Mosses and Lichen

     We live in a section of the Robson Valley that is classified as an Temperate Interior Rainforest.  Over the last two years, suffered under an extreme drought, it certainly didn’t seem like it.  However, beginning this fall, with the advent of a lot of rain, things are starting to feel more normal.  

    Temperate rain forest support a lot of mosses and lichen, and now that the leaves are off of the trees, they are becoming more evident.  Here are a couple of photos I took two days ago.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Changing Light

     One of the things I enjoy about living in the mountains, is watching the changing light.  The mountains show what is happening in the distance, and as the sun rises into the sky, it begins to illuminate different things, which totally changes the view.  These two photos were taken about forty minutes apart, but the scene has totally changed due to where the sunshine is falling.

You can view my paintings at: davidmarchant2.ca

Costa Rica 1992, Manuel Antonio Park, First Day

      It felt like the next day was really the beginning of our Costa Rico vacation.  It was the first time that my visualizations of the country were finally met.   Luckily, it was low tide, when we waded across the river, entering Manuel Antonio Park and began hiking the Punta Catedral Loop Trail.

    We didn’t see any monkeys or exotic birds, but saw iguanas and several other types of lizards, a white and black snake that was over a meter long, and some orange forest crabs.  We also came across three long-legged big rat-looking mammals, with no tail, that were noisily walking through the jungle.

    It was very warm, moist, and humid among the trees.  Sweat was pouring off of us, and we became tired very quickly.  There were of course, many exotic looking trees and plants to look at.  We spotted a very large butterfly, but it flitted away before I could get my camera out to  photograph it.

    After our hike, we went to the beach for a swim.  We took turns swimming, and watching over our cameras and things.  I did a bit of snorkeling, but it was not as spectacular as in Kauai, but I did see some small colorful blue fish, as well as an 8-inch, trapezoidal-shaped, fish with bug eyes, and a flat tail with yellow and silver spots.

    That evening, the rains began.  We made use of our umbrella as we walked to a restaurant that does laundry, dropping off our dirty clothes.  We ate chicken in a spicy sauce that came with a side of French fries.  As we ate the tropical rain really started to come down, and the previously smallish lapping waves on the Pacific, energized, grew in size, and began to curl.  By the time we finished our meal, the rain had subsided, and as we walked back to our cabin, we could see surfers weaving back and forth on the waves.

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Costa Rica 1992, Outside Manuel Antonio Park

      Our small cabin in the settlement just outside the park was extremely humid and sticky, but it did feature a little fan, that made it a bit more livable.  After a bit of a rest, we began to explore the area.  We walked along the beach along the shore of the Pacific and came to the shallow river draining into estuary, where you had to wade across to be in Manuel Antonio Park.  It certainly felt like a unique entrance to a park (Photo Below).  We didn’t enter, saving the exploring for the following day.

    In our walk, we did begin to see a lot of exotic birds.  We spotted the local variety of Nuthatch, flitting around in a thicket, but unlike our Robson Valley species, this one had white and black stripes and a rust-colored back.  We also spotted a pelican and a Frigate bird flying along the Pacific shoreline.

    By 7:30, we were exhausted enough to go to bed to read.  Our little cabin featured no media or other distractions.  When we finally turned off the light, the sound of crickets and frogs, began to be drowned out by loud rock and roll from a disco or some other nightspot not far away.

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

Costa Rica 1992, Heading to Manuel Antonio Park

      The next morning near the Tourist Information Centre we bought some bottled water and groceries for our trip to Manuel Antonio Park.  We ate our breakfast at McDonalds, after which we walked, lugging all of our luggage, the 18 or so blocks, through crowded and chaotic streets to where the buses were parked.  The bus we wanted was scheduled to leave at 11:00.  It took us some time to find where the tickets were sold and where the bus would be.

    While we were waiting, a guy approached and warned us to watch out for a man he inconspicuously pointed out.  He told us the man was a snatch and run artist.  We kept our eyes on the thief until we finally boarded the bus and picked out some good seats, only to discover that the seats were assigned, which separated us.  

    It was shortly after getting out assigned seats that Joan discovered that she no longer had her fanny pack, which contained money, car keys, and a camera lens.  We never did find out if it was lost or stolen.

    All of the bus drivers we have experienced in Central America must have gotten their driver’s training at the same place, because like them, this one drove like a bat out of hell, screaming down the mountain road full of curves.   We did finally began to see some tropical country once we got away from San Jose.  The bus took us up into the clouds (literally) which was cool and moody, then travelled down into the warm moist seaside and palm plantations.

    Once down on the coast, the racing bus driver slowed down to a crawl when it got to a rough gravel road.  The bumpy road hammered my back brutally, causing me a lot of pain.   At a turnoff, I noticed a sign for the Hotel Jaco.  When we were booking our Costa Rico flight over the phone, the travel agent tried to book us into the Hotel Jaco, for when we landed in San Jose.  She mentioned it was on the ocean, which didn’t sound right to me, I knew that San Jose, was in the middle of the country, not on an ocean.  I’m glad we had caught the problem, it would have meant an additional two hour drive, after a long day of flying.

    We stayed on the bus until we got to Manuel Antonio Park.  We got off of the bus to discover that the clean, reasonably-priced hotel that we wanted to stay in was closed, so full of anxiety, we began walking back to the road, seeking some other shelter for the night.  We could find nothing with a room that we could afford.  Fortunately, as we walked down the road with our bags, we were approached by a friendly guy, who showed us a funky little cabin in the woods for $15.  With great relief, we happily took it.

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Arriving in San Jose, Costa Rica, 1992

      After walking out of the airport, our bags were picked up by a kid, when we asked him about getting a taxi.  We followed him to the open trunk of a waiting minibus.  We climbed in, sat down, then were thrown against the back of our seats, as the minibus roared 110 km/hr toward San Jose.  The ride cost us $10 US, plus tips for the baggage boy, the driver, and then the doorman of the hotel.  The hemorrhaging of money, didn’t seem to stop.

    We had made reservations at the Hotel Ambassador at the price of $55 US, but it actually cost us $85 US for a fairly crumby room.  Feeling ripped off, we decided to check out first thing the next day.  That ripped off feeling continued after our $7.50 US charge for breakfast, (6 pieces of toast, butter, jam, and 1 orange juice.)

    Laden down with all of our bags, we trudged toward the center of town, with my back still aching.  As we went, I discovered that I had lost my red nylon wool lined jacket.   With added discouragement, we went looking for a cheaper hotel.

    We ended up at the Pension Costa Rica Inn and another crumby room, but this one only cost us $30 US.  There was a toilet in the room with a sign telling us not to flush the paper.  After dropping off our bags, we wasted a couple of hours trying to find a chiropractor.   Eventually, we came to the conclusion that they didn’t exist in Costa Rica.

    We began to have a more positive feeling about our trip after wandering around all day in San Jose.   However, we found that everything was just too expensive, without offering anything that we wanted to see.  We were eager to get out of the city and into Nature and decided to travel to Manuel Antonio Park the next day for beach time and Nature.

    We bought an umbrella from a street vendor.  We didn’t really want such a big one, because it would be awkward as we traveled around, but the vendor kept lowering the price every time we started to walk away, so finally we relented and paid $13 CAN for it.  I was glad we did, because I discovered that I could use it as a cane, which helped alleviate my back pain.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Our Flights to Costa Rica, 1992

      In Edmonton, we had to get up in the middle of the night (4:30 AM) which was 3:30 AM BC time, to catch our flight.  The plane departed at 6:00, landing in Dallas at 3:00 in the afternoon.  Once landed, I nursed my painful back the best I could, sitting on a Dallas Airport bench, watching over our bags, as my wife  went off to try to find a paperback to read on our trip.   The flight from Edmonton certainly hadn’t helped my back, and I began wondering about finding I a chiropractor once we got to Costa Rica.

    As I sat there, I was lulled into zombie-like state, listening to man and woman take turns soliciting funds “for a homeless family” from the baggage-lugging airport crowd passing by.  I couldn’t help but wonder about the validity of their “charity” since it was taking place inside an international airport.   That seemed a rather strange place to seek funds for a homeless family, but not many people taken in by the scam.

    From Dallas, we flew to Guatemala City where some of the passengers were to depart.  At night, through the window, I watched a very active lighting storm strobing the jungle below us. 

    Before we landed, I was surprised when we were fumigated by the stewardesses, who came slowly walking down the aisle with spray cans, misting the seated passengers.  Either it was a token effort  or we were being sprayed with pretty potent toxins.  Once the Guatemalan tourists had deplaned, our flight resumed for two more hours, arriving at the San Jose Airport at 10:30.  Upon finally landing, we were exhausted, but fortunately, getting through Costa Rica Customs was quick and easy.

    As we walked out of the airport building, our bags were grabbed by a kid, when we asked him about getting a taxi.  We followed him to the open trunk of a waiting minibus.  We climbed in, sat down, then were thrown against the back of our seats, as the minibus raced 110 km/hr toward San Jose.  The ride cost us $10 US, plus tips for the baggage boy, the driver, and then the doorman of the hotel.  The hemorrhaging of money, didn’t seem to stop.

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Alpenglow on the Cariboo Mounains

     Alpenglow is a term that refers to the pinkish hue that mountains reflect from the rising or setting sun just below the horizon, on the opposite side of the sky.  We witnessed it yesterday morning as we headed out to Prince George for a dental appointment.   The sky was overcast in the west, as the sun was beginning to rise in a clearer sky in the east.  

    I mentioned in previous blogs how frustrating it is to make the drive, when photogenic things are going on outside, and there is no place to safely stop along curvy and hilly Highway 16.  I was able to stop in a few places, but often the colors and brightness had already started to diminish by the time I got my camera and climbed out of the car.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Our Costa Rica Trip 1992: A Bad Start

          Throughout my life, I had never given any thought to the country of Costa Rica, in my mind I am sure I had always gotten it and Puerto Rico mixed up, but as a result of my environmental interests, Costa Rica began popping up more and more in my reading, because it had begun to establish a lot of nature reserves, in its varied ecological areas.  Because of its location in the narrow landmass between North and South America, and its tropical clime, it supported a wide spectrum of both flora and fauna from both continents.

        Their nature reserves were part of a strategy to entice eco-tourism, and that strategy, was sure beginning to work on me.  Exploring jungles, sea shores, and volcanoes, in a democratic land without a standing army, pressed all my “POSITIVE” buttons, and it was certainly the kind of place I wanted to support, so we planned our 1992 summer vacation there.

        My wife and I had arranged a flight to Costa Rica starting in mid-August.  I was certainly in need of a vacation after so much work on the fire flaps we had.  I had my old green bag that I had used on my trip to Guatemala, straining at the seams with all of the things I was taking along.  When I found my passport, I made a happy discovery:  $150 in US Traveller’s Cheques that I had not used in my previous travels.  I made arrangements to have friends water our house plants and take care of the goats.   

        It was not the first time before a big vacation that I pushed myself too hard trying to clean out the manure from the barn before we left, and as a result, I threw out my back, and could only stand at an angle, and in pain.  We had to begin our trip by driving to Edmonton to catch a flight.  Because of my back, my wife had to do all of the driving, while I tried to recline, the best I could, in the lowered passenger seat.  

        We stopped and called chiropractors seeking help for me, all along our route; in Hinton, Edson, and Leduc, all without success.  When we got to our motel in Nisku, Alberta, close to the Edmonton International Airport, I continually called the local chiropractor, but he never did pick up his phone, so I was doomed to fly all the way to Costa Rica with my screwed up back.

        My wife was not in optimum spirits either.  In Nisku, she had discovered that she had packed the wrong pair of white pants into her suitcase, so she was missing the “key piece” of her wardrobe for the trip.  This left her mad and worried, so that left both of us in not the best mood to begin a trip to a foreign country. 

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First Snow

     We got our first snowfall overnight.  It was nothing spectacular, but still, it was a precursor of the winter ahead.  The long range forecasts predict that we will get a colder and snowier winter than normal.  After last winter’s incredibly mild and lack of much snow, I guess we can’t complain.  

    Most plants have pretty much given up on growing by now, but we had one rose bush that managed to put out one last bloom.  (below).

 Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

Those Damn Tree Roots Are Back

     This year I got the worse tomato crop ever, in my greenhouse.  I watered the plants every day, but I noticed that the soil was always very dry.  I began to suspect that maybe tree roots creeped into the bed, sucking out all of the water.  Once the growing season was over, I ripped out the plants, and dug around in the bed, and sure enough, tree roots had gotten back in.

    Invasive tree roots had invaded before, and in the spring of 2019 I was determine to eliminate the problem, so I dug all of the soil out of the bed, and lined the bed with some old metal roofing I had.  I figured that barrier would keep the tree roots out, but I guess I was a bit too optimistic.  Below is a photo showing some of the sheets of metal roofing I buried in the greenhouse.

    Those trees were sure determined to get to the water in my tomato bed.  They found the narrow crack in the corners in the metal roofing I laid down, and entered and spread from there.  Tree roots are killed by copper, so I will try to put some small copper sheets at the corners to see if that will discourage the roots in the future.  

    Over the last week, I dug up half of the bed and pulled up the roots I have found.   They are shown in the photo below.  

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Well, That Was Thoughtful

     The other day in the mail we received a puzzling envelope.  It had the following address:

                                    To the Tuesday Night Jam Session participants

                                  c/o McBride's Heritage Railway Station

                            Main Street & 1st Ave

                            McBride, BC

    Somehow the letter found its way to my mailbox.  I wasn’t sure what to expect inside as I opened the envelope, but it was very gratifying to read the animal-covered card that was inside.  It said:

Dear Musicians!

Pete and I are most anxious to thank all of you for the best evening.  It was absolutely one of the highlights of our trip this fall.

You were all so welcoming and inclusive.

We had such a good time and the music was all so familiar.  Your enthusiasm for music was all in your faces.  It was contagious.  

Thank you all!

What a gifted group, 

Sincerely,

Ann and Pete

    When our jam meets every Tuesday Night, we sometimes do get tourists that hear our music and stop to listen, particularly during the summer, when we play outside on the Train Station porch.   I remember Ann and Pete, they were tourists on fancy three-wheeled motorcycles, that where traveling west to Prince Rupert.  

    At the time we were playing inside the lobby of the train station, and they came to the doo.  I saw them and waved them in.  We handed them one of our songbooks, so they could sing along and pick songs, and they stayed the whole time.

    They told us their trip was to celebrate their anniversary.   When we closed up and said goodbye, they were putting their biker helmets back on, and starting up their motorcycles.  I didn’t expect to ever see them or hear from them again. 

    When I read their card to the jam, everyone was very touched that they took the time to send us a card to tell us how much they enjoyed our playing.  We just play music for our own fun, but it was sure nice of them to tell us they liked it too.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

We Made It Through The Summer Without Any Hornet Stings

    Here I am underneath the giant hornet’s nest that hung on the edge of our carport roof.  The hornets were busy all summer building it.  The nest hung in a rather unfortunate place because we were constantly walking back and forth under it.  Despite the possible danger, I didn’t want to destroy it, because if they didn’t bother us, I didn’t want to bother them.  It all worked out fine.  They tolerated us and didn’t cause any trouble.

    The hornets are now gone.   Male hornets develop from infertile eggs, laid by workers in the nest.  The males mate with the new queens that hatch.  In the fall the the queens leave the nest and burrow in the forest floor litter.  Only the new queens survive the winter.  They produce eggs, feed the larvae, who then emerge in the spring to build a new nest.  

    A friend told me that if you leave the old nest up, the hornets will avoid building a new nest close by, so I guess that’s what I’ll do.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Starting to Lose Religion

             The photo shows the “New” church building that replaced the traditional old “country” church that we attended in my early days.

        As the congregation grew the historical old Salem church building (yesterday’s blog) became too small.  Money was raised to build a much more spacious church building with a larger sanctuary and “Social Hall” for all of its activities.  Sadly, that old traditional looking brick country church building where I had spent so much of my childhood, was demolished.  While the new church building was much nicer and much more spacious, it never really provided the intimate feeling of the old one.  It could have been that I was just getting older and I was starting to see things more maturely.

        Religion was not just the realm of church, it was also part of my family life.  While my parents were religious, nothing could compare with the religious fervor of my grandmother.  She was constantly giving us kids moral stories and scaring us into being holy.  We all hated her constant moralizing when we were just trying to have some childhood fun.  

        At Christmas when our family would gather at my grandparents house to give and open presents, Grandma always insisted that we patiently sit through the long Bible verses telling of the nativity.  She made us kids take turn reading the Bible passages aloud, while our minds were entirely focused on opening our presents.  Proselytizing to us kids at Christmas, certainly didn’t make any of us more religious.

        I will always remember my surprise when I was in my teens, visiting with my grandparents, when my religious grandmother started criticizing my grandfather for something he had done.  Shockingly, he told her not to give him a lecture.  

        She countered by replying, “It’s not everyday that you can get a free lecture.”

        Grandpa rebutted, saying,  “Yes it is, It’s every day.”  

        That is exactly the feeling that we kids had the whole time we were growing up.

        In Grandma’s defense, I did learn an awful lot about Christianity from her during my childhood and youth.  I often used that knowledge of the Bible later in my life as an atheist, to discourage the Jehovah Witnesses that came to our door.

        In the summer during the middle grades, we always attended “Bible” camp which took place, surprisingly, in Santa Claus, Indiana.  It was something we always looked forward to.  It was a whole week of swimming in the lake, making crafts, and sleeping in dorms with my friends and the kids from other places, who we soon got to know.  There were good meals, followed by the singing of songs in the cafeteria, and of course the obligatory religious lessons.

        I was quite surprised during one of those lessons, when the minister who taught it, told the group that we Methodists, unlike some other denominations, didn’t believe that everything that was in the Bible was factual.  He explained that a lot of the things written there were stories told by the Hebrews, or written to make a point, and those things were not to be taken as something that had actually happened.

        While I was shocked to hear such frankness from a minister, at that young age I was already starting to have doubts about some of the things in the Bible, although I believed in the underlying morals it presented.  I always appreciated that minister’s candor.  It give me permission to think for myself, without being considered a “sinner.”

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

             The photo shows the old Salem Methodist Church in Evansville, Indiana.   It was built in 1846.  I am sure some of those people are my ancestors.  The photo was taken in the 1920’s.

        My family was very church-centric.  It was the organization that provided most of our social activities.  We were members of Salem Methodist Church.  I was always thankful that the church was not a “fire and brimstone” type church, but instead our domination of Methodists a taught a very liberal type of Christianity, things like; “Be kind to everyone,” “Do good works,” and “Help those that are not a fortunate as you.”  I took those moral values with me for the rest of my life, even though I lost all religious dogma that was taught.

        During the first years that I can remember, the church building was an old brick, traditional-looking country church, whose sides where lined with vertical, arching stain-glass windows and its roof featured a steeple pointing toward heaven.  

        It was fairly small with an interior featuring rows of hard wooden pews, separated by an aisle that ran down the center of the church.  There was a pulpit for the minister on one side of the alter, and an organ off to the other side.   Just behind the pulpit,  I remember a wooden sign, where each Sunday the number of attendees from the previous Sunday was posted.

        Attached and behind the 100 year old church building was an addition that consisted of a basement with a darkish hallway that led to the handful of rooms that were used for Sunday School.  We kids always attended Sunday School where we were taught Bible Stories, and life lessons. 

        One memory I have of a Sunday School Class happened when I was in the forth grade.  Dennis, one of my friends, came in with his face all swollen and pink.  I asked him what had happened and he explained that someone had told him that if you ate a poison ivy leaf, it would prevent you from ever suffering the terrible itching of the plant for the rest of his life.

        He tried the “Cure” and his face was the result.

        On the main floor above the Sunday School rooms was a large open “social hall” with a stage at the end, and one the side was a kitchen.  The hall was where big gatherings would be held.

        It was in the social hall, where the “Family Night Suppers” (potluck dinners) and weekday kindergarten classes took place.  We always looked forward to those Family Night dinners, because of the delicious variety, and sometimes “exotic” types of food, that we never got at home.  It was at the family night dinners that I first got my first taste of shrimp and also pecan pie.  The varied dishes of food that people brought were laid out on the tables that ran down the center of the hall, with the dining tables along each side.

        The Family Night Suppers also gave us kids a chance to chase each other around through the hall, weaving through the tables, up the stairs, across the stage, and down the kindergarten “slide” that had been pushed to the side.

        Each Sunday, once our Sunday School lessons had ended, we had to go to the sanctuary where we had to sit quietly and resist squirming on the hard oak pews, while we endured the regular church service.  My mom and uncle were in the church choir, whose songs and hymns did animate the service a bit.

        The minister knew all of us kids were bored out of our skulls, so after the hymns, the announcements, and musical presentation by the choir, we kids were invited to walk up to the front of the church and stand at the alter, while the minister gave us the “Children’s Sermon,” a short talk with a moral.  Then we walked back to join our families on the hard pews.

        With the circulation of our legs somewhat restored from the walk, it was time to numb our brains through the adult sermon.   After the singing of the last hymn ended, we were free to go outside and again talk to our friends.

        Periodically, there was an escape from the church service provided for us kids.  A church group of elderly women that belonged to the WCTU (Women’s Christian Temperance Union) once a month, put on a program for us kids.  Not only did their programs allow us kids to escape from the boring Sunday sermons, but also enticed us with Kool-Aid and cookies, so we were always happy to attend.

        Once there, our little minds were pummeled with anti-alcohol, anti-tobacco, and sometimes, anti-drug propaganda and endless examples of people who destroyed their lives and the lives of their families through addictive drink.  The propaganda they espoused certainly scared the bejesus out of my little brain, and made me a teetotaler for the rest of my life.  

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca