Old Guys Push Stump Uphill

John, left, and Andre prove you don't have to be young to take on irrational challenges.

Why? You might ask.

Why are two old guys — well beyond middle-aged muscularity and well, well beyond the rapturous irrationality of adventurous youth — pushing what appears to be a very heavy stump uphill?

The answer: A newly chopped 100-foot Douglas fir produces a lot of “rounds” — chunks of trunk that make good chopping blocks. And the woodpile where that chopping needs to be done is at the top of the hill on our Saltspring Island property.

On his own, John would have chosen a modest-sized round and wrestled it up the slope solo. But when  our friend Andre, who loves nothing more than a serious physical challenge (see earlier blog), appeared on the scene, it was modest schmodest — let’s go for the gusto!

John estimates the very fine chopping block that was chosen was 150-200 pounds, about two-thirds heavier than what he would have attempted.

And so followed the spectacle of two white-haired men on their knees, pushing, rolling, positioning and grunting the thing up quite a steep slope. But it was a joyful spectacle, with Andre providing a laughing, singing, coaxing soundtrack urging the beast along the least-awful route.

At the top, after the victory photo at the block’s new location, John added his contribution: “On second thought,” he said, “maybe we should have chosen another chunk."

It's a long way from the bottom of the hill to this point in the stump's journey.

The route had to be chosen carefully and twigs and branches cleared out of the way.

Sometimes it took pure push-power to keep it heading upwards.

Andre and John declare victory at the top of the hill. 

Down at the bottom of the hill, I survey the wealth of choices for a new chopping block. 

Mellow Christmas 2025

Our living room all ready for guests on Christmas Day. The new gas fireplace was a nice addition to the festivities.

Instead of traditional Christmas stockings, I made up gift bags for the guests. Cards from my sisters Diane and Betty, and a knit figurine from my friend Linda, are in the middle.

 Mia wore her mermaid suit — a body-length tube of fabric that divided into legs, allowing her to shuffle delightedly from room to room like a beached mermaid. Her parents Etienne and Aya arrived with toothpicks handy in case they needed to prop their eyes open after a big Christmas Eve event the night before. And big  sister Emi spread her new Lego over the living room carpet and set to work.

All went well. The 20-pound turkey cooked in time and Etienne gallantly carved it with a bread knife, the only sharp knife in the house. Aya's desserts were perfect. The hats my friend Linda knit for the family were a big hit. Mia's new doll snapped at the knee, but there were no tears.

That's how Christmas 2025 went down at our house. Mellow is good. 

Etienne catches a few winks to the left, Aya with unwrapped hat, Mia cozy in her mermaid outfit and hat, and me to the far right.

The family group with Emi behind the couch.

This is a family that enjoys each other's company.

My friend Linda, wearing her own hat, with the happy recipients of her knitting. 

The family in coordinating hats. Mia seems especially pleased with hers.

A little extra something from Linda's knitting needles -- two woolly sheep for Mia and Emi. 

Turning a festive corner and finding yourself

 

John in front of a Christmas tree full of surprises.

We were going to give West Vancouver’s Forest of Miracles a miss. It’s a parade of dozens of Christmas trees on the Dundarave waterfront, decorated by various businesses and organizations as a charity drive, and we’ve seen it many times.

But come on, I said to John. “They put a lot of effort into this. The least we can do is look.”

It was the usual display; construction hats on the builder’s tree, symbols of faith on the church’s tree, and so on. But partway down one of the rows, John stopped and pointed at something: “That’s my grandmother!” he said.

Imagine finding your old family photos on a tree on the Dundarave waterfront.

“No!” I said. A closer look revealed a laminated photo of a woman peeking over a pile of presents in her lap. “You’re making that up!”

“And that’s me! With the accordion!” John was pointing to another photo, this of a youth with an early-Elvis hairdo, sitting with an accordion in a threatening-to-play position.

“That’s not you! It can’t be.” John, Mr. Cool, with an accordion! Even more unbelievable, the guy who’s been staging a losing battle with hair loss since age 17 with a pompadour!

Here's John with his accordion in his grandparents' living room. 

And his grandmother with gifts up to the chin.

Yes, all true. We’d happened on a tree sponsored by the West Vancouver Historical Society. The old family photos were some that John had donated to the archives many years ago.

 He still has copies of these photos himself, but it was something, coming across them unexpectedly in a public venue like that.

Suddenly, there was his Scottish grandmother, she of the unforgettable scones, in the living room of the West Vancouver house built room by room by his grandfather. And John himself, before I knew him, with a musical instrument he soon abandoned, with a hairdo soon replaced by a crewcut for his track days. And surrounding them both, photos of old Christmas décor and concerts, papa carving the turkey, and family gatherings that spoke of a simpler, more basic era.

Message to John:  When you’ve grown up in a place, it’s worth taking a few extra minutes to tour the trees. You just might turn a corner and find yourself.

The West Vancouver Historical Society tree was just one of many in the charity fundraising event. We could have easily have missed it!

Hand Tools + Hard Labour = Fun On Saltspring

Andre, left, and John in vigorous battle against  the stump of a holly tree that had gotten out of control.

At first it was a modest holly tree. Then it was a higher holly tree twined through with blackberry vines, a good source of juicy fat blackberries every summer. Then it was a 12-foot holly tree with blackberry vines (and not so many blackberries) being engulfed by voracious English ivy.

In short, it was a mess. It was even starting to seem scarily out of control.

After 25 years of watching the holly tree in the back yard of our Saltspring Island property go through those different phases, we fell on it this week with saws, clippers big and small, spades and shovels, a trowel, a rake, a hatchet, a heavy-duty pry-bar, an axe and a mattock.

Not just us – two senior citizens beginning to feel their vulnerabilities – but us and three hardy friends who once kayaked/paddleboarded around Saltspring Island in a day. Andre, Margo and Alison joined the attack on the holly tree  after a several-hour paddleboard/kayak trip that morning.

Andre and John led the assault on the tree itself, eventually uncovering not just a frightened rat, but the fact that the holly had grown right beside a Douglas Fir stump, now decomposing into sawdust and bark. Margo and I clipped the holly, ivy and blackberry vines into manageable chunks. Alison tirelessly dug all around the stump, rooting out the tangled vines that had formed a carpet of weeds over many, many years.

Intrepid friends hacking away at the holly stump and vine roots.

John on stump, with Andre, Alison and Margo backing him up.

The first day’s attack left about three feet of holly-tree stump above an impressive root. The second day, after two hours of slicing, hacking, digging, chopping and prying, Andre and John felt the giant root begin to wiggle. A little more chopping, some furious spadework, some clearing out of rocks, a lot of standing-on, shouldering and pushing at the stump, and finally – it was out. Then cheers and much brandishing of weapons as the victors stood on the root like a beast they had slain.

  It could have been easier. A chainsaw could have sliced the tree down to ground level and we could have left it at that. We could have pretended the vine roots in the ground wouldn’t regrow, and quietly sliced away at them for years to come. But hand tools and hard labour! How much more fun is that!

A job like this takes plenty of tools; everybody used something different.

Andre, left, keeps digging while John supervises.

It took a lot of digging and chopping to get out the "root of all evil," as Andre put it.

Part of the work was just wrestling the stump.

Once the stump started to wiggle, the two labourers had some hope.

 

Victory at last!

Pre-massacre holly tree to right of photo. A pile of brambles, in centre, has already been removed. 

New House Comes With Hugels

Well, my brother Brian and his wife Wendy’s new house in a Courtenay cohousing community is very nice, but what I really liked were the hugels.

 “What’s that?” I asked when I spotted “active hugel” on a sign stuck into what looked like a mound of brush and leaves. We were on a tour of their new nine-acre community, some of which remains deliciously wild, with a creek and pond, treed areas and lots of space for gardening-related activities. I learned that hugel – a new word to me – equates to mound of garden waste being transformed into excellent new compost. The community my relatives have joined take composting very very seriously.

Garden waste on the active hugel.

Besides the hugels at three stages of decomposition, there were four big wooden bins for kitchen waste, each dug through weekly. By week four (and there’s a marker, you bet!) the banana and potato peelings are black compost, ready for use. 

The finger fence hedge for bugs and critters.

Then there’s the finger fence, where branches thicker than your little finger are piled into a long hedge with other garden detritus to provide homes for critters and insects. All this composting is an indication of the gardening bent of the community, which includes a large garden area with both individual and common plots. Residents can help themselves from the latter, where the early-October tomatoes were still delicious, the kale was flourishing, and anyone wanting herbs for a recipe needed only scissors. 

Great veggies grow here.

Garden shed hints at hard work and relaxation.

The passion for gardening was also evident in the residential area of the community, where three pods of six duplexes each nestled into a landscape of trees and plantings that would put many botanical gardens to shame. Common areas and house fronts all sported a wide variety of trees and shrubs; I wasn’t surprised to hear that an experienced arborist is among the residents. 

Brian and Wendy's front door, behind the trees.

Brian and Wendy's new home, a three-bedroom duplex, was very pleasant, but once again the natural surroundings were a major feature. The front door was almost hidden behind the front-yard plantings. The living room opened out into a back patio in a small garden. Best of all, the dining area looked out into a narrow, beautifully planted side garden with a rose arbor, a birdbath, and plantings providing privacy from neighbours. 

 It seems that my relatives didn’t so much buy a house as join a gardening community. I'm already benefiting – now I know what a hugel is!

Common house for events and get-togethers.

Tree house in the woods where kids can play.

For the birds

 

The first occupants of our new birdhouse are busy building a nest.

I must admit that when my nephew and his wife presented us with this birdhouse as a gift last year, I thought it might be a little elaborate. 

Would any real-life birds find their way into this two-level arrangement, even if it did have the cutest little log pile and a beautifully weathered driftwood perch out front? What would they make of the rustic/nautical theme, the ropes above the openings, and the sign: "Cheap rent"?

But John put it up anyway, high above the potential range of neighbourhood cats. And when this spring rolled around, surprise, surprise. We looked up one day to see birds flying in and out of the new birdhouse, their beaks full of moss.

We'll never know what our new neighbours think of their home's decor, but clearly it's no deterrent to raising a family there. It will be fun to see their offspring teetering on the log pile, right beside the "Cheap rent" sign.

Dolphins delight on drizzly day

 

Dolphins romp at Dundarave beach, as a cargo boat heads into harbour.

March 11, 2025. Trump is in the White House, threatening to annex Canada. Canada is between one unpopular prime minister and the unknown quantity about to replace him. Local and provincial politics are in turmoil, and the weather is drizzly. Nothing like wandering down to a beach, then, and being reminded there's a whole other world out there.  

About 20 feet off Dundarave beach in West Vancouver on Tuesday morning, the dolphins were chasing each other in circles, leaping in the air, waving their tails, like joyous kids at a party. We delayed our seawall walk to watch, unwilling to miss a moment of the spectacle. Then one broke out of the circle and sped off. Almost instantaneously, the rest followed, vanishing along the shoreline like a fleet of little motorboats. 

Thanks for the reminder, dolphins. Our walk was happier because of you.

Fifteen to 20 dolphins were swimming in circles, probably to catch some kind of fish down there.

And now for something completely silly

Yup, that's me tossing swimsuits out of the bathroom window. It's all part of our new apres-swim routine on Saltspring.

 When our 50-year-old kitchen sink in Vancouver had to be replaced last winter, most people would have tossed it. But not John, who honours the salvaging of quality materials to the point that he got a thrill recently out of reusing a 40-year-old fencepost. Maybe the old sink belonged under the outdoor tap on Saltspring, he pondered. We could wash our swimming shoes in it – so much better than a bucket!

Fast-forward to our latest trip to the island. A first installation of the sink on somewhat wonky legs was too island-rustic even for Saltspring, offending John’s finely honed aesthetic eye.  A second version, made of solid salvaged (of course) wood and painted to match the house, was a thing of beauty.

Gazing out at it from the bathroom window one day, I thought how close, how tantalizingly close it was. Why, you could almost … and then came my stroke of genius. We had been thinking too small! Why use the sink just for shoes?

 After changing, we could throw our swimsuits out the bathroom window! No more washing them in the bathroom sink and wasting the water down the drain. Suits and shoes could both go in the outdoor sink and all that water saved for the thirsty roses! To understand the excitement of this, you have to know that water is a precious commodity on droughty Saltspring, and keeping plants alive a constant challenge.

And so began our new apres-swim routine – a model of efficiency, frugality and water conservation. Worked like a dream: suits out the window for a wash, dirty shoes second, drain the water into a bucket, then pour it on the roses.

 Win, win, win! But the best thing? It was all completely silly.

Washing the suits; shoes are next.

Pulling the plug. Notice the sophisticated capture system.

And... onto the roses. Every drop of water is reused!

Soggy Socks Easter Sunday

 

Choose a miserable enough day -- like Easter Sunday -- and you have the West Vancouver seawall almost all to yourself. Photos by John Denniston.

But here's the prize for walking the seawall: the Ferry Building art gallery is finally open after a  years-long renovation. Built in 1913, the one-time ferry terminal has been upgraded and raised to protect it from rising sea levels.

Outside the ferry building, flags wave and cherry trees bloom against a rain-filled sky.

Easter, once a joyous romp of egg-hunting and chocolate-overdosing, can look a little gray at this stage of life. Especially at 7 on a Sunday morning, in the midst of a "long duration rainfall event" expected to dump 20 to 50 mm of rain during the day.

So what did we do? Headed to ultra-rainy West Vancouver for a seawall walk.

Genius, it turned out.

The Stanley Park causeway and Lions Gate Bridge, where fast commutes go to die, were virtually empty. Ditto the seawall. What would have been shoulder-to-shoulder crowds on a sunny Easter Sunday was instead a few indefatigable joggers, and crows and seagulls posing on the rocks.

 Even our treats were available. The holiday hordes hadn’t yet cleared out the chocolate/coffee place where we fuel up for our seawall walks. And we were first in the door for our first look at the renovated Ferry Gallery, a favourite stopping-off point that’s been behind construction fences for three years.

Yes, we did get wet. The wind turned my umbrella inside-out. John’s pants and shoes were so saturated that he was reminded of a miserable motorcycle event he used to attend that was so wet and muddy it was called the Soggy Sock race. We decided this would be our Soggy Socks Easter Sunday.  

But we had our walk, our coffee, our treats, and a glimpse of art in a bright new space. And socks dry out.

Artwork in the newly renovated gallery -- a log with embedded seashells -- was spectacular against the cherry blossoms outside.

The art is by West Vancouver's four siblings, who all work in different mediums.

Hooked rugs depicting rocks and sea urchins are among the art pieces on display.

John's pants below the knees and shoes were saturated with water... 

...but he wasn't as miserable as the guy he photographed in the Soggy Sock motorcycle race in the Fraser Valley in 1986.