weren’t at home.  He then drove up to Margaret’s house, (another friend) and ask her if she thought it would be okay for him to borrow our truck.  She figured we wouldn’t mind him borrowing it, so John took it to pick up some old railroad ties he had heard about. 

    I certainly didn’t have any problem with John taking the truck, but it would have been helpful if he would have left a note, so we would know that the truck hadn’t been stolen. 

    The incident does show what a close and sharing relationship we had among our friends.

View my other paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

My Failings in High School Freshman Football, Conclusion

      My lack of what to do when the play was called didn't really matter much, because I wasn't on the first team, whose members were made up of the guys that had been on the pre-high school team the year before.  I always was assigned the position of sitting on the bench during the games, which was alright with me.  But during one game, I was suddenly thrown into a real panic, when the coach motioned for me to come over, then told me to go in for one of the first string players.  

    Luckily, when I entered the game, our team was was on defense, so I didn't have to interpret any of the numbered plays.  In defense all I had to do was just keep the other team from scoring.  I did okay, I was even able to divert a pass, so I felt pretty good, when, a minute later, the first stringer came back in and I reclaimed my place on the bench.

    "Boy, I really dodged that bullet," I thought to myself with relief, as I settled back to watch the game.  But soon, I was seized by panic again, and this time in earnest, because the coach once again began to motion to me to come to him, and this time our team was on offense.  I grabbed my helmet, put it on, and made myself scramble over to see what the coach had to say.  

    "Go in, tell Carter to come out, and tell the quarterback to run ’73-47-2” or something akin to that; whatever it was, it meant nothing to me.  I knew that I was supposed to give the message to the quarterback and then stay in, taking Carter’s place and help with the play.  I was really stressed out, because I didn't have a clue as to what I was supposed to do as my part of the play.

    "Okay, coach," I said, trying to sound as confident as I could, despite being terribly insecure.  I turned and ran onto the field, where our team was in a huddle.

    I knew I had to come up with a plan, and decided the best one would be just to play dumb, so I ran up to my teammates and gave them the message: "Run: 73-47-2", then I immediately I turned and ran back to the security of the bench and sat down.  In retrospect, leaving our team on player short.

    My team ran the play, then went on to run the next one.  When the coach turned around he noticed me sitting there on the bench.  He said, "Hey Marchant, you were supposed to stay in there and play,"  I hunched my shoulders, conjured up an expression of confusion and replied, "Oh,"

    I don’t recall playing in any other games, maybe the coach had mercy on me.  I finished off the year of freshman football, but I had suffered through enough insecurity, and so I didn’t go out for the high school football team any more.

            The photo above shows our freshman football team.  I was surprised to see how many players there were on the team.

You can take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

My Failings in High School Freshman Football, Part 2

 

      For me, the hardest part of the freshman football experience were the different "plays".  They were something I was never able to keep straight in my head.  Early on in our training, we were each handed a “playbook”, which was a many-paged mimeographed series of diagrams, made up of circles and arrows.  Each play was named and identified by a series numbers that we were supposed to memorize. 

             I was never very good at remembering gibberish, random numbers, or letters, and looking back, it doesn’t surprise me that hearing the quarterback spout out a series of numbers didn’t translate into anything meaningful in my befuddled brain.  

    Listening to the numbers of a play supposedly told everyone where they were supposed to run and what they were supposed to do, but it just always left me very insecure, because I didn’t know what the series of numbers meant for me to do

    I have always been more visually oriented in everything.  Before each play, what I really needed were the diagrams that I could see.  When we played neighborhood football at Neal’s, we would kneel down, then using a stick we would sketch out in the dirt what we were going to do, like a marking the play on a chalk board.  When everyone had the play, we would rub out the drawing in the dirt, so that the other team wouldn't see it (not that they ever could).  Sometimes we would go really high tech, and instead of using the dirt, we would just sort of draw out the play with our finger, on the palm of our hand.

    However with these high school numbered plays, I was having a terrible time converting the numbers into actions, and it didn't help my situation any, when they repeatedly changed which position I was going to play.  Because I could run, I was usually put, playing one of the back field positions, but then would suddenly switch me over and make rattled off a bunch of numbers anyway.

    

Tomorrow:  What will I do when I was taken off the bench and put in a game?

You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca