It’s off for a dog walk…a little after seven in the morning. The streets are dark, although headlights pop on and off …vroom vroom… drive the cars for ‘another day at the office’.
I wanted to post some quick photographs. I have several things to write about during the coming days, but it seems I have no time at all, until the weekend. This photo collage will be a smattering of art resulting from the magic of children over the years. I thought my teacher-friends might take the cue and mix up some paint today. If not, enjoy making the day the sort of magic my mother and father always created for me when I was a little. Be safe out there. I’ve got a grandson to enjoy. He’s going to be a Bumble Bee this year! BZZZZ!
This was another one for the throne room…this does not mean that books in the bathroom are any less interesting than ones on my bedside table or ones next to the red couch, it just means that I choose a different genre and always something a little less cerebral than my preferred reading, fiction or non-fiction.
Another second-hand-book-find, What Elephants Know ended up next to my other books about elephants. I liked that Jane Goodall wrote a quick recommendation. “You will be fascinated, angered, and charmed in turn by this beautifully written story.”
Dr. Eric Dinerstein is the Director of the Biodiversity and Wildlife Solutions Program at RESOLVE and so I was very interested in the fact that he wrote a novel and I anticipated that the book would be written from a unique and knowledgeable perspective.
This was a lovely book that I’d recommend for students grade five to grade seven. It was a quick read that left me thinking about the vulnerability of our wildlife and ecosystems. The protagonist, Nandu, is a beautiful character who, through his young life, teaches about the numerous impacts made upon these, while exposing the reader to the vulnerability of humanity, as well.
I think this would be a wonderful book to read aloud to students. It is refreshing to find a book that is culturally diverse and can open eyes and hearts to a different human experience. Grade three students, in their study of India, may really benefit from this story. Nandu’s relationships with his female elephant, Devi Kali and with the plants and other animals of the Borderlands are described beautifully.
This is a two evening (10 potty visits) read for an adult. I recommend doing a quick review of the book before sharing with your students/children so that you know the sensitive topics that will come along. Give it a go.
I picked the book, Of Song and Water off a shelf at a second hand shop. I loved the title. That was my sole reason for choosing it. Quickly running my fingers through the pages, I decided it would be placed in what my father used to call ‘the throne room’. You got it? Something about the size of the font. And…it seemed like it wouldn’t be a need-to-think-deeply sort of book.
In the end, this turned out to be a remarkable story, a book where music could be experienced through the written word and where colour could be heard.
As happens with similar narratives, I was seduced by the intimate disclosures revealed on this family line. Coleman’s life, love of music and connection with water were woven through memory and the life of his father, Dorian. Given my years living on the edge of Georgian Bay, I also found the setting of the Great Lakes to be nostalgic in its description. I’ve not spent time in Chicago or Detroit, but I can imagine these places, based on movies, media and books.
“Joseph Coulson’s second novel, Of Song and Water, concerns a jazz musician coming to endings: a career on the skids because of hands that can no longer make the chords he needs; a boat, falling apart and weighted with memories of his father, and of his father’s father before him (both men casting long shadows); a divorce; a former love he walked away from for his music; and a daughter preparing to leave for school.”
Throughout the writing, there is evidence of an intimate understanding of Jazz…and sections that describe Otis and others in performance, are rich with the detail and process of the genre.
I am very happy that I came upon this book, quite by accident. It was a rich and generous piece of writing. There were many surprising moments for me. Again, I like the intimacy of language and I am a kook about description. This wouldn’t be a book for everyone, but really appealed to my taste.
Okay…so, I’ve been really bad about archiving my reading or even rating books on Goodreads, a habit I wanted to get into for some unknown reason. In my 60s, I have no explanations for what I choose to do or how I prioritize. I hope that I come to some clarity on that when I begin reading, along with my sister-friend Karen, The Spirituality of Age: A Seeker’s Guide to Growing Older by Robert L. Weber, Ph.D and Carol Orsborn, Ph.D. There has to be SOME sort of explanation for my present state of mind and the strange rituals that guide my life right now.
I’m going to begin by reviewing my most recently-completed book…I qualify this because I had three going at the same time. The Naturalist by Alissa York is still waiting on my bedside table…40 pages left to go on that one.
H is for Hawk is my most recent ‘favourite’ book. I fall in love with a lot of books, but seriously, this one closely follows The Diviners by Margaret Laurence, as a book that will impact me for a very long time. The reviews seem to be mostly-positive…but, this wasn’t my experience at my Calgary Public Library book discussion!
For reasons that I won’t go into, I left the book discussion group I attended for over a year at the Forest Lawn Library. Quickly, I went in search of something else and found the group at the Fish Creek Library. I already had the title on my book shelf, surrendered by my daughter when she put it down on the dining table and said, “This is just a strange book…you can read it if you want.” So, I fired my way through H is for Hawk, completing it in five nights and two day-time sessions. It was/is breathtaking
I really enjoyed the book discussion and I’m very happy with how that discussion was moderated as well as how respectful the conversation was. Yeah! Only two of us enjoyed the book, while the majority found it a real chore to read.
I realized, during my reading of the book, that the writer, at the loss of her father, lived a similar journey of grief to my own. She was circling her pond, metaphorically-speaking, just as I was at the loss of my mother. I have very-much entered into nature more deeply as a strategy of coping during these past five years. Everything that Macdonald wrote about her experience resonated with me. I found it refreshing to see someone so exacting about her response to the Goshawk, Mable…her relationship to/with the landscape…her withdrawal from human connection and her obsession with history, books and the hunt. I found her book liberating.
Given the complexity of the book, I will read it again and likely, again…it would be very arrogant to think that I could contain its power in a simple post here. I strongly recommend the book, although I wouldn’t recommend it to some of my besties as they know what sort of books I adore and they are not usually things that would appear on their own favourite book lists. I don’t know. Suffice it to say, that I found it to be delicious. The author is a beautiful writer.
My son and I have been hanging out quite a bit. Honestly, while there’s not a lot of talking, I am getting so that I just enjoy being still with him. We sit across from one another at the feast table for our first coffee each day. Not much gets said but “Good morning.”
Recently, a friend from my teaching world and my church family, lost her eight year old son, very suddenly. He will be laid to rest this week. Caleb gave the gift of his organs so that others might have life. Everything about the situation seems impossible. I hold Caleb’s family…his two brothers, sister and Mom and Dad very close to my heart. But, as a mother, I most deeply imagine (because one can not truly know) Caleb’s Mommy’s pain. It is such a feeling of helplessness, no matter what way you look at it. I am so sorry. In thinking about it, I’ve decided that the best I can do in my life is to honour the lives of those I love, most especially, my family.
I haven’t been much for hanging out in crowds the last long while. I like the quiet that my son and I share. I like walking with my daughters and my grandson at the river. I like hanging with Max on the red couch. I enjoy my daily conversation with my father via Skype.
Today, I nudged my son to drive out to the Leighton Center with me to see, on its final day, an exhibit by beautiful lady and watercolourist, Brittney Tough. I met Brittney, gratefully, through my experiences painting down at the Rumble House. She is one amazing artist! This exhibit demonstrates her patience and her skill.
The drive to the Leighton Center is so calming; the countryside, so beautiful. Presently, canola fields are ripened. Hawks call out from above the landscape. Mountains to the west are veiled in smoke.
The exhibits Threaded Through Paint and Bison, Bison, Bison were both stunning. I really felt at ease and peaceful sharing this time with my boy. Congratulations, Brittney! (Say ‘hi’ to Harley and Alistair) Your notebooks and explorations in colour are spectacular…your compositions, pure genius!
The most calming activities of my day are my walks with Max. I am either over at the wetlands drainage site that I named Frank’s Flats some years ago or at the Bow River. I used to diligently pick litter daily at Frank’s Flats…I guess I did that for six years. A man named Frank slept under the trees through summers there and I made a habit of chatting with him as I circled the pond. He would drink six beer in the time it would take me to pick a full bag of litter. He was one of about ten people who thanked me…but, he thanked me every day. He would also bag up his cans and I would collect those for coin. At some point he told me he had to head for Vancouver. He said the weather was more predictable there. I told him that I was going to name the pond and the area after him. And, I did.
That space and the river have provided me with a great deal of solace. I’ve done some grieving and a lot of growing. Ideas, images and poetry have surfaced in these places. Many walks have been shared with friends and family. I’ve watched these places change and sometimes, in good ways and not-so-good ways. Because of walks at the pond, I purchased my first really nice camera, a Canon Powershot. I began to notice the birds and vegetation. Some time late last year, I picked up and read the book, Birds Art Life: a Year of Observation by Kyo McClear. I realized that she had written about my own journey and my own experiences, somehow.
Once I had the camera, I captured images of birds and vegetation, as well as learned to identify these varieties. It has given me immense pleasure and creates a form of meditation for my daily life.
This past while I’ve been in awe of the nesting behaviours of the adults, as well as the dedicated effort that is made once the eggs have hatched and there are so many little mouths to feed. The predatory activity is also huge and so there are a lot of lessons to be learned regarding the survival of the fittest. It is sad to see such effort exerted in protection of the young when in the end, a quick visit from a Crow, Magpie, Bald Eagle, Merlin or Osprey can end it all in a flash. One grows in acceptance as one considers the way that nature provides and one species feeds upon another. Everything is interconnected. Life is both brutal and beautiful.
I’ve captured a few little photographs the past couple of weeks…going to post them here. However, if you have the opportunity to visit Alberta Birds or Birds Calgary, please do! The photography is beyond anything you could imagine. I love being a part of this group of people, regularly making observations, whether that is in a back yard or by the water.
Savannah Sparrows…a great program on CBC a few weeks ago caused me to feel even more enamored by these lovely little birds on a CBC program.
and also, an article titled Different kind of tweet: Study says oilpatch causes sparrows to sing a new song.
The American White Pelicans have been exceptional in numbers this year and are stunning against the colour of the river.
The red on the male Red Winged Backgrounds is far more subtle now than in mating season. They continue to play an important role in protecting their little ones, but most of the feeding seems to be taken care of by the mamas.
Wild Delphinium…there is just no way that I could capture the electric blue.
An unlikely duo on July 25. I looked through my archives and have a series of this Swainson’s Hawk casting dirty looks at this enthusiastic male Red Winged Blackbird. It’s interesting how, for every raptor out there, there are a whole crew of Magpies or Crows or Blackbirds looking for easy pick’ns.
Cedar Waxwings showing really brave behaviour around me…coming quite close at a point, although the camera wasn’t ready at the most remarkable times. I think that I figured out why they were less shy than usual…I’m pretty sure in this set, I captured more than a few fledglings.
I saw four Black Crowned Night Herons…most avoiding me and flying from one end of the pond to the next, but managed to see this one adult sit quite patiently in the midst of all of the earth moving and noise. It seemed like a huge visual dichotomy.
Lots of Blackbird youngsters about…mostly continuing to cry out to mama for bugs and dragonflies.
Spotted Sandpiper…very distinctive and high pitched call. It seems like this guy was hanging about for almost three weeks. I spotted him again this morning.
I call these Blue Bells, but don’t know their actual name. The flowers have been lovely in the wild, this year.
The Bald Eagle family continues to provide much viewing pleasure. I’ve captured some nice photographs from this side of the river, but, for the most part I love spending the hours just watching them. I’ve only spotted one fledgling, although I watched two eaglets at the nest for a couple of months. I’m hoping that one has not come to some demise. Perhaps other observers know?
Since fledging, the little Wrens have caused me great delight. When I step into their little part of the world, their chittering raises up in unison. There’s just no missing them. However, they are so darned tiny, it isn’t easy to capture them.
These sweet buy sometimes-annoying House Sparrows at my backyard bird feeder. When they’re young they are so darned funny.
White-breasted Nuthatch…so tricky to capture.
Here’s the wee guy again…vocalizing to Mom and Dad who are trying to ignore the noise from a tree near-by. My friend, Doug Newman has captured some amazing close ups of Mom and Dad…
And of course, there are a few families of Mallards nearby…on this particular day, sunning themselves. Mom was keeping an eye on me.
I’ve got some others to add to my portfolio, but, HEH! A former student of mine and his wife are preparing me an Italian dinner, so I need to blow this pop stand. I’m glad I got a good start on this. July has been amazing for the watching.
As we left the Copper King Mansion and headed for supper, it began to rain. What could be more wonderful than a hot bowl of soup and traditional foods served in a very historical restaurant, the Pekin Noodle Parlour.
I enjoyed reading the article written about the restaurant and will include a bit of of the content, here. Ed Best of the Last Best News is the writer. This article first appeared in the Winter 2015 issue of the Montana Quarterly.
“Entering the building from South Main, you walk up a long flight of stairs to a door on your left. It opens on a long, narrow hallway flanked by little rooms, each with its own table and chairs, separated by bead board partitions painted a bright orange, with an orange curtain hanging over each entrance. The chairs and tables, with their legs of braided steel, date to 1916, according to Danny Wong, and the cozy little booths have never changed. There are rumors—as persistent as those concerning the tunnels—that the booths are a holdover of the days when the Pekin was a brothel, or an opium den. Nonsense, the historians say; it was simply customary to give diners a bit of privacy.
Even the bathrooms are an experience: little side-by-side rooms that you enter through swinging doors, and then a regular door that opens inward, barely missing the toilet. You have to stand alongside the toilet just to close the door, unless you happen to be meth-addict skinny.
And presiding over it all is Danny Wong. He is 82 and has worked at the Pekin since coming to the United States in 1947 at the age of 13. He took over the business in the early 1950s from his Great-Uncle Hum Yow, who had run the Pekin Noodle Parlor since it opened in 1911. But Wong is not just the owner of a business that has been in the same family for 105 years.
He is also the owner of a virtual museum, an accidental museum of a type more likely to be found in Butte than anywhere else in Montana. Butte has lost so much population since its heyday that countless artifacts have been preserved simply because the space they occupy is not needed for anything else.
On the ground floor of the Pekin, where Wong’s ancestors ran a gambling hall and an herb dispensary, one wall is covered by a collection of large wooden drawers with Chinese lettering on them. Inside are heaps of desiccated medicinal herbs.
There is also a sizable collection of tin containers, likewise covered in Chinese characters and still full of various kinds of tea. Crammed into a rabbit’s warren of rooms in the vicinity of the tea and herbs, there are other relics of old Chinatown: an ancient brass cash register, hand-woven reed baskets, antique Chinese gambling devices, stacks and stacks of old dishes, lottery sheets with Chinese lettering and kitchen implements that look like they were forged in the Iron Age.
Such scenes presented themselves in every room we entered, with Danny Wong in the lead. One door led out back, into what used to be known as China Alley, when the Pekin was at the heart of a lively Chinese community that might have reached a population of 2,500 people.
Dick Gibson is the treasurer of the Mai Wah Society, which works to collect and preserve Asian history in the Rocky Mountain West and which runs the Mai Wah Museum, just down China Alley from the Pekin. It was Gibson who vehemently dismissed rumors of mysterious tunnels or an underground city. There were simply vaulted sidewalks, he said, empty spaces under the sidewalk that gave property owners a bit more room in their basements. There is no evidence that any subterranean chamber was attached to any others, Gibson said.
It was also Gibson who said the Chinese population of Butte has been estimated to have approached 2,500, though official census figures topped out at 400. The Chinese were subjected to much discrimination in the West, Gibson said, and were the target of occasional boycotts and discriminatory laws. But even the big boycotts of the late 1890s were more successful in Helena than in Butte.
That has certainly been true of the Pekin, which has long been popular among regular folk, bigwigs and politicians. In 2011, when the Pekin celebrated its centennial, then-Sen. Max Baucus entered a lengthy, tribute-filled history of the restaurant into the Congressional Record. It was also much loved by Butte’s one bona fide celebrity, the late Evel Knievel. He used to bring his family to the Pekin on a regular basis, and he would often have Wong down to his place in Las Vegas. And when Knievel died in 2007, family and friends gathered at the Pekin—after one of the larger funerals in the city’s history—to mourn, reminisce and carouse.
Wong’s ancestors have been in Butte almost from the city’s beginnings. One, whose name has been forgotten, came to the United States in the 1860s and used to deliver supplies to Chinese in camps and communities throughout the West, including Butte. That man’s sons came to Butte in the late 1890s and ran a laundry that remained in business until the mid-1950s.
When Danny Wong came to Butte in 1947, he still used his given name, Ding K. Tam. He adopted the more familiar “Wong” from his aunt Bessie Wong, while “Danny” was bestowed on him by a school classmate.
Wong married Sharon Chu in 1963 and she was soon as much a fixture at the Pekin as her husband. Their son, Jerry Tam, said that through the years, his father brought over hundreds of relations to work at the Pekin and get a foothold in the United States. And in 1980, after years of delicate negotiations with Chinese authorities, Wong was finally able to bring over his parents, whom he cared for until their deaths.
You get the feeling that Wong couldn’t be much happier with how things have turned out. He seems perpetually serene and happy, even while working busily in the kitchen, rubbing spices into a pork loin or chopping up a slab of meat. In the Pekin bar—a later add-on, comfortable but lacking in history and quirkiness—just off the banquet room at the front of the restaurant, there is a plaque with a sketch of the Pekin on it. Underneath are the words: “Given as a token of our appreciation for being a wonderful friend and boss. Always working with us, side by side through good times and bad and much laughter. From all the old-time workers.”
I didn’t speak to him, but while back near the kitchen, I had the chance to see Danny Wong, hard at work. When asked, the waitress denied any connection of the restaurant to past opium dens, just as the text of this article attests. She did say, however, that there have been recent discoveries of things below neighbouring buildings, so that is interesting. I enjoyed the hot food and relaxing with my friend. We were on our feet lots that afternoon. Outside, the weather was coming in.
Ramona’s photos. (thank you, buddy) I haven’t included the one of ‘moi’ taking in the sight of my food because I look exhausted! lol Click each image, to make larger. I’m glad you got one of the neon sign! After dinner, back out onto the I-15 and Boulder Hot Springs.
Morning saw us eating a hearty breakfast, chatting it up with some of the folk at the Elkhorn Hot Springs and sitting for buddy photos on the porch swing before heading it out for Wise River and the return of our sifting screen (is that what they call it?), so that it could be sent on up to Wisdom and returned to Big Hole.
We drove separately, into Anaconda…stopping at the beautiful places along the way. The first stop was overlooking the Grasshopper Valley and enjoying the wild growth of purple Lupins.
Yes! Of course we did this! Two ladies who get tremendously excited by natural beauty! We had to celebrate it! We snapped photographs of one another. For those of you who don’t know…Ramona and I shared life at CMRussell High School in Great Falls, Montana 1971-1973. THEN!
Stopped, hoping to get better colour shots of the Camas in morning light.
Real evidence of glacial work on the landscape. Very cool. Mt. Haggin Scenic Drive.
At least 300 head of cattle were being wrangled up the highway…Ramona is in the car ahead of me, snapping away. A bull tried, unsuccessfully, to mount a cow directly in front of my car…I rolled up the window, at her refusal and then he slid his horns along the drivers side window and my car, in some sort of snorting frustration. This was an experience! Wonderful to see the worn and muddied border collie in the rear, with the cowboys. They tipped their hats and I felt that I had enjoyed a truly western experience. lol
Just as we started back on our way…these two entered the frame.
Mount Haggin area.
Anaconda…the stack…we pulled into a grocery store parking lot and jumped into one vehicle. Off we headed for Lost Creek.
Our first day had only started, with the morning given to wandering the old ghost town at Bannack! Heading up the Pioneer Mountains Scenic Byway located in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest, Ramona and I watched for the turn off to Coolidge Ghost Town. The drive itself was awe-inspiring and while my photographs do not pick up on the amazing colour of the meadows filled to the brim with wild Camas, I’m hoping that Ramona did better. While technology has enhanced the art of photography, it is still impossible to capture the smell of the air, the feel of breeze on your skin and true essence of light, that not only surrounds, but melts into you. I love to travel these back roads. Ramona and I are exchanging our photos via memory stick as we were both very motivated to capture these magical times together. These are what I have. I want my readers to imagine the most brilliant blue that, in truth, looked like wide open lakes in the open valleys of this range. So incredibly beautiful!
Click on photographs to enlarge.
I enjoyed the little hike, weaving in and out of remnants of buildings coming from a different time. With this ghost town, I DID feel as though I was taking a serious step into the past. I enjoyed observing what remained of building techniques and even the manner in which these buildings had weathered and fell apart.