Mr. Hutchings, What's a Metropolis Noir?

When I need to process significant events in my life, I write. Yesterday, my family attended a Tragically Hip concert in Edmonton. I need to write about it, and here's why.

I first heard The Tragically Hip on an Edmonton radio station in 1990. After my first half year at the U of A, I was working at a toy factory, assembling educational toys. My coworkers were hard working, interesting people. For most of the day, I worked beside a fellow named Dieter, who smoked a lot of weed and loved music. When 38 Years Old finished playing, he looked at me and said simply, "That is a f***ing poignant song." He was rough around the edges and I'm certain that Dieter regretted many of his life choices, but he knew his music.

I couldn't help but agree with him. The fictional tale of a real-life event struck a chord with me. That fall, I hoped to attend the Hip's show at Dinwoodie Lounge, but it didn't pan out. When I learned that they would be playing Edmonton's Convention Center in the summer of 1991, I knew they were a band I had to see live. Last night, I saw them in person for the last time and I'm filled with emotion. I hope this blog helps me figure out why the news of Gord Downie's cancer and the Hip's farewell tour has hit me so hard.

The Hip are to music as hockey is to sport. You need to be Canadian to completely "get" them. In one of my older blogs, Great Canadian Gordons I wrote

Their music is laced with references to Canadian culture. Hockey themes abound, most notably "Fireworks" celebration of the 1972 Summit Series, the disappearance of Toronto Maple Leafs defenceman Bill Barilko in "Fifty Mission Cap" and a dirge about being a goaltender in "The Lonely End of the Rink". Their lyrics celebrate notable Canadians like Bobby Orr, Pierre Trudeau and David Milgaard. Distinctly Canadian terms like toonie, CBC, prime minister and the "crown" pepper their lyrics. Even Donald S. Cherry makes an appearance as a chicken delivery man in the video for "The Darkest One".

The Hip's songs tend to mention Canadian places. Niagara Falls, Bobcaygeon, Toronton, Kingston, Cape Spear, Clayoquot Sound, Sault Ste Marie, Northumberland Strait, Churchill, Thompson, Lake Memphragog, Isle Aux Morts. I'm not completely sure, but I have a feeling that "The Paris of the Prairies" mentioned in "Wheat Kings" may be Saskatoon. I am certain that many essays and perhaps Master's theses have been written about the Hip's connection to Canada through music. Beyond the stage, Downie and the band have had cameos in uniquely Canadian television shows like Corner Gas and Trailer Park Boys.

For me, though, the quintessential Gordon Downie moment is the role he plays in Michael McGowan's film, One Week. The film is profoundly Canadian as it follows its protagonist, who has terminal cancer, on a motorcycle pilgrimage from Toronto to Tofino. Downie has a brief role as a man who meets the doomed Tyler and shares his experience of battling cancer. When I think of Canadian icons, people who have helped develop my generation's Canadian identity, I think of people like Terry Fox and Rick Hansen. When it comes to people who reaffirmed my love of all things Canadian, I cannot think of a more iconic figure than Gordon Downie.

On a personal level, Downie's illness hits me hard. Like most of us, I've lost loved ones to cancer. Like Gordon Downie, I'm a father. The Hip have been a huge part of most of my adult life. It makes me incredibly sad to know that I've seen them live in concert for the last time. Fortunately, I got to enjoy yesterday's show with the people I love the most - my wife and two sons. I hope that a small part of my passion for The Hip lives on in my boys. To quote Don't Wake Daddy, 

We teach our children some fashion sense/And they fashion some of their own

The title of this post is a reference to a line from Greasy Jungle, and an unforgettable question a student asked me. As a beginning teacher, I used the Hip in class whenever possible. From trying to interpret New Orleans is Sinking in English to Drama tableau projects with 38 Years Old as the soundtrack to Wheat Kings in Social Studies, my love for the Hip extended to my students. For a few years, my home room was the Drama room and you could usually hear The Tragically Hip playing on the CD player. One day after school, a student asked me what "metropolis noir" meant. I've never forgotten the question, and I clearly remember seeing Ryan at Tragically Hip concerts years later. It makes me smile to know that a few of my students latched on to the important lessons I hoped they would find in The Hip's music.

When I really think about it, I'm sad for Gord, his family, and his closest friends. Last night's concert and the band's reaction since his illness went public demonstrates the depth of the band's friendship. And that, I think, is the root of my deep emotional connection to the Tragically Hip, their music, and their live shows.

I have so many incredible memories of seeing this band play. My first Hip show was July 26, 1991 at the Edmonton Convention Centre. Since then, I've seen them at Clark Stadium, Edmonton Agricom, Camrose, Northlands Coliseum, Edmonton Jubilee, the Centrium, Saddledome, and The Whiskey in Calgary. When I think back to each show, I definitely remember the overall event and how watching them play filled me with joy. I remember a few specific Gord Downie rants and moves. I've evolved personally. In the early years, pre-Hip warm up meant a lot of beer. The last time I saw them in Red Deer, we had third row seats. Instead of planning the pre and post-concert party, I had to think carefully about wearing good shoes because I would be standing for the whole show.

More than anything, though, I remember the people I attended the shows with, listened to CD's, and discussed their music with. Brad, Brenn, Brian, Dave, Deneen, Grant, Ian, Jeff, Jeremy, Jim, Kevin, Pete, Rochelle, Ryan, Sandra, Sharon, Steve, Todd, Wayne...the list goes on.

My wife has been with me the most. She is the first to admit that she didn't really appreciate the Hip until she saw them live. Every time I hear It's a Good Life If You Don't Weaken, I think of her and the first time we heard it live. My best friend, Jeremy, has been with me for many shows. Last night, we talked before the show and fired Hip lines back and forth throughout. Jeremy was with me for the 1991 Convention Center show, so memorable, fuelled by lots of beer and a few unexpected complimentary drinks. We've seen them in Red Deer, Edmonton, Calgary and Camrose. Like my friends Dave and Wayne, we can trade Hip quotes for hours. And here's the great thing about the Tragically Hip. I guarantee that there are thousands of Canadians who have a story just like mine.

Last night, my emotions were unbridled, and I was not alone. My final Hip show was full of shouting, clapping, dancing, and singing out loud without a care in the world. My good friend Brian is hosting a back yard Hip party on August 20 when the CBC broadcasts their final show from Kingston.

I can't wait, but I don't want it to end. To close, I will borrow the opening line from Live Between Us.

Thank you. We are all richer for having seen you.

Confessions of a Shortboarder

I need to get something out in the open. I am nearly 42 years old and I snow blade. I can't help myself. Let me explain.

Quite simply, I love to ski. I've tried snowboarding, but I simply found it was way too much work. Skiing can be plenty of work when the snow is deep, but it is FAR less demanding than riding a mini surfboard on snow. I gave snowboarding an honest shot a few years ago. I'm not an old dog, but I was not ready for a new trick. Skiing is more natural and more fun. Ultimately, fun is one of the main reasons I ski. Hopefully, this post will help you understand the other reasons why I ski.

I played hockey all of my life and have skied for half of my life. As a kid, I got the chance to cross-country ski, but never strapped on downhill skis until much later in life. One of my wife's greatest contributions to who I am was introducing me to the absolute joy of spending the day at a ski hill.

Our first trip was to Jasper's Marmot Basin and it remains one of my favourite holidays ever. I borrowed skis for this trip and I skied like a hockey player. Legs shoulder width apart, knees bent, elbows up. It didn't take me long to notice that the people in the fancy SunIce jackets and stretchy pants didn't ski like me. They actually turned around their poles. Their knees seemed glued together, even when they were mashing through moguls. I didn't let my lack of ski style get in the way of having fun. I found out very early that when I ski, I like to ski fast. Really fast. On the verge of catching an edge, yard sale, Todd Brooker cartwheeling to a lacerated rectum fast. I may not have looked great, but so long as the slope was wide open, I loved to reel off big, wide, ski chattering Super GS turns.

The first pair of skis I owned were a beautiful, brand new pair of K2's. They were bright white with early 90's neon accents. They were gorgeous and I felt like a rock star when I wore them to the ski hill. I was dejected when they got stolen from our local ski area when I was supervising our school's ski club, but my replacements were equally amazing. Salomon Evolution 9000 - over 200 cm of rocketship skis that were incredibly stable at high speeds. Again , when i strapped these boards on, my ski esteem went up immeasurably. Sadly, these skis also had a shorter than expected life. A rocky run at Fernie blew up one of my boards and the cost of the repair would have been the same as a new pair.

Even though I had cutting edge gear, it was the simple act of heading to the hill that consolidated how much I loved skiing. As a beginning teacher, I got to supervise our weekly ski club, which meant a dozen evenings at our local hill, plus multiple adventures with my colleagues. I can honestly say that it was our trips to Canyon and points unknown that helped make my first years of teaching so enjoyable.

For a year after I blew up my Salomons, I rented and borrowed. With my wife on maternity leave, a young family and limited opportunity to hit the slopes, I was content with this arrangement. During this time, a buddy let me borrow his snow blades and my ski life changed. With these mini skis, the hill opened up for me. I could pop through bumps, weave through trees and glide through deep powder. My legs stayed glued together and I could still fly down the hill when I needed to. When a fellow teacher won a brand new pair of Salomon blades at a ski show, I gladly bought them. I was without my own boards and he sold them to me for a third of what a new pair of skis would have run me.

For me, skiing has never been about style. My clothes are functional. I switched from Eddie Bauer basic blue to MEC basic black about 12 years ago. My boots are the same Salomon rear entry boots I purchased when I got my original K2s. My helmet is expired and the same pair of goggles have been strapped to them for the life of the helmet. People give me odd looks in lift lines and people I ski with shake their heads when they see my blades. What they don't know is that I don't really care, so long as I am on a ski hill.

Skiing is, bar none, my favorite outdoor winter activity. It is a fantastic way to spend the day with my family. As my boys have grown up, we have enjoyed many amazing days. Part of the joy of skiing comes from spending time in the mountains. Being outdoors in beautiful places like Big White, Castle, Fernie, Kicking Horse, Kimberley, Lake Louise, Mount Norquay, Revelstoke and Sunshine is truly special. Watching my kids gain confidence and skill is incredibly fulfilling. My boys have turned me on to glade skiing and I have taken them down double black diamond runs. The immense sense of fun and pride we all feel when we tackle something challenging is my favorite feeling.

Best of all, skiing is the one activity everyone in my family can take part in together. It can be an expensive sport, but the opportunity for all of us to be outside, get some exercise and spend time with one another is priceless. Make no mistake - my snow blades are a big part of my enjoyment. They help me follow my kids through the trees and around moguls the
size of Smart Cars.

A few years ago, we were skiing at Revelstoke on a HUGE powder day. Revy is a challenge on the best of days, but in the spring, waist deep Selkirk powder can really test your endurance. I rented a big fat pair of powder skis that day and left my blades in the truck. I'm glad I had the big boards to help me push through the thick stuff, but it wasn't the same. I enjoyed the day with my snowboarding friend who lives in Revelstoke, but it was not the same. My wife and kids got too tired and went home after lunch. My old legs struggled to keep those big skis together. I kept up, but the day lacked the things I love most about a day at the hill.

I love the striking contrast of white snow and blue sky. I love riding a lift through the clouds and taking in the panorama of what looks like a lake of clouds with snow capped peaks in the distance. I love listening to the sounds my younger son makes - the "oh God" when he hits some bumps and his giggles when he crashes. I love watching my older son pick his way through the trees. I love linking a bunch of turns together, stopping to rest and visit with my friends and family.

For me, skiing and fly fishing share the same essential qualities. I get to spend my time outside in beautiful places. I am constantly thinking, planning and problem solving. Best of all, I get to share the experience with the people who mean the most to me. If I had the time and the means, I could spend all day, every day on a ski slope or on a river. Some day...

Homage

One of my favorite people passed away too soon. It makes me incredibly sad and I need to write about it.

Lawrence Hutchings was a complex man, to say the least. He occupied many roles during his life. Son. Brother. Husband. Father. Grandfather. Uncle. Great Uncle. Hippie. Lawyer. Bartender. Teacher. Author. Pundit. Activist. Business owner. Actor. Director. Mentor. Inspiration.

As a boy, I quickly learned to love my uncle. He was funny. He had a false tooth and ring he claimed was the eye from a real tiger. He had a big bushy beard and told me he was a hippy. He smoked long brown American cigarettes and made me giggle so hard I would actually pee my pants. Uncle Hutch lived far away but every time he came to visit, I wished he would never leave.

As I grew older, I learned to love him on a whole new level. He lived at the foot of the Rockies, just outside of Canmore, and we made frequent visits during the summer. When he left his career in law, he opened Hutch's Pizza in Canmore and gave me another reason to idolize him. Uncle Hutch told stupid jokes. He told funny jokes. He told dirty jokes. He had an endless supply of one-liners that I use to this day. The witty bantering and exchange of puns between my Dad, Auntie Lee and Uncle Hutch rank amongst my favorite childhood memories. He had a sense of humor like few people I know and always left a lasting impression.

When my cousins Kris and Greg were born, I saw a whole new Uncle Hutch. I saw a devoted father who loved his children more than anything. He teased, played with and loved his boys to the end of the earth. I knew how good he made them feel because he always made me feel the same way.

It seemed like I reserved some of my best hockey games for the times he, Auntie Heath and the boys came to watch. They may not remember, but I sure do. I was eight or nine years old and I had been selected as the MVP in a game in the Lake Bonavista tournament in Calgary. I was nearly bursting the buttons of my jacket when I got to see them after the game. A few years later, I was selected top defenceman in another Calgary tournament, and sure enough, Uncle Hutch was there to watch. It meant so much that he took the time to watch me play.

As I grew older, I learned to love my Uncle on a much deeper level. I spent a great deal of time with my Auntie Lee as a teenager. Our family gatherings tended to be at her home. It was a neutral ground where all of the families gathered. It was during these years that I learned more about the tension between Uncle Hutch and my Grandfather. When my uncle went from lawyer to restaurant owner, I thought it was incredibly cool. I had no idea what a rift it created between him and his father. As a teen, I loved our family gatherings at Auntie Lee's. I loved the Canmore Hutchings because they brought a special spark. Wine flowed as freely as the puns and plays on words. It was the early 80s, so we played games like Trivial Pursuit even though Uncle Hutch had memorized all of the answers. He was impossible to beat and equally impossible to avoid looking up to.

His pizza place was a short-lived venture and it was somewhat fitting that we both became teachers in the early 1990s. I know that our shared professional experience pulled us closer during my first years of teaching. Every summer, I went on an extended backpacking trip with my dad. One year, Uncle Hutch joined us and it remains a cherished memory. We warmed up with a hike into Floe Lake in Kootenay National Park, then spent five days in the Skoki Valley. My dad is incredibly fit, so it was a struggle for us to keep up. Every time we stopped to gather the group and gather our strength, Uncle Hutch would fuel up from a seemingly endless supply of surreptitiously stashed chocolate. It was a magical experience to spend that time with two of my biggest influences in life.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love the mountains. When I really think about it, my great mountain memories are like a quilt assembled by a team of people I love. My parents, my wife and kids, my sister and my friends have created a tapestry of fantastic thoughts and emotions. Uncle Hutch, Auntie Heath, Kris and Greg are at the absolute center of so many of those great memories. Regardless of where they were living and how things were going in their world, the Canmore Hutchings welcomed us with open arms. We golfed, walked, hiked, drank, ate, laughed, played, watched sports and whiled away countless hours at the kitchen table. From Lac Des Arcs to Railway Avenue to Cougar Court, the location was secondary to the love I felt from my Aunt and Uncle.

In the last several years, we did not spend nearly as much time together. Health issues, along with family dynamics and commitments combined to limit our contact. Regardless of the situation, however, I am so glad that we stayed in contact. I loved stopping in for lunch or poking around The Second Story. I loved watching him perform with the Pine Tree Players. It made me so happy to hear about the trips he and Auntie Heath made to B.C., the Maritimes and Maui. When I finally caved in and created a Facebook account, Uncle Hutch was one of my first friends who regularly commented (in his own inimitable fashion.)

The last time I saw Uncle Hutch was at the end of April. We went for lunch at the golf course and it was so great that we were joined by Kris and his daughter Maile. Uncle Hutch looked great and was at his absolute best - politically irreverent, excited about his involvement with the Pine Tree Players, reminiscing about Maui and doting on his beloved granddaughter. As I headed home with a colleague from school, I made note that it was really important for me to always take time to call or connect with my Uncle when we were in Canmore. To me, the greatest testament to his character has been the reaction to his passing. My boys were crestfallen. Anyone I know who spent time with Uncle Hutch has taken the time to contact me. He left a profound impact that is very clear in the kind phone calls, e-mails and messages I have received in the last few days.

My heart is heavy and my eyes are brimming. It is sad and tragic that my Uncle's heart could not extend his life. Perhaps it was too full of love, happiness and contentment.

Being There

As a school administrator, I have many things to be thankful for. I love my job. Each day brings a new highlight, insight or challenge. I get to help people teach and learn. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to be paid for the work I do.

This post, however, is about the time I spend away from school. At times, work does pull me away from home and my family. Overall, working in a school has allowed me the luxury of "being there." I get to be there to coach my children. I get to drive them to whatever activities they are involved in. Best of all, when my boys are not in school, I get to be there with them.

Our holidays are truly special times for our family. In the past year, we spent nearly 30 nights in our trailer. We went to the World Junior Hockey Championships. Most recently, we spent our spring break in Maui. The memories our family has created in the last year are incredible. I honestly cannot pin down a single defining moment because there have been too many highlights.

More than anything, traveling together has allowed our family the opportunity to spend quality time with one another. Camping, hiking, cycling, swimming, geocaching, beach walking, skiing, making fires, riding roller coasters, visiting huge cities, attending world class sporting events, boogie boarding, ziplining, snorkeling. Even though we have participated in so many unique activities, the things we have done are like individual frames that make up a powerful film.

The most incredible part of the time we have spent together is the chance to watch my boys change and grow up. When we traveled to Olympic National Park last summer, my older son was extremely tentative when it came to the ocean. He is cerebral and literal, so his impression of rip tides made him overly cautious on the beach. Even his first forays into Napili Bay and Big Beach met with mixed success. He got hammered by waves and developed a sand rash from playing in the water. By the end of our Hawaii trip, it was impossible to get him out of the water. Watching Connor don a snorkel and plunge into the ocean to swim with turtles made me proud in a way that is difficult to put into words.

Travelling with my younger son confirms exactly who he is - a gregarious risk taker, full of joy and adventure. From firing rocks into every body of water possible to diving headfirst into huge waves to picking up banana slugs on Whidbey Island to having supper with Dad at Hooter's, my boy is not afraid to try anything. Jeff is the type of person who loves to be around people as much as they love to be around them. He is so different from his brother, and so special in just as many ways.

It is not possible or realistic for us to spend all of our holidays away from home, and home time is equally important. We get the chance to read, to talk, to play games. Even doing things around the house and in the yard allows me to spend quality time with my family. When I think about my favorite childhood memories, I am drawn to a lake, a canoe and a fishing rod. More importanly, I think about camping with my mom, dad and sister. I think about our family's trips to Quebec City and Disneyland.

I am lucky to have a job that provides me with the financial means and the time to make so many memories. I can only hope that they resonate for my sons the way my childhood memories have remained with me.

This is real. This is your life. In a song.

I need to get something out in the open. Country music makes me cry like a baby. I can't help it and I'm pretty sure I know why.

You need to understand that I love all kinds of music. I don't love them equally, but I can honestly say I have a very open mind when it comes to the things I listen to. Rock, alternative, country, folk, ska, reggae, big band, easy listening, classical, Broadway, jazz, blues, hip-hop, metal, you name it, I can probably listen to it. My iPod play list goes from The Animals to The Emeralds to Eminem to The Mighty Mighty Bosstones to Neil Young to Zac Brown, with lots of stops between. While my late father-in-law liked music that had a good beat, I'm a lyric guy. I am tone-deaf and have only recently gained the ability to read music. I have no talent or rhythm, but I definitely understand how to put words together.

The lyrics don't need to be particularly meaningful or evocative, I just love the way artists assemble words. My favorite band of all time is The Tragically Hip and I honestly believe part of the reason they have not experienced worldwide success is the Canadiana that is infused in their lyrics. One of my favorite Hip tunes starts with a reference to the Group of 7 painter Tom Thompson and that line evokes Thompson's paintings, a canoe and images of a place that is on my bucket list (Alongquin Park).

The lyrics of a song don't need to be particularly profound to elicit a powerful response. The Counting Crows' debut album has a track called "Time and Time Again." It was never a hit, in fact, I'm not sure I have ever heard it played on the radio. The opening lyrics, though, send shivers down my spine.

I wanted so badly/
Somebody other than me/
Staring back at me/
But you were gone. 
Gone. 
Gone.

I listened to this song repeatedly as I drove to and from a good friend's funeral. It framed the entrance and exit to a monologue I wrote and performed to deal with how profoundly Jeff's passing changed my life. Even today as I write and listen, my eyes fill up and I'm transported to my old SUV
(The Millennium Falcon).

Aside from a few tunes that Gordon Downie would refer to as "weepy little things", most of the music I listened to in my teenage years did not reduce me to a puddle. I liked big, brash, fun music and particularly liked tunes with interesting lyrics. When I met my wife, things changed in a few ways. I started listening to country music.  We bought a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. It was all downhill from there.

After a big all night party at a teammate's house, we were killing time and watching CMT. Now, I'll admit that I was a bit fuzzy and compromised to begin with, but when my buddy Hammy said "This is the saddest song ever", I was a bit interested. The band was called Pirates of the Mississippi and the song is called Feed Jake. It's written from the point of view of a 20something guy who drives home to attend a childhood friend's funeral. In spite of cheeseball lyrics like "What we are and what we ain't/What we can and what we cain't", the video had me fighting back tears.

My next weak moment came on a Friday night when I was in university. My best friend Jeremy came to pick me up and we were having our usual warm up drinks before heading out for the night. The CMT Top 20 countdown was on and a new video by Travis Tritt came on. We were transfixed to the television, sipping a Lucky Lager. The video tells the story of a paraplegic war veteran named Mac Singleton who struggles to readjust to society with the help of his wife Annie and a fellow veteran named Al. By the end of the video, we simultaneously glanced at one another and realized that we both had the waterworks turned on. It was a true "I Love You Man" moment.

More than anything, though, fatherhood has rendered me completely useless in the face of songs about families, dogs, and being a daddy. Even when the songs are meant to be funny or tongue--in-cheek like Lonestar's Mr. Mom, they can make me weep uncontrollably because they remind me of a long-lost time when my kids were still babies. Nothing evokes a greater response in me than my family. Last year, I wrote a post (My Most Important Job) that explains how being a dad is more important than anything else in my life. Songs like Gord Bamford's Little Guy and High Valley's A Father's Love hit on themes that are the heart of how I see myself. I joke with my wife that these sorts of songs are inherently "unfair".

Even when the song does not directly connect to my life, if it tells a story and has a video that expands the story, I will watch it over and over again. Songs like Here Comes Goodbye and Colder Weather tell stories about relationships and loss. Jason Aldean's Amarillo Sky shares the story of proud farm families, Brad Paisley's Whiskey Lullaby tells the tale of lost love and alcoholism. These are not the stories of my life, but they make connections to my experiences and the people I love the most.

I suppose that the stereotype about country music is somewhat true. There are plenty of lost jobs, dead dogs and broken relationships in the music I listen to. On the other hand, though, being a parent and a husband is precisely "what I do". It's a good place to be and I'm glad that the musicians I admire and enjoy are providing the soundtrack.

Everyone and Their Dog

"Looks like everyone and their dog is here." ~ Stewart Hutchings

I grew up with a distaste for crowds. I learned this from my father, who intentionally avoided places he considered tourist traps. Many of my friends got to visit the Flinstones theme park in Kelowna, B.C. The Hutchings family drove right past places like this without slowing down. Dad would gladly stop at a place that had historical or cultural significance. Initially, I was led to believe that these were more worthwhile places to visit. In hindsight, it is entirely possible that we actually stopped at these places because they were far less crowded??? We would go out of our way to find campsites that did not have power hookups and showers. When it came time to visit Klondike Days in Edmonton, we went with mom and our grandparents. For the most part, I still dislike crowds. Like the narrator of Robert Frost's famous poem, I prefer the road less taken.

On the May long weekend, we decided to go for a hike on a very popular trail. The Kootenay Plains are a remarkable place to visit and the most traveled path in the area goes to Siffleur Falls. It really is a beautiful spot. The trail is wide, well developed and flat. It is a very easy, accessible, family friendly hike. It is not as busy as a place like Johnston Canyon or Bow Summit, but on the day we hiked it, there was no solitude.

We passed groups of every imaginable composition. Families with three or more generations. Church youth groups. Mountain bikers. Buxom young ladies in bikini tops. Solo trekkers. Shirtless dudes with potbellies toting a Coors Light in one hand and a lit Export A in the other. Young couples. Asian, German, First Nations, Redneck, Quebecois. Aside from the trail we chose to spend our Saturday enjoying, the one thing that most of the groups had in common was a canine companion. When we pulled into the nearly full parking lot, I couldn't help imagine what my father's reaction would be. I honestly think we would have circled the parking lot and left. It was that busy.

While I have many of my dad's quirks when it comes to spending time outdoors, I happen to be a dog owner. One of the first things my wife and I bought together was a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. We named her Bailey (after the character in WKRP, not the Irish Creme) and she was a huge part of our life. She passed away when our boys were fairly young and we were poochless for about three years. In September 2008, we got an e-mail about a litter of seventeen Chesapeake puppies. The pictures were incredibly cute and you can guess the rest of the tale. We have another Retriever in our lives and she keeps us on our toes. She is very true to her breed, though she is quite small. What she lacks in size, she makes up for in speed, agility and stubbornness. Maggie is, shall we say, a spirited creature. She needs to run, swim and retrieve things. She digs, barks, jumps up and listens when it suits her. I am concerned that she could die of gastric misadventure.

In spite of her overall goofiness, we love her to bits and I think the feeling is mutual. She spends most of her nights in the bedroom of one of our family members. If we are not home, she plunks herself between the boys' bedrooms at night. She really is at her best when we are hiking, biking or near a body of water. Needless to say, she was in her glory on the hike to Siffleur Falls. Not only did she get to swim, run and explore, she got to sniff the rear end of dozens of new pooches. Talk about doggy heaven!

I know that this journey would have made dad's skin crawl. It was a bit much for me, but when I really thought about it, it was a great way to spend the afternoon. All of the people we encountered were there for the same reason - to enjoy the outdoors on a beautiful spring day. The dogs we encountered were very well behaved and the hikers were generally well-behaved. My kids had a great trip and I'm pretty sure that, given the opportunity, they will bring their kids to hike this trail.

It is true that I am more willing to visit a crowded place than my father. I have endured the wildlife-induced traffic jams of Yellowstone Park and elbowed for a view of Old Faithful. On our family journey to Los Angeles, we made a bee-line for Hollywood and Disneyland. I love visiting big cities like Toronto and Chicago. Somehow, I don't mind Las Vegas in spite of the incredible excess and waste it represents. Last fall, we spent the night in a Motel 6 in Niagara Falls, ate at the Rainforest Cafe, went on the Skywheel and took a cruise on the Maid of the Mist. Talk about full-bore, crowded, cheesy tourist traps!

Given the choice, I still prefer to have a stretch of river or trail to myself. I don't mind sharing with wildlife. When I fish, I like to go with partner, mainly because my favorite fishing spots tend to be pretty secluded (see my post The Places I Love to Fish).

If I must share the outdoors, I prefer to share with my family. And my dog. After all, I can endure any crowd when I'm surrounded by those I care for the most.

The Mountains in My Life

Every time I have some moment on a seashore, or in the mountains, or sometimes in a quiet forest, I think this is why the environment has to be preserved.
Bill Bradley

One of the greatest legacies of my childhood is my life-long fascination with mountains. I love to look at them, drive through them, climb them and visit them every chance I get. It takes me ninety minutes to drive to the nearest mountain from my home in Red Deer and it seems like they beckon from the moment I see them. On very clear days, I can see the outline of the Rockies as I drive to school. As a boy, our summer vacations involved either camping or fishing. Often, we were fortunate enough camp and fish in the mountains.

Banff, Jasper, Kananaskis, Nordegg, the Crowsnest Pass, Wells Gray, Kokanee Glacier, Kootenay, Yoho, Mount Revelstoke, Mount Robson. The list of places I learned to love starts with these places and could go on and on. The more I think about it, the more I realize how lucky I was to spend my youth visiting and learning about our natural and cultural history. At first, we camped in Vanguard camper that perched on the back of dad's enormous Ford crew cab truck. The windshield of this truck bore multiple green and yellow National Parks annual pass stickers - the ones with the beaver on them. Yearly admission was something like $25 for Canadian residents and we often spent all of dad's holidays camping, fishing, and hiking.

As I grew older, we began to backpack. We would leave my mom and sister behind at the truck and spend a night or two in the backcountry. It was then that I really learned what it meant to be a part of the mountains. For brief moments as we trudged down I path, I would allow myself to see the land the way the first explorers like David Thompson and Mary Schaffer must have seen this land. Our guidebook for all of these trips was Patton and Robinson's Canadian Rockies Trails Guide. I read this book voraciously, repeatedly and constantly. I owe a great deal of my appreciation for the mountains to these trips. As an adult, my best friend would join dad and one of his friend for a extended backcountry trip. These trips were an amazing opportunity to learn, push myself and reconnect.

When I was twelve, dad and I took a canoe trip up Maligne Lake in Jasper. There are two campsites on this lake that can be accessed only from the water. We spent five nights at one of the sites, which is approximately half way up the lake and two bays away from one of the most photographed spots in the Canadian Rockies, Spirit Island (the photo at the top of my post). Boatloads of tourists walk on and photograph this island because there are hourly boat tours to this spot. It took us five hours to paddle to our campsite and another 20 minutes to paddle to Spirit Island. I can only laugh and think of how many Japanese, British and German photo albums or slide carousels we must be in. Every time the tour boat would pass us, modern day voyageurs in a green Coleman canoe, the clicks and flashes would begin. The day we paddled to Spirit Island, we beached the canoe and took some photos. Just as we were about to have our snack, the tour boat pulled up. One British lady asked us if we were hired by the Parks to pose for pictures on the island. After three days of 30 degree weather and no shower, I imagine she thought we might be street folk who needed a few pennies.

As I have grown up, my time in the mountains has extended and changed. I still camp, hike and backpack. My wife introduced me to skiing, which gives me another excuse to visit the mountains every chance I get. Ski trips have added a new dimension to the mountain experience - visiting these fantastic places in the winter! Seeing the mountains blanketed in white is truly amazing and I cannot think of a better way to spend a winter day. Being outside, smelling the pines, riding a chairlift and racing down these hills is completely invigorating. Skiing is a nearly perfect family activity. It is expensive, but how can you put a price on spending an entire day visiting, exercising, and spending time with your spouse, children and friends?

I am writing this post from a hotel on Tunnel Mountain in Banff. When we checked in to our hotel, my wife said exactly what I was thinking for the last 15 minutes of our drive. Somehow, it feels different when you are in the mountains. It's better. You are closer to nature. I come to the mountains to be outdoors. I come here to spend time with the people I care about the most. I come here to exercise and challenge myself whether I'm camping, hiking, backpacking, climbing, canoeing, rafting, fishing, skiing, snowboarding, snowshoeing, tubing, or sledding. The Rockies really are special. They deserve to be protected and appreciated. For years, I really wanted to live a mountain community, and a small part of me still wants to. The more I think about it, though, I'm not sure if they would hold the same sense of wonder and delight if I got to experience them every day. I would never want to take a beautiful place for granted.

I can only hope that my children grow up feeling the same way I do. It could well be one of the greatest gifts I give my children. If we all felt as passionate about our wild places as I do, we wouldn't need laws and parks to protect them.

Come Together!

I had an interesting conversation with a colleague while I flipped burgers on a gigantic BBQ grill. She was telling me about her daughter who lost a friend recently, so a group of friends had gathered at a local watering hole in to remember him. My colleague said something that resonated and inspired this post. She noted that, for her daughter, the simple act of coming together to remember a friend was most important - more important than attending funeral or memorial service.

When I was in my early twenties, I lost one of my best friends. He died suddenly in an automobile accident. It took me and my group of twenty-something friends completely by surprise. What I remember most about dealing with his death was coming together with those friends, school chums, and teammates. We attended the prayer service, then we came together at an Earl's restaurant to eat and remember. At the funeral, we sat with our families and acquaintances. Afterward, though, we came together at a local pub, this time to drink and remember. As the night wore on and we moved from pub to home to club, we remained together. It was a hard time, but we worked through our numbness and disbelief together.

Coming together is incredibly important in the work that I do. Recently, I had the good fortune to speak at another school about our school's experiences with improving student writing. More than anything, I was proud to emphasize how everybody "bought in" to what we were doing. The school I work at has an amazing staff. Time and time again, they come together to make incredible things happen. From school improvement projects to June clean up to staff learning days to retirement celebrations to special events, everyone in the building comes together. As a group, our staff understands that it is impossible to accomplish anything on your own. It is so nice to be a part of our "come together" culture.

Recently, we held our family barbeque and movie night. It is my favorite night of the school year (Student-Led Conferences are a close second). As I write this, I can't see clearly through my glasses because they are covered in burger grease. My eyes are very sore from 2 hours of non-stop grilling. I smell like a Big Mac wrapper and the dog won't quit licking my pants. Make no mistake - the Family BBQ is not without drama. People invariably have to stand in line for burgers, kids regularly overindulge in the infamous McDonald's "Orange Beverage", and I spend the first 3 hours of the event in a state of constant worry and thought. Hmmm....how could this possibly be my favorite night?

This night brings people together in a very special way. A very diverse group of people appear. Parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and neighbors attend for a free burger or hot dog. Each family brings (or should bring) a dessert or salad. Some are homemade and delicious, some are bought at 7-11 on the way to the school. People from across the street come over to see what is going on. Tonight, a fellow stopped by and wanted to sell a box of CD's and cassette tapes to us for $10. One of my BBQ partners had him talked down to $3 and a free burger, but somehow the deal fell through. There is a colorful character who lives around the corner from the school. He runs a skate sharpening business and has a pet parrot. Tonight, he showed up on his bike and brought the parrot. On his shoulder. To a school yard full of inquisitive children. How's that for a recipe for disaster? The addition of the colorful characters and people who wouldn't arrive at the school unless there was free food makes this night extra special. I just love it! It is a success because our staff comes together with our school council, the families in the school, and the community. We truly work together to make a great event.

Last year, we added a great twist to the family BBQ night. We hire Fresh Air Cinema to hold a "walk-in" outdoor movie event. And this twist adds a"if you build it, they will come" element to our family BBQ. It is amazing to watch people filter in. The screen starts going up as people first arrive with their pot luck item and lawn chairs. Many people choose to sit and watch the set up. This year's film crew was composed of two of my former students. They got to know my oldest son, who is fascinated by engineering and electronics, quite well by the end of the night. To their credit, they put a lid on his simmering pot of questions. Even better, they made a point of telling me what an interesting child he is. Indeed...

From the end of the BBQ to the beginning of the movie, there is nearly two hours of time to fill in. Many families come, set up their chairs and head home until shortly before the show. Many families, however, choose to stay for the entire time. It is amazing to watch how people come together for these events. There is music, dancing, soccer games, frisbee throwing, chasing, tag, hanging out and playing on the playground. During this time, nothing is organized, it just happens. It really is amazing to watch because our staff bring their families. Our families bring their families. Odd characters and members of the community arrive. Tonight, a group of sketchy looking teens came to smoke, but they stayed out of everyone's way and I decided that if these "tough" kids wanted to watch G-Force on a gigantic outdoor movie screen, they were welcome to do so.

It is incredible to see how people "come together" on a night like this - it reminds me of the community picnics, gymkhanas, and rodeos I attended at the local community hall as a boy. It has elements of family reunion, outdoor festival and circus sideshow. At the end of the evening, though, I can only look back and smile. I think of the the work our school staff puts into setting up, ordering food, preparing salad, setting tables, washing dishes, mopping floors. I think of my companions at the barbeque - wiping grease off their glasses and taking mild abuse about the long lineup for a burger. I think of the wide range of families who arrive - some for a free meal, some for a free night out, some because their children don't want to miss a single school event, but most for a genuine chance to be together with our school community. It's magical, and I wish our society did more things like this.