Of Canada Day And Raspberries And Settlers And Gypsies

     Canada Day is drawing to a close as I write this post. I spent the day pretty much on my own. I had to work for most of the weekend but had Canada Day off as part of my normal work schedule. Because it was a working weekend for me, my son is at his mother's place and most of my friends are either working or have made other plans. Don't misunderstand, I don't propose to write a woe is me article about loneliness on National Holidays. Quite the opposite. I treasure my solitude almost as much as I treasure the company of friends. I often find that in solitude comes personal insight that reconnects me to the cosmic order of the universe.

     I had my first real taste of summer today as I wandered aimlessly back to the woefully small patch of grass and overgrown little garden which constitutes my back yard.  Six or seven years ago I had dug up a small garden patch along the fence line there and planted flowers as well as a patch of chives and a small patch of carrots. At the corner of my little garden plot I planted raspberry canes. With the exception of the past couple of years, I had done a pretty good job of tending my little garden. Of late, however, I have found that my interest in gardening, even at that minuscule a level, has diminished and my little plot has become terribly choked with weeds. The raspberry patch, however, is still producing and the first of the berries are ripening now. I sampled some of them today. 

     For many, the watermelon is the fruit that symbolises the sweet days of summer. For me, it is raspberries. We had a good sized patch of canes that grew in the backyard of my boyhood home. I can remember soaking my feet in the morning dew on the grass to pick a handful of them to put on my breakfast cereal. Later the same day, I might pick another handful to sprinkle over ice cream for an afternoon treat. All summer long that raspberry bush seemed to produce fruit endlessly. My mother would pick a basket of them and make raspberry jam and preserves, carefully measuring out the sugar and pectin and scalding the jam jars in a huge pot of boiling water to remove all impurities. Along with jams made with blueberries and other seasonal fruit. they would last well into the winter months.

     As I sampled the berries today, I was a little ashamed of myself for letting the raspberry patch become so overrun with weeds. I dug in and spent a good hour or more pulling weeds and stray vines. It seemed like the raspberry patch was rewarding my efforts, revealing more of it's fully ripened hidden gems as I went along. I know it's too late to dig up and plant the rest of my garden this year, but at least my raspberries will have a fighting chance! 

    I can never do any yard or garden work without thinking of my mother. Gardening was one of her passions and she took great  pride in her ability to provide an abundance of fresh fruit and home grown vegetables for her family. The daughter of a prairie farmer she grew up in Southern Manitoba during the depression when the ability to plant a garden was not a hobby skill but a survival tool. Even as a child  I was amazed by the amount of food that could be produced from a medium sized backyard garden. We had a root cellar in the basement of our house and our family didn't buy a bag of potatoes til well after Christmas. I guess to that extent my mom was a settler. Although she enjoyed travel, she was always happy to return home. For her, home was a place where she could put down roots both literally and figuratively and find comfort and refuge in a crazy world.

     My father on the other hand, embodied the spirit of the gypsy. He was a railwayman who literally made his living by travelling. At one point in his career he had enough seniority to take a regularly scheduled train run but refused the opportunity. He knew that he would get bored if he had to be on the same train everyday. He preferred to be on the spareboard where he was always on call to work any train or yard job on the line. In the too brief time that I knew him, I can't recall him ever being in one place for much more than a week at a time. As a child I learned the language of the railway spareboard. Four or five times out meant that he would probably be home for four or five days. Three times out meant he'd probably be home for a day or two. Two times out and he would be gone that night. Not that he didn't contribute to the home life of the family. On his days off, he would often bake large batches of cookies for us kids. Often he would spend the afternoon cooking a meal for the family that was a little more elaborate than the usual weekday fare. He took a measure of pride in his family and his crazy schedule was just a part of our life. If he had to be away for my mom's birthday or a special occasion a pot chrysanthemums (my mother's favourite flower) always appeared at our door. The local florist was a member of his lodge fraternity and one of his best friends! Even a man with the soul of a gypsy needs a place to call home. He knew it and so did my mother. Opposites  really do attract.

     So what does this all have to do with Canada Day? Just this. As Canadians we are all the sons and daughters of gypsies and settlers or at least only a few generations removed from them. Even the indigenous first nations people were largely a nomadic lot. This country has the second largest land mass on the planet. Even if you travel from the east coast to the west just turn around and head back. It's pretty much guaranteed that there's a lot of stuff you missed! This place is a paradise for the gypsy soul. And if your soul is predominately that of a settler, there is no better country on earth to settle down, raise a family and put down roots. Even if those roots only belong to some raspberry canes in the backyard of a rented house.

   Happy Canada Day!


                                                      ...more later. 



    

Outsourcing

     The people... united... will never be defeated! If this is true, then conversely, The people... divided... are like lambs before the slaughter of  any organisation with the will to exploit them.

     I was appalled on Sunday to hear  the story of Dave Moreau, slated to lose his I.T. job with The Royal Bank to a worker brought in from India to replace him. To add insult to injury, he was being required to train his replacement!  It seems that he is just one of 45 working Canadians being subjected to this indignity by a so-called Canadian corporation operating under a charter from our federal government.  In viewing a segment on this issue on CBC news tonight it would appear that other chartered banks are doing the same thing to varying degrees.

     What a difference a few days makes.  As of Thursday, the CEO of the Royal Bank had issued a public statement of apology. As a letter of apology it is pretty lame. On CTV's Canada AM Geoff Rowan of Ketchum Public Relations Canada said, " So would it be wrong for me to say blah blah blah? This is a typical lawyers letter that was written with the lawyers standing over top of the p.r. people."   It's  kind of telling that a guy in the business of spin doesn't buy the sincerity of this  little piece of corporate propaganda.
     
     So where are we to go from here? We Canadians are a pretty tolerant people. On the one hand,  part of me wants to say " Ok, the guy apologized ( lame as it was ) and the people effected are going to keep their jobs or get other jobs within the system. Let's just move on.

     But I can't.  It's not enough to push a bully away. A bully has to be taken down to the extent that he will seriously question his intentions if he tries to repeat his bad behaviour. This letter of apology, carefully worded and legally couched, is at best, a minor victory for the working people of this country. It is the height of arrogance to give a worker 90 days notice and then expect him to train the poor underpaid schlemiel who will replace him! This was the intent of a    financial institution in which Canadians have entrusted their savings and finances for over a century. This was the intent of a corporation that rakes in billions of profits every year operating under a charter granted to it by the government of the people of Canada. 
  
     This letter of apology is the best work of a corporate CEO who last year took home $12.6 million in salary, bonuses and stock options. I've seen better, more heartfelt letters written by schoolchildren!


                                        ...more later     

    

    

The Marathon

     A while back, a friend submitted a post to Facebook. He wrote,  " Supervisors are simply wardens of our time." I wanted to add, " Only if we allow them to be."

     Fridays can seem to take forever as we work away in anticipation of the weekend. As Thoreau so eloquently stated " The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." I think that  it ultimately comes down to the choices we make. If I find myself working at a job that provides little personal satisfaction or opportunity for growth, it seems incumbent upon me to make a careful analysis of my reasons for continuing with that job. The primary reason is usually pecuniary. The job provides me with enough money to afford the lifestyle I like or to finance whatever personal goals I have set for myself.

     " Find a job that you love and you'll never work a day in your life." That quote is attributed to Confucius although when he said it, I think the wise old philosopher could not have foreseen the demands of modern workplaces in a society which worships high productivity. The problem, it seems, is the near impossibility of finding a job that you love. To my mind, however, it's just a matter of perspective. 

     In my drinking days, a friend of mine and I were discussing our jobs in our favourite watering hole. He lamented that his " give a fuck factor" was pretty low. I responded that every job has it's "bullshit quotient." Right then and there we developed the Barker/ Boyd Formula of Employment Satisfaction which states that, " The give a fuck factor is inversely proportional to the bullshit quotient." ie. The more bullshit you put up with, the less you give a fuck.

   I have been fortunate. For the most part I have found a degree of satisfaction in almost every job that I have had. ( And they have been many and varied over the years.) I think that what has made the difference for me is primarily one of attitude. For that, I owe much thanks to some advice given to me by my Dad. The story goes like this.

     I guess I would have been about ten or eleven years old. I got into a dispute with my Mother over some household chores she had asked me to do. As a result I was summarily sent to my room to await punishment when my Dad got home. My Dad came home and, instead of meting out punishment, had a long talk with me about work. It went something like this.

Dad; You must think I've got a pretty good job eh?

Me; Yeah, you're a trainman. You get to ride on trains and travel all over the place.
.
Dad; True, but I also have to get up at four in the morning to catch my trains. I leave this house in total darkness without even getting to say goodbye to my family. Sometimes I'm gone for days and I'm not sure where I'll have to go or when I'll be back home. Sometimes in the winter I find myself hanging off a moving boxcar in the wind and the freezing cold and when I jump off the boxcar, I'm up to my waist in a snowdrift and I have to dig out a switch to put that boxcar onto a siding. I have to do this as fast as I can cause there's usually another train coming and we have to clear the main  track. In the summertime it's not much better cause I have to work when it's really hot or I have to work in the rain. The railroad doesn't care about the weather or how I'm feeling.  They just care about getting things done on time. If I don't do my work right, a train worth millions of dollars can get destroyed or, worse, people can get killed. Still think I've got a pretty good job?

Me; Well I guess your job is pretty hard.

Dad:  Work is work. Whether it's the job I do or the chores your mother asks you to do, put aside your personal feelings  about it and do the best job that you can. When you grow up, I don't care whether you're a ditch digger or a brain surgeon just do the best job that you can. Be a professional. Don't complain about it. Just do it.

    Sometimes when I'm having a particularly hectic day at work I remember my Dad and think,   " This is my railway."  It doesn't stop. It doesn't care about how I'm feeling. It just cares about getting things done as efficiently as possible. The trick is to rise to the challenge. Every job has it's challenges, even the most boring, mundane tasks. I've worked long nights in a factory putting product in boxes. The challenge then was just staying awake and alert enough to do the job well. Work is work. A challenge is a challenge.

    Any marathon runner will tell you that his biggest challenge is just to finish the race. Winning or placing in the top of your category is just icing on the cake. It's all about the attitude. When a marathon runner crosses the finish line, in the midst of the exhaustion you see on his face you will see something else. Satisfaction. He met the challenge. And given the opportunity he'll do it again. In the final analysis his achievement is  not much different from that of a successful brain surgery or even a ditch that  has been dug properly. The challenge has been met. The difficulty overcome. It's really just a matter of perspective.

                                          ...more later.  

                                                

    

    

    

Newtown

     Christmas is only a week away. I, as yet, have not really found the Christmas spirit. I don't do holidays well. I am the quintessential last minuter. Perhaps it is a holdover from my years spent in retail work. In general I trust that the spirit of the season will find me as the critical date comes nearer and it invariably does. This general feeling of ennui usually dissipates three or four days before Christmas Day. However the week before Christmas requires an effort from me to really overcome a derisive view of the overall senselessness of it all. Even the sentiment of peace on earth goodwill to all is functionally short lived. It seems that as soon as the season is over the self serving avarice of so called normal life returns. I have to wonder that our efforts at increased charity that is provided in the name of the season is misplaced. For the less fortunate in our immediate and global society, it seems to me that a taste of honey may well be worse than none at all. To my mind, the spirit of peace on earth, goodwill to all should not be confined to a few brief weeks in December. My seasonal battle with my inner Grinch has begun.

   Into the midst of my diminutive little battle to come to terms with the heightened  expectations and general hustle and bustle of the season  comes the news of a school shooting in a small town in Connecticut. How does one reconcile the celebration of the birth of the Prince Of Peace with such macabre violence inflicted upon the most innocent of our society?  I mean for all the hoopla, the decorations, the gifts, the abundance of rich foods, the hymns and carols, the folklore and  traditions who the hell are we kidding here? It is so easy to lose faith in the whole concept of peace and goodwill. Where the hell is the " great joy which shall be to all people"?
It sure as hell isn't in Newtown, Connecticut.

     So what is left? Not much. All we can do is  try to comfort the living and say our prayers for the departed. In the final analysis, what Christmas is about is hope. Faith and hope exist in mutual co dependence.  As hope grows, so does faith. When faith is shattered we can reestablish it  by nurturing that tiniest of a little spark within us which is hope. Ultimately, Christmas is a celebration of hope for a better existence for all of us on this planet.

     Maybe that's the reason that we always need to celebrate this season. To reaffirm our commitment to hope. In the face of all the conflict, suffering and unspeakable human tragedy,  maybe it's the height of naivety to  believe that humanity can exist with an all embracing spirit of peace on earth, goodwill to all.   Maybe.... But there's always hope.

   

      I'll close now. I have a tiny spark that needs tending.


   
                                                ...more later
        
    

       

  

Remembrance Day

     I went to the Remembrance Day ceremony held at our local Cenotaph today. It was a beautiful morning with sunshine and unseasonably mild temperatures, unlike most Remembrance Days that usually feature cold damp winds, snow, sleet, or freezing rain. How Canadian of me to start a post with what amounts to a weather report. But that's just it. I am a Canadian. On a day when we honour the courage and loss of generations of young men, who fought and died for the ideals which make this country great, it would be petty of me to make any apology for my heritage.

      My father served in the 2nd World War. I know very little of his experience. Like many veterans of conflict he did not talk much about his military service. What stories I did hear from him were not about the conflict but humourous anecdotes about jokes and pranks that occurred in the everyday life of a soldier. From what I've been able to ascertain from my mother after his death, he served as a navigator in bomber command and was injured when his plane, shot to hell, limped back to its airbase and crash landed. He was the only survivor. After returning home and recovering from his wounds, he served out the rest of the war as an army training sergeant.

     Like I said before, my father never really talked about the war. I can only suppose that he didn't want the horror that he faced visited upon his children even anecdotally. I suppose that in his mind, telling me about the war would have  defeated his purpose for serving. He did not want the next generation  to experience what he did.

     I am blessed. I have never been called to serve in armed conflict. But I am the son of a man who did answer that call. Out of love for me and my siblings  he took the horrors of that experience to his  grave. Today  I stood in the crowd and listened to the familiar aspects of a Remembrance Day service,  the prayers, In Flanders Fields recited by children, the haunting notes of The Last Post, the Benediction. I stood while wreathes were layed by community minded businesses and service clubs, by schools, by the legion, by any group that ever wore a uniform in service of their community and their country from the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides to the Fire and Police Departments. I stood with my neighbours in this little town. I stood in Remembrance of those who made the ultimate sacrifice so that I could enjoy a life of peace and security.  But, ultimately I stood in honour of my Dad. We will remember them.

    

                                    .....More later

Update 2, Of Deer and Sunsets

     Back in July of this year I wrote a post concerning a failed attempt to photograph deer and my subsequent return home with a nice sunset photograph. Sunsets, while beautiful, are somewhat ubiquitous, so much so that there is a specialised app on many digital cameras specifically for shooting them. When I worked in the camera shop there were so many sunset photographs that were printed in our little photo lab, that all of us working there became a little too inured to them. Unless your sunset photograph is ridiculously awesome, it will probably have little influence on anyone who has worked in the photographic industry. To that extent, in my earlier incarnation as a would be photographer, I would rarely bother to photograph them. I was looking for greater challenges (and to some degree still am.)

    Maybe it is just the saccharine sentimentality that comes with advancing age or the humility that is an inherent in both aging and major attitudinal change, but I now find that I love sunsets and sunrises. Yes, they are ubiquitous, but can be spectacular displays nonetheless. Strangely enough, I often get more appreciative comments from the posting of a sunset photograph than I do from displaying a picture that requires a great deal more photographic proficiency. Perhaps it is that commonplace nature of the sunset that is it's very strength. The uninitiated might not relate to the technical prowess required to create a good image of something like a full moon or a well balanced night scene, but everyone can relate to the visual beauty of a sunset. Therefore I have no qualms about taking and posting any sunset pictures. If people like 'em, so much the better.

     By the way, since this is an update about photographing deer as well as sunsets,  I did manage to get a nice shot of a doe and some fawns at a later date.

                                                        

    

        Oh, and the sunset on the way home was pretty nice too.

   

                                                  ...more later

                                                                   

Update No. 1

     Ok, I guess that it's been a while since I punched up anything here. Of late I have been suffering from a seemingly endless ennui where any type of writing is concerned. Perhaps it is generated by self doubt. I don' t want to sound whiny,  but I can't help but wonder if the words I punch up on this blog have any meaning or value to anyone other than myself. Of late I find it much easier to make some digital photographs and with a modicum of editing, present them to my online friends.  If a picture is truly worth a thousand words, a camera is the ultimate labour saving device for one who has a proclivity towards both the visual as well as the written arts. That being said, I suppose that I really should buckle down and produce something on this web page that may be of mild interest to someone, even if only to myself.

     What I propose to do is provide some updates to previous blog entries. So without further ado...

     In February of this year, I wrote a piece " For The Love Of Trains". It was about a childhood train trip I took with my Father who, as an employee of the railway, was working in the baggage car on that trip. At the end of that piece I wrote a bit about continuing the railway tradition with some rail trips I've taken with my son.

     This past summer was a good one in terms of rail excursions. We took two of them. One was aboard The Credit Valley Explorer. This an interesting little train that runs out of Orangeville, Ont. through the beautiful scenery of The Credit River Valley. It was a beautiful way to spend the afternoon and, during our stopover at Inglewood, Ont., I got to climb into the cab of the engine and relive a few memories. 





    

    





Greg aboard the Credit Valley Explorer

  



View from the cab, Credit Valley Explorer

 


The Credit Valley Explorer (only one coach long), Inglewood, Ont. Aug2012

       The day before our trip on the Credit Valley Explorer, we enjoyed a short excursion aboard a train on the South Simcoe Railway. Of all the excursion trains we have ridden, I have to say that I like the S.S.R. the best. Last year, during our summer adventure, we rode the train there for the first time. In planning our travels for this summer, I noted that the village of Tottenham is not far from the town of Orangeville, Ont. and, as the fare for the S.S.R. run is quite
reasonable,  ( It's a short trip of less than one hour) I decided to make a return visit.

     The South Simcoe Railway is a short excursion railway that runs out of the village of Tottenham, Ont. If you are looking for magnificent scenery, the S.S.R. will probably be a disappointment. The scenery is bucolic and pleasant but far from spectacular. However, if you are a train nut like me, the S.S.R. is a little slice of heaven. The station is situated within walking distance of a very nice conservation area that offers comfortable camping and swimming. The railway operates carefully restored vintage equipment and is one of the few railways that operates steam locomotives. On our first visit, last year, we got to ride behind no.136, a Rogers 4-4-0 built in Paterson, N.J. in 1883 for the Canadian Pacific Railway. S.S.R. no. 136 is one of the oldest operating steam engines in the world. She is a beauty.

South Simcoe Railway Steam Train, Tottenham, Ont. Aug.2011

Greg riding the S.S.R.



S.S.R. heavyweight coach "Beeton", Tottenham, Ont. Aug. 2012

      The coaches that the S.S.R. runs are heavyweight steel beasts that run on three axle trucks. Built in the 1920's, they are the real deal. No fancy seating and carpeted floors here. Air conditioning consists of sliding open a window and propping it up with a stick secured to the window sill by a short chain. There is the hint of some luxury with the beautiful wood trim and vintage glass lighting fixtures and, with their heavy steel construction riding on six wheels at each end of the car, they ride as smooth as the day they were built. This a real railway experience. Through the open windows you really hear the clickety-clack of steel wheels on rail. There is a slight breeze blowing through the window tinged with the smells of coal smoke and piped steam. And,  when she blows for the grade crossings, well to my ear, it is a note that would put any operatic contralto to shame.

     All my life's a circle. ( actually circles within circles connecting to other circles) Our 2011 trip aboard the S.S.R. completed a circle for me. The only other time I had ridden a steam powered train was with my sister and my Dad. He was the conductor on a steam powered train running excursions on the Ontario Northland Railway for the Cobalt Miner's Festival. There's a story there that I'll save for a future post. I guess that it's kind of a continuation of the legacy that I did a steam train trip with Greg. Curiously enough, the locomotive number on the steam train that I rode with my father was 137. On the S.S.R., Greg and I rode behind no. 136.

     This year, on the S.S.R. we got to ride in the baggage car. (completing yet another circle)
When I purchased our tickets for the train I noticed that they were for seats in the coach. Looking at the train, I saw that it featured a combine car. ( combination coach/baggage) I asked the ticket agent if we could exchange our tickets to ride in that car. She replied that she couldn't do it but if we asked the conductor, he might let us ride there. I approached the conductor on the platform and he agreed to let us ride in the baggage combine. All he asked was that we remind him at boarding time.

     When boarding time came, we didn't need to remind him. He told us to turn left at the top of the steps. All the other passengers were turning right for conventional coach seating. As the train pulled out of the station we found that we had the entire car to ourselves simply because we were the only ones who asked! It was pretty cool.

     Unlike last year, we didn't get to ride behind the steam engine. Steam engines are notoriously maintenance needy and the S.S.R. only runs them on the weekends. Our trip this year was on a Tuesday. Our power for this trip was a vintage diesel.  S.S.R. no. 703 is a GE 70 tonner built in 1948 in Erie, PA.  She doesn't have the panache of 136, but hauled our little train without a problem. Not bad for a little industrial engine after 64 years of hard use. The baggage combine was pretty cool. Combines were once fairly common cars often used in branch line service. They were versatile units (half baggage car, half coach) that were often tacked to the ends of local freight trains to provide passenger service to smaller communities. As such they often doubled as a caboose for the crew and carried spare parts and equipment for emergency repairs en route. They also carried their own heating system since their service at the end of  local freights precluded  access to the locomotive's steam heating piping.

     This combine car was kept true to its original form with the exception of some benches added to the baggage area for additional seating in excursion train service. It still had it's coal fired stove for heating. It still had a rack holding air brake hoses and electrical connection cables for emergency use. It even had rails still in place for holding mail bags although  railways haven't carried the mail for decades. Altogether a very interesting ride. We rode out in the baggage section but took seats in the passenger section for a more comfortable ride back.  



The official "pose with the train" photo, Greg and Dad with S.S.R. 703
Tottenham, Ont. Aug. 2012



S.S.R. Combine Car no.321 "New Tecumseth" Tottenham, Ont. Aug. 2012




Ridin' in the baggage car. South Simcoe Railway, Aug. 2012

 
 


The passenger section, S.S.R. Combine Car No.321 "New Tecumseth" We really did have the whole car to ourselves!
      

   

            Ok. I've probably given you more information about trains and railways than you could possibly want or need. I did however, want to post this piece as something of a follow up to my earlier one. Life goes on and no incident or anecdote exists in isolation. However, I promise that my next update will be a tad more concise.... or I  might just post a picture.

                                                      ...more later