Into the Wild a hot topic

It seems that every time I turn around someone is talking about Chris McCandless, a young man who starved to death 15 years ago in an abandoned Fairbanks city bus.
Although he didn’t know it at the time, McCandless’ story would eventually inspire the best selling novel “Into the Wild” and a Hollywood film by the same name. Both tell the story of a 24-year old honours graduate who died alone in the Alaskan wilderness. They paint a picture of a young man determined to live free of the trappings of modern society.
McCandless called himself ‘Alexander Supertramp” and donated his $20,000 plus trust fund to charity after leaving his family no word of his whereabouts. Much of his story was chronicled through journals during his two-year journey through 30 states with almost no money and little food.
The story isn’t a Walt Disney affair. McCandless’s survival skills are an indication that he was a middle class boy who memorized Thoreau but failed read his Boy Scout manual. Still McCandless was extreme – he was counter cultural – and we are addicted.
It seems a bit ironic that some obscure student has become the fodder of Hollywood. In his quest to live the unmediated life, McCandless has become an economic driver. His bus in Alaska is now a pop culture attraction and Hollywood has come calling. But there must be a reason his story is so fascinating.
McCandless’s journey seems to have a dramatic effect on people. It questions the line between heroic martyrdom and psychopathic self-destructiveness. The meaning of his life has been fiercely argued and the debate seems to exist in two camps. Either McCandless was a visionary seeker who dared to dream or he was a selfish unprepared fool who fundamentally misjudged the wilderness.
If the amount of pilgrims who visit the McCandless bus is any indication, we want the idealistic portrait to be true. We want the Shakespearian tragedy rather than a black comedy of fatal errors.
I reminded of an essay by Bono, U2’s singer and campaigner to end Third world debt. He admits to being a fan of the psalmist David. He calls him a star, the Elvis of the Bible. He also admits that it’s not clear how many psalms David really wrote.
“Some scholars suggest that the royals never dampened their nibs and that there was a host of Holy Ghost writers. Who cares? I didn’t buy Leiber and Stroller – they were just his songwriters. I bought Elvis,” Bono wrote.
For many people McCandless is their Elvis rather than a naïve American kid. McCandless’s story presents us with an alternative to the middle class life – his life was lived counter culturally. For Whistler’s Marc Paterson, McCandless is his proverbial King of Rock and Roll. Paterson recently retuned from a pilgrimage to the Alaskan bus fueled by a 10-pound bag of rice and his thumb.
The story seems particularly poignant in Whistler because many residents are on their own McCandless type journey. From the 30 year old ski bum vowing never to give up 100 days of skiing a year to the organic farmers. Whistler is full of people living alternatives to a life within the system.
So people talk about McCandless because he dared to live differently – an anti-materialistic rock star. I admit that I’m drawn to the people who live outside the norm, whether it’s the Christian who walks out the gospel or hippy growing organic vegetables.
We are attracted to the difference because somehow we can sense there is more to this life than Britney Spears and McDonalds. We want to buy Elvis too.

Beauty

I spent last week with some beautiful ladies – the types that draw you in with their smiles. She would never admit it but my grandma is one of the most beautiful women I know.

Each woman is a matriarch of a family tree. Ladies of significance. They’ve lived through a Depression, a World War, and cell phones. Their stories are so rich – they were ravishing.

We spent hours around a small kitchen table, drinking tea and telling stories. My Grandma sat with her sisters talking about life on the farm, Scotland, and childhood.

The sisters were teenagers again - talking about first dates. Other times they were older – planning for the future. It was a privilege to watch – I wanted to soak it all in.

Sometimes they would just sit and hold hands.

My Great Aunt has dementia. Her sister came from Alberta to share a cup of tea. Her mind has become a puzzle- leaving her thoughts in fragments. Within the confusion there were a few moments of clarity. Sweet minutes – never to be forgotten.

A week later, I can’t stop thinking about those ladies. About the laughter piercing through a hard reality. It was a celebration of life. Perhaps we need to celebrate life more.

Cheesewiz and Marshmallow Cream

The radio in my car recently gave up its fight for survival, leaving me with a lot of time to think. After a rather silent drive to the Vancouver airport this weekend , I started thinking about lifeboats.

I’ll admit that spending three hours pondering the nature of lifeboats is a little strange but it’s amazing what lengths I will go to keep myself entertained. I just finished a book called, Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller. Throughout the book, he makes an interesting analogy between life and a lifeboat.

When you think about it, existence in a lifeboat would be pretty challenging. Can you imagine being stuck on a floating piece of rubber with a bunch of people you do not know? What if provisions were limited and you had to convince others that you were worthy of a spot on the boat?

I can picture it now. All the survivors are gathered around our minuscule provisions; one can of tuna, a few stale crackers and a bottle of spring water. A debate is raging about who deserves to stay in the lifeboat. I figure if I stay quiet, no one will notice I am hanging out in the raft. Suddenly the spotlight shines on me and the guy next to me pipes up.

“Aren’t you the one who tried out for the every sports team in Junior High School but got cut for being too small? Now that I think of it, you also eat marshmallow cream and Cheesewiz straight from the jar,” he says.

I have been discovered and the tap dance begins. I feel that I need to prove myself and establish my spot on dry land. I quickly go through my list achievements trying to think of something great but I am grasping at straws.

“I spend a lot of time writing down ideas and well (I stammer) my Mom thinks I am pretty funny,” I say.

From the looks of my fellow survivors, they are unconvinced so I keep talking. I tell them I used to be a synchronized swimmer and have run a few marathons. Still nothing but to my horror a decision is made. Since I know how to swim, I am chosen to walk the plank.

It might be a stretch but I agree with Miller’s idea that life in North America is similar to a lifeboat. Sometimes I find myself chatting about my activities in hopes that people will take notice and think I am cool. I am constantly searching for approval in almost every aspect of my life. I dare say that if you stop for a moment, you might discover the same.

The funny thing is I believe we were designed to need acceptance and live in community. I think it’s easy to get caught up in lifeboat culture, thinking that others or ourselves are somehow better. According to Judeo-Christian traditions, there is a fact I often miss, we are all equal and there is enough room in the lifeboat for all of us.

I know for some people it is hard to grasp that they are in fact worthy. After years of struggling to survive in the lifeboat, it can be exhausting. For me life is more than a lifeboat full of achievement because one look at the design of a leaf and I am convinced there has to be more to it.

Lifeboat or not, my challenge for myself and others is to look beyond the lifeboat for truth. If the search is in earnest, I believe you will find it.

Ever feel like this?

I just like this picture of Kade. He makes me smile.

Dangerous Thought

I got an email from a friend in Liberia tonight and it made me think. It’s a scary thing to stop and think.
He’s on this thing called a Mercy Ship, which is part of a global charity that has operated hospital ships in developing nations since 1978. It’s a Christian organization so the motto is to follow the example of Jesus - bringing hope and healing to the forgotten poor, mobilizing people and resources worldwide and serving all people without regard to religion, race, or gender.
The roof of a remote orphanage in Liberia was blown off in a storm, creating thousands of dollars worth of damage. My friend said the children cried like someone died when the roof disappeared. He admitted it’s hard to justify the contrasts between the Whistler Bubble and Liberia.
“It’s like we don’t even live on the same planet,” he wrote.
It makes you stop and think, which is uncomfortable. This whole trend toward thought got worse when I read a quote from an obscure pastor in Michigan. His question was simple but lead to thinking and I started to sweat.
“Can you imagine what would happen if a group of people with untold resources, passion and energy started asking the question, “How do we hear the cry of the oppressed?” What if they were actually willing to wade into the cultural, economic, racial, global and personal issues involved without fear with the confidence that no matter how painful, messy and volatile it got, Jesus would guide them the whole way? You’d have some church on your hands.”
I know the word Christian often conjures up images of plastic people too judgmental to be authentic. It’s a dirty word but let’s get past the stereotypes. Regardless of your gender, sexual orientation, religion, or race – there is value in the idea of wading in and trying to see beyond ourselves. It’s messy, it’s human but every once in awhile something good happens.
It’s Easter this weekend. For Christians it’s sort of a big deal. When I was a kid, it was the only time my family would show up at church. I would sit uncomfortably in a dress – wondering when the Easter Bunny was going to show up.
Easter was originally a pagan celebration of renewal and rebirth. It was later merged with the Christian belief of Jesus’s resurrection from the dead. For some people it’s a time of reflection, celebration, and thinking.
Regardless of your views, again there is value in reflection. Tonight I thought about Liberia. I thought about the Whistler Bubble. I thought about my tendency to be plastic.
Does thinking inspire movement? Does thought somehow absolve any responsibility to wade in – to attempt authenticity?
What if thought inspired some holy mischief in Whistler? I am not into 12-step schemes toward personal or spiritual wholeness. But some writers at Geez Magazine came up with some practical ideas around social justice. Take it or leave it but don’t be scared to think.
1.Give your winter coat away to someone who is colder than you are. 2. Try sitting in silence for 15 minutes a day. 3. Kill your TV. 4. Get a World Vision child. 5. Go to a retirement home and ask to visit a few old folks who don’t get any visitors. 6. Eat locally 7. Buy only thrift clothes for a year. 8. Seek truth.
Tons of people in this corridor are creating mischief with Slow Food Cycles, serving in Africa, volunteering at Balding for Dollars, and taking care of animals. It all started with thinking. It’s a dangerous thing.

10 Random Alberta facts...it's where I'm from afterall

1. Alberta has the world's largest lamp
This monument burns bright at 12.8 metres tall and lights up the town of Donalda, which has an oil lamp museum.
2. Alberta has the world's largest Western Boot
This monster-sized footwear was stitched out of firbreglass in Edmonton in 1989 at a cost of $200,000 to promote the shoe factory it stands in front of.
3. Gretzky played for the Edmonton Oilers the very first year the team joined the National Hockey League in 1979, when they amazed everyone and made it to the Stanley Cup playoffs.
4. It would take three full 24-hour days to visit all of West Edmonoton Mall's 800 stores for just five minutes each.
5. Alberta is Canada's only rat-free province. It's been clean since 1905.
6. Alberta has the best overall weather of all the Canadian provinces.
7. The hottest day on record in Alberta is 43.3 Celsius, shared by Brooks, which hit that high in July 1931 and Fort Macleod which hit the same high a decade later in 1941.
8. About 5.5 million cattle can be found in Alberta, outnumbering people by almost 2 to 1.
9. The World's largest pyrogy is in Glendon. Otherwise known as a Ukranian dumpling, the pyrogy is spiked onto a giant fork, stands 6.2 metres tall and weighs 2700 kilograms.
10. Canada's first ever food bank started in Edmonton.

Knit Night 2007

Knitting is an extreme sport. That's right...the adrenaline was pumping the sweat was pouring and the hands were shaking.

That's right I had a knitting party and people showed up. Yes..... It was actually a pretty intense session of knitting. After three hours exhaustion set in. The guys put in a valiant effort - Nate can now knit - Dave made a...rectangle and Matt made a toque. He's Scottish so knitting must run in the blood. Jill and Abbie were just plain experts and Jodes served as the TA. So Knit This! Thanks to everyone who came..perhaps the "Kegger" is next time - maybe we can decorate it.

Why I live in Pemberton

I live in a place known as the Spud Valley, there’s a hitching post at the McDonalds, and the nightlife consists of a trip to the video store. My Whistler friends scratch their heads trying to figure out why I live in Pemberton.
I’ve heard every comment. The road is a death trap. That 25-minute commute must kill you. What do you do for fun in Pemberton? Isn’t that where people go to have babies? Are you pregnant?
I keep meaning to move to Whistler but it hasn’t happened yet. The Spud Valley seems to have a death grip on me. Unlike most Pemberton residents, I have never been a Whistlerite. I planned on six months and it’s been almost four years.
I don’t know why I stick around Pemberton. In my first couple of months, the bridge washed out during the biggest flood in memory. We were stuck in the village for over week. Perhaps it was a sign of my fate.
Pemberton has a way of weaseling into your heart. It’s a little bit Red Neck, Hippy, and Yuppie rolled into one community with 2,563 residents.
Mount Currie looms over Pemberton as nature’s overstatement. Skiers spend hours picking out heart-pumping lines, children draw pictures of its jagged peaks, and developers dream of a gondola. No matter where you stand in Pemberton, you can see Mount Currie. It always looks different.
During the winter, Pemberton residents tend to hibernate with the exception of pizza and beer night at the Pony Espresso. They make the best pizza on the planet. I recommend the “pizza yet to be named” I am salivating at the thought. Last time I attended pizza and beer night, I was greeted by a half naked child and a relaxed vibe.
You can’t beat the rent prices in Pemberton. It’s pretty cheap compared to Whistler’s closet for a “grand” rate. It’s also pretty easy to save money in the Spud Valley because there’s not much to spend it on. With the exception of dinners at the Wild Wood and extravagant trips to the grocery store.
Pemberton also brings out diversity. Whistler is great but do farmers and extreme skiers share a coffee every morning at the local coffee shop? It leads to some lively discussion. After all isn’t life about shared experiences?
The village has its issues, I am not going to lie. The Village of Pemberton budget is smaller than most businesses and infrastructure is weak. I don’t think I’ll be swimming laps at Pemberton’s pool anytime soon, unless someone discovers oil.
Still Pemberton is the only place where the council meetings are standing room only and residents get fired up about municipal issues. It’s encouraging. You also meet a lot of characters with the sparkle of someone who doesn’t watch a lot of television. It’s rare.
Pemberton’s not perfect but community is messy. It’s not about what we can get but what we can give. I see it everyday in the people who live here. Whether it’s starting a community garden or the Slow Food Cycle – residents dig deep and give back.
Others are thinking about Pemberton lately. In fact, the village is the topic of discussion at an upcoming Dialogue Café. Sheldon Tetrault and the Imagine BC Sea to Sky conversation partners will be discussing “Why I live in Pemberton – The Importance of Sense of Place” at the Local’s Living Room, Tues. March 27.
Eventually I will leave Pemberton because the world awaits discovery. But then again I might be writing the sequel to this column in 15 years. Scary thought.

Sister Times!

Aside from getting the flu, this week has been awesome because my sister is hanging out in Pemberton! She brought with her many stories about New Zealand, which have been super encouraging. We've been cross country skiing and generally creating havoc in the Spud Valley. Here's the highlight reel.

It’s been a long time since I have actually put anything new on this site other than recycled editorials from the newspaper! So be prepared…

I was driving into work this morning with a big smile on my face. I just had a sense of peace- it’s been a missing element lately. But then I started thinking about skiing, good friends and my family. I am pretty blessed. Thank you God for walking with me.

Here are some pictures from the Christmas season and the past year!



This was taken at Strawberry Point on a Youth Group camping trip. It's a super beautiful and peaceful spot!



It was a great year for climbing. This is Phil going for a hold while bouldering at the Pembie boulders.




The Red Bull Elevation was my favourite event this year. The BMX dudes are hardcore...notice no pads and huge air. Crazy!



One of my best friends from university got married this summer. The photographer didn't show up, the pastor was drunk and it was the best wedding I've ever been to. The beer cozies were the best part.



Dubai...enough said. Check out my dubai blog if you're curious.




Hiking to Joffre Lakes with Yuko and Dave! Fun times!



Question Christmas party. I won a sweet hat and a singing stuffed animal.

Be more than rich

Do you ever have moments that seem to smack you upside the head? Bringing you back to reality and reminding you to stop self-obsessing. The world is bigger than Whistler, than my leaky car, my job, and my social life.

I sound like a World Vision commercial but how often do we glance at the swollen bellies and change the channel in favour of The Simpson’s? It’s easier for me to believe that my “world” is the world.

It’s sad but most of us don’t think about the world at large until Christmas. Perhaps it’s a throw back for sentimentality. I heard an interested fact the other day – that America spends $40 billion on ice cream every year. It’s an amount that could put a significant dent in world hunger.

Did you know that 852 million people across the world are hungry? Every day more than 16,000 children die from hunger related causes – one child every five seconds. How much money do you have in your pocket? More than one billion people live on less than one dollar a day.

While every country in the world has the potential of growing enough food to feed itself, 54 nations currently do not produce enough food to feed their populations, nor can they afford to import the necessary commodities to make up the gap. Most of these countries are in sub-Saharan Africa.

I also heard that eight per cent of the world’s population owns a car. When the other 92 per cent looks at my beat up Dodge Shadow, they think rich. The Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of the poorest 48 nations is less than the wealth of the world’s three richest people combined. About 20 per cent of the world’s population live in developed nations but consume 86 per cent of the world’s resources.

It’s easy for me to preach while sitting at my desk in my warm office while snacking on Christmas cookies. I can spout of facts about world hunger like I’m actually making a difference to the hungry child in Africa. But it does remind me to seek perspective. I can let the facts bounce off my capitalist armour or I can react.

Do you consider yourself rich? Blessed? There is nothing wrong with wealth in itself but with it comes responsibility. We are stewards of our wealth. I’ll admit I feel a bit sheepish about my Chai Latte. I’m not saying we throw on our sack clothes, walk barefoot to work and give all of our savings to Africa. Let’s be realistic.

What would our world look like if we stopped, realized our wealth, and tried to live with generosity? When a lot of the world looks at us, they think rich. How was that drink of water? Rich. That bed? Rich. Rich. Rich.

This is the point where we look for the sales pitch. Who do I write the cheque to? What’s the latest cause I can sign up for? That’s just it – the whole issue of richness is deeper than the latest craze.

Here’s a question that I am trying to ask myself. What would Whistler look like if we lived generously? What if I tried to live more generously? What if we were known as a community of generous people?

humbled...

Do you ever have those nights? The tears come, and you leave shaking because you’re walking away from a moment of significance.

Last Monday I sat in my car feeling totally humbled and excited. I feel like God gave me a glimpse of perspective. I realized He’s been here all along – unfurling a plan for me – sustaining me – using my weakness – paving the way with grace. It kicked my ass.

The night started with the girl’s bible study. To be honest I was tired and feeling overwhelmed. We talked about Mary and how God makes the impossible possible. It’s not rocket science but seemed significant at the moment. Kayla said we needed to pray for healing in our youth – ourselves – for Pemberton. So we prayed…

Youth group went by as usual with games, laughter and organized chaos. Shy-Anne gave her testimony and God answered prayer. She talked about her parent’s separation and how she’s relying on God’s healing touch. One statement struck me. She said, “ I am not okay but God is beside me – he is healing me everyday.”

That’s when I looked around the room and realized that divorce is a reality for over half our kids. A few of the girls were crying quietly as they listened to Shy-Anne. After the story one of our guys prayed, with a hand on his younger brother. He said…”God thank you for this group because I don’t where we would be without it. Our parents are separating and it’s really hard. We need your healing.”

He started crying and the tears started to run down my face because at that moment I felt so humbled and comforted. God answered our prayers. He rushed in. It was a moment of significance.

I wanted to share this story to encourage you. That this faith thing seems real. . .

“We know there’s something more. We sense it, we feel it, we know it. And we want it. We want an authentic spirituality.”

Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis

Freeze your niblets

Aussies are huddled in corners and long time locals are stuffing foot warmers in their ski boots. The alpine low on Tuesday was minus 25 degrees and flesh freezes in 15 minutes or less. Welcome to Canada.

I overheard a few Whistler imports moaning that the cold weather is inhumane. If you stand outside naked freezing off your "niblets", then yes the cold is torturous. Otherwise grab another sweater and learn to enjoy the feeling of frozen snot against your cheek.

The West Coast has been coddled in warm temperatures for decades so the rest of Canada is having a good chuckle. I’ll admit that it was tough to get out of bed this morning but it could always be colder. The coldest wind chill ever recorded in Canada happened in Pelly Bay, NWT, where the wind took an already -51 C down to a "niblet" disintegrating -92 C.

Flesh freezing weather has some benefits. Firstly it’s a good excuse to eat more. If someone asks why you keep stuffing your face, look them square in the eye with crumbs flying and say one word – insulation. Then shake your head in disgust and get back to work. That pie isn’t going to digest itself.

The cold is also a great time for the fridge to break down. When your freezer shudders for the last time, you can laugh and start carting the frozen perogies outside. Not only is outdoor refrigeration free, you’ll have a chance to share your food with some furry friends. Bambi lay off the sweets.

The Roundhouse on Whistler Mountain is a great place to go on frostbite patrol. It’s a great activity if you can’t afford cable television and it’s better than pay-per-view. Frostbite occurs when the skin and body tissues are exposed to cold temperatures for prolonged periods of time.

Frostbite is distinguishable by the hard, pale, and cold quality of the skin. The area is likely to lack sensitivity to touch, although there may be an aching pain. Any part of the body may be affected but hands, feet, nose, and ears are the most vulnerable. Look for skiers and snowboarders with white patches on their cheeks.

If only the skin and underlying tissues are damaged, recovery may be complete. However, if blood vessels are affected, the damage is permanent and gangrene can follow which may require amputation of the affected part. You should see eyes widen and jaws drop when you slip that fact into an Aussie’s conversation.
If you’re having trouble dealing with the cold, here are a few tips. Wear clothes, sit in the Meadow Park hot tub, and suck it up. The old idea of cold showers or baths and “washing in snow” to toughen up against the cold does indeed work. Try it first and I’ll watch from the hot tub.

Illusionist David Blaine, once spent 62 hours in a block of ice. He has an interesting cold weather philosophy.
“One great way to beat the cold is to accept it and even challenge it. Treat it like a fight you are looking forward to. Resisting pain can only make us stronger. Remember soon enough you will be in the warmth. I would even say try to trick your mind into liking it,” Blaine once said.

So embrace the cold, grab your toque and for heaven’s sake stop whining or we’ll ship you off to Nunavut.

Reflections on an epic winter

Early mornings, new addictions, laughter, tears, and quiet alpine thoughts. If life is best remembered in moments, those words were my winter.
The inevitable has happened, the clock kept ticking and a warm breeze blew through Whistler. The nearby Green River is flowing with newly transformed snow and the ski out is slipping back into the soil. My sandals are out of the closet and I received my first sunburn. One million more sit-ups before I bust out the bikini.
It was an epic winter. Again let me state the obvious, it was an epic winter. A fat line of skiers and snowboarders are waiting at the Peak Chair. We are cheering and jeering the adrenaline junkies seeking attention on Air Jordan. We are spoiled with powder days.
The snow is hitting my face and my cheeks hurt from smiling too hard. I realize I am hollering like a kid with a sugar fix. Suddenly I am tumbling through the snow, leaving my skis behind but I am still smiling. Pass the sugar and keep skiing the fresh line.
I’m talking about the snow and tossing around weather reports like a meteorologist but folks understand. It’s the never-ending conversation in Whistler. Some say it’s shallow but life makes sense in the alpine and this conversation leads to something deeper.
Sitting in the snow on Cowboy Ridge, a friend shares her “uber” stoke for the outdoors. It reminds my friend of her journey toward God, the creator of her playground. With wide eyes she says she is made for this. She is so certain of her purpose before carving a sweet telemark turn. It’s a good day.
I’m focusing on the gaps and not the trees while chasing the genetically superior through gladded runs. My quads are flexing, the sweat is pouring, and I’m not a super hero. While watching the gaps, I am "clotheslined" by a fallen log. The wind leaves my chest and the f-word makes an appearance. These are not mellow trees.
Skinning up Flute, working on a goggle tan, and looking forward to lunch. It’s a weekday and I’m alone feasting on an unquenchable view. Is this place an accident? Can something this beautiful be a coincidence? Snacking on cold pizza, nature is pretty sweet. Stop thinking, it’s time to shred.
I’m watching my Dad tumble or “Tomahawk” down a steep face. His gear sticks haphazardly out of the snow, marking his descent. I don’t know whether to laugh or review first aid procedures. He claws the snow, stopping breathless but manages to wave. We take it easy in the afternoon.
Everything is better with fresh snow. I understand the race for a few turns in the deep stuff. Tracks turn the mountain into a meandering road map within minutes. We search for the secret pockets of powder. The quest is rewarded and I discover an addiction.
The sun slips behind the mountains creating an unmistakable alpine glow. I’m slipping into a bikini after all and soaking my bones in hot water. The moon reflects off the remaining high alpine snow during the first of many summer nights.

If life were a box of cereal

If everyone were a type of cereal, what kind would you be? Thanks to the big wigs at Kelloggs, Quaker and General Mills, there are many varieties to choose from.
At first I wanted to be Lucky Charms, complete with delicious frosted oats and coloured marshmallows. Lucky the Leprechaun would be my guardian, devoting his life to make sure I was magically delicious. Kids would scream for me with outstretched arms from the grocery cart while Mom and Dad grabbed another box of All Bran.
Life as a box of Lucky Charms would be all about the glamour and the high from a shot of sugar. Like any good artificial trip, I wouldn’t last. I’d be cool with the younger set but let’s be honest I’d lack substance. My energy fading before noon, leaving my fans disillusioned and disappointed.
Perhaps oatmeal is the ticket, I wouldn’t be flashy but I would stick to your ribs with a nutritional zing only capable of a hearty bowl of oats. Besides oatmeal appeals to my Scottish heritage and it’s cheap. What a second does that mean I’m cheap? I’ll admit the Re-Use-It is my stomping ground and I drive a car cheaper than my computer.
You might be a Cocoa Cocoa Puff, crazy enough to enjoy life but teetering on the need for a straight jacket. You were born in the early 60s and your best friend is Sonny the Cuckoo Bird who goes “cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.” Life as Cocoa Cocoa Puffs is wild and you eventually became a slang term for a mixture of marijuana and cocaine. If you’re smart, you spent some time in rehab and everyone gets a kick out of your random drug flashbacks.
I suspect the road cyclists between Whistler and Pemberton live life as a bowl of Vector cereal. You are a meal replacement in a bowl with protein, carbohydrates and 22 vitamins and minerals. You’re a mixture of great tasting crunchy flakes and granola clusters. You complete Iron Man Triathlons in the blink of an eye. You’re extreme and you know it.
Froot Loops cereal is reserved for the adrenaline addicted Whistler Bike Park rider. Mild mannered tourists think you’re a little fruity after your tail whip in the Boneyard without a helmet. You’re made with corn, wheat and taste good with or without a splash of milk. You’re more expensive than oatmeal and don’t mind dropping a few thousand bucks on two wheeled transportation.
A balanced life is the catchword of modern culture. Oprah always talking about it and magazines are dedicated to it. It makes sense because Mini Wheats are pretty popular with the Feng-Shui, Vegan, and Yoga types. You’re a whole wheat biscuit with a frosted side, making you delicious and nutritious. In Red Neck terms, you’re a mullet – business up front and a party in the back.
I’m still not sure what type of cereal I am but I received a revelation of sorts after a poignant sermon at church. Instead of trying to slot everyone into a type of breakfast food, we should look beyond the cereal. It’s about seeing people as having value before making any judgments.
It’s easy to focus on someone’s Lucky Charms attitude or oatmeal nature instead of trying to discover inner qualities. I don’t really like the taste of some cereal but breakfast food serves a purpose. That’s my challenge; maybe we should start seeing people as inherently valuable and full of purpose. Who cares if you’re a wicked mountain biker or a skier anyway?
You don’t have to be a Mini Wheat, just be yourself and rejoice because you are valuable my friend.

Getting back to the basics

Go back to the land. Slow down. Take it all in.
That’s what over 1,000 people did last weekend in honour of Slow Food Cycle Sunday, a back-to-the-land bike ride through the beautiful Pemberton Meadows. They came from all over, some with 10-speeds and others with bikes complete with radios and streamers.
It was a picture of something beautiful because people were coming out just to appreciate the miracle of farming. Cyclists explored the farmlands of Pemberton Meadows in order to meet local growers, sample fresh-from-the earth produce, and partake in the culinary talents of local chefs. It was a 50-kilometre bike ride that connected participants with more than a dozen farms.
The whole event, which started around a conversation between Lisa Richardson and Anna Helmer, is inspiring. Did you know that the Worldwatch Institute reports that the average food item eaten in North America has traveled anywhere between 2, 500 to 4,00 kilometres from farm to table. Last weekend riders were brought straight to the farms.
To be honest, I never gave my food sources much thought until I moved to the rural town of Pemberton. I was happy to sit back with my tub of Cheese wiz and crackers. Sure those apples from Fiji tasted a bit like cardboard but I never noticed. Growing up as a city kid in a city with the world’s biggest mall, I never gave farmer’s much thought.
As consumers in the “global market”, we tend to look for the best buys, with little thought of the true nutritional, environmental and social costs of what we purchase. If we care about our health, the environment and our farming communities, then we need to become better consumers and choose our groceries with care.
I think it’s easy to spout off ideals and much harder to live as good stewards of this planet. As a kid I started a environmental club for kids called Our Future. I lobbied the local MLA, made it on television, hit puberty, and tossed it all aside for the latest designer jeans. I’ll admit I walked away from a pre-pubescent crusade but it seems life has come full circle.
When you live in a breathtaking part of the world, there is a spiritual sense of appreciation. One of my favourite days this summer was hunched over in a strawberry bush. My fingers were stained red, the sun was brilliant, and I was eating the best strawberries ever to pass my lips.
I planted a garden this summer after receiving inspiration from Jordan Sturdy’s Community Garden Crusade. I’ve spent many hours in my tiny patch of land behind the house. Growing vegetables is not an easy task, it involves weeding, preparing the soil, and a whole lot of watering.
In the midst of the summer my seeds are now thriving vegetables. As a bonafide city kid, I am humbled by the miracle of growing. My friends will attest that everyone who visits my house gets a tour of the lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, carrots and beans. I am a bit enthusiastic.
I guess that is why I found the Slow Food Cycle so encouraging. It has challenged me to think about what I am buying and what I am eating. I am not saying we should all go Vegan but small steps of stewardship are possible. It’s both the effort and result that is redemptive and beautiful. Eating locally has become a bit trendy but why not try it for a while. It’s not easy but nothing worthwhile is.