Category Archives: Anxiety

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A Tribute To Our Trees

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When I first moved to Victoria many years ago, among the first things I noticed were these unusual looking trees in my neighbourhood. Well, unusual to me, maybe because of the sheer number of them, but also because of their looks.

They had gnarly, crooked branches, a unique greyish bark, and they were everywhere. I soon learned that these trees were called Garry Oaks. They are apparently found as far south as California, but Garry Oaks were named after Nicholas Garry, the Deputy Governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company. I didn’t know that until just now.

I also didn’t know that Oak Bay was named after the Garry Oak tree. Duh. But then when I learned that my neighbourhood is called Oaklands, it made perfect sense to me. Garry Oaks are all around us.

We live on a corner lot, and there used to be three or four of them on the street corner right beside our house. On a blustery winter day about twenty years ago, one of them crashed down, first hitting our chimney, knocking a part of it loose, and then coming to rest on the back of my husband’s car.

We called the city and when they investigated, they found that particular grove of trees had some kind of rotting root fungus, meaning the rest of them were a hazard to leave there. So, sadly, they all had to be taken down.

But, as they say, the apple (or in this case, the acorn) doesn’t fall far from the tree. Another Garry Oak is now growing in the same spot and is thriving. I’ve made it a part of my little garden there. And we still have a grove of mature Garry Oaks by our back yard.

Right now, trees of every sort are top of mind as communities all over the northern hemisphere deal with high heat, droughts and as a result, forest fires. It’s terrifying.

When fires are caused by lightening or other natural events, that’s bad enough. But why is it that some idiot humans HAVE to have their campfires flaring or absently flick their cigarettes into the bushes? As joke goes, what’s worse, their ignorance or their apathy? (Answer: They don’t know and they don’t care).

The Garry Oak is supposed to be drought tolerant, but lately they’ve been getting a little help from the city, as you can see in the photo above. Portable water tanks have been popping up around my neighbourhood and in others, giving the trees a little extra hydration. Not just Garry Oaks, other trees too.

On a recent road trip through the interior and the Rockies, I found myself marveling at the numbers and amazing varieties of trees we have all around us…deciduous and coniferous. Do you know the difference? That’s one thing I do know!

And when I walk down particular streets in my neighbourhood, I marvel at the size of the trees lining them. Some of the trunks are massive. It makes me wonder what was going on in the world when they were just seedlings.

Most of the oldest trees in the world are in the US, China and Chile, but a Nootka Cypress tree here on the island is estimated to be about 1,636 years old. That means it came to life at around year 390. The Roman Empire was still going strong then…imagine that!

Trees do some amazing things for us that we often take for granted. Globally, they absorb billions of tonnes of carbon dioxide each year. They even produce small amounts of oxygen. You know, that stuff we breathe?

Besides all of that, what’s more wonderful than lying beneath a gorgeous tree canopy on a hot summer day? Or walking through a local forest like Goldstream Park or Sooke Potholes Provincial Park, just marveling at their magnificence? And that beautiful forest scent…wow.

These days, a lot of airports are creating atriums, outdoor places with trees and plants to give passengers a place to hang out for some stress relief. Ahhh…just relax. Because that’s what trees help us to do.

So before we lose too many more of them, I’d like to raise a glass to our trees, to these natural, beautiful skyscrapers that give our lives so much more than shade. Skál…cheers!

IJ

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Put The Ballot In The Box, Eh?

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I was in my early 20’s when someone I worked with convinced me to volunteer for a provincial party in an upcoming election. I had no idea what that really meant, but it sounded simple enough. Answer some phones, knock on a few doors.

So I went for it. A little bit of training as to how to approach people and what to say, and I was on my way.

I liked working in the campaign office, it was simple enough. The knocking on doors part was, well, a little more of an eye opener.

A lot of people weren’t home or didn’t answer, so I just pushed a leaflet through the mail slot. Easy. And of the ones who did answer the door, most were polite and at least took my leaflet.

But then there were the ones who had to, let’s just say “share” their ideas about the election and the candidates. There were a few who called me nasty names. And there were those who basically just slammed the door in my face. Yep, sometimes it’s rough out there for volunteers.

As I was growing up, whenever my my extended family got together for some occasion, the adult’s conversations would almost always centre around politics and current events. I can still hear the voices of my uncles rising and interjecting, not so much in anger, but maybe in small disagreement and definitely with passion.

One of my uncles ended up being an Associate Professor of Political Science at UBC, so it certainly ran in our blood.

That influence always encouraged me to vote, starting with the first election I was old enough to vote in. In my family there was nothing more important than filling out that ballot and stuffing it in the box. Even if you weren’t particularly inspired to do so, you just did it.

It almost feels like an understatement to say that this federal election has felt like no other in my lifetime. In our lifetimes. A couple of people I know have been volunteering for the first time ever. Here’s a toast to all of you election volunteers, by the way. You’re the best.

The advanced polls actually had line ups where I voted last Friday. I’ve never, ever seen that. There was a higher turnout for advanced voting than has ever been recorded in our country. That’s saying a lot.

Because of all of the unpredictable moves and threats from our neighbour to the south, suddenly Canada is united in a way that we’ve never experienced before. I see lots of people checking the labels in the grocery stores for Canadian products. Or Mexican or Italian. Anything but you-know-who.

“Elbows Up” t-shirts and “Proudly Made In Canada” signs are all over the place. The Canadian flag is flying everywhere while the American wine section in my local liquor store is proudly empty.

I’ve always felt the good fortune of being Canadian. Sure, we have our faults (sorry), and we don’t always agree. But that’s the whole point of being a democracy! We’re ALLOWED to disagree!

And, most importantly, we’re allowed to vote. Just imagine if we couldn’t do that.

There are a lot of other countries in the world rooting for us, supporting us, flying our flag. So on April 28th, as Canadians, all we have to do is one simple little thing: if you haven’t already done so, go and vote. Hop on this momentum and take it to the polls.

Because now, more than ever, it means everything.

Let’s put the ballot in the box, eh?

IJ

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He Could Be Me – A Reflection On Homelessness

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There were only two of us in the liquor store, an older fellow who was taking his time choosing his beer, and me. I was running around, distracted as usual, grabbing what I needed for the weekend.

By the time I got to the checkout, the older guy had beat me to it.

I didn’t pay much attention at first, and then I realized he was trying to buy one can of beer, looking for change in his pocket to pay for it. It was a Faxe, a Danish beer, and I had grabbed one of those for myself too. It made me smile.

Then I noticed he was was counting out his change coin by coin, but couldn’t quite come up with enough. The lady at the checkout and I looked at each other. He was short about 25 cents. He slowly dug into one pocket again, and then another.

I could see his clothes were a bit worn and his fingers a little dirty. He might have been in his 70s or older. It was hard to tell.

I ventured to guess that this fellow was probably living on the street, or close to it, like so many people these days. On my daily walk in Oaklands, I pass a park where there are a number of tents set up around the tennis court. People in tents and other people playing pickleball. Two groups living in stark contrast.

Sometimes a tent or two comes down, only to be replaced by others. When I count them, there are usually 6 to 8 tents stuffed full of, and surrounded by everything the occupier owns.

Every now and then the police and city workers come in and surround the area with yellow tape, asking people to pack everything up and go. There’s always a lot of garbage left behind, so there’s usually a garbage truck to deal with that too.

By the next day, the tents are back again.

It’s easy to think I’m a world away from all of that because I have a place to live and don’t have to worry too much about money. Although living on a pension is an eye opener.

But a number of months ago, a member of my family had to move in with us due to a series of unfortunate events. As we adjusted to another person in the house, inflation got worse and worse and the cost of living went through the roof.

It’s not only happening in my little family. According to statistics, in the last couple of years about 60% of Baby Boomers and Generation Jones’s are having to support children or family members in one way or another because of the high cost of living. I never once imagined this for my retirement years.

What on earth happened? I’m sure there are a gazillion reasons and, as usual, it’s very complicated. But it isn’t entirely new.

My Dad wrote in his memoirs about going through the “dirty 30’s” and his family having to live on what was then called relief. Another name for welfare. My grandfather had to wake his family up in the middle of the night once so they could sneak out of the place they were living. He didn’t have enough money to pay the rent.

And many years ago when I lived in downtown Vancouver, I’d walk down Robson Street on my way to work and see a number of people sleeping under the covered doorways of the stores along my route.

In the library where I worked, a few street people would come in when we’d open the doors in the morning so they could sit inside and warm up a little. Especially in the winter, or when it rained. There were no warming centres back then.

Poverty and homelessness has always been a problem to one degree or another, but now it seems even more so. I look out my upstairs window towards downtown Victoria where I see more and more new high rises popping up. But who can afford them?

Nobody I know.

I glanced at the liquor store clerk again. “I’ll pay for it.” I said quietly to her, reaching for my wallet.

“Oh, isn’t that nice? Sir, this lady has offered to pay for your beer!”

I smiled at him and picked up my Faxe to show him. “We have the same taste!”

He looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, and whispered a “Thank you.”

We finished the transaction, and he left with his beer. I moved closer to the counter. “I would have gone to the back room to get him the change he needed,” the clerk said. “We have some we put aside for people who are a little short of cash.”

I nodded, understanding. “Oddly enough, I think I felt better about paying for his beer than he did,” I said.

We are, many of us, one depression, one recession, and maybe even only one paycheque away from living on the streets. I turned and watched him walking carefully through the parking lot.

He could be me.