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.

Peggy writes John

 

Margaret Atwood's "Burning Questions" book prompted John to write her a letter recalling an early encounter. She answered!

I admit to being a bit miffed that I, the writer in the family, am not the one who received a letter from world-famous Canadian novelist Margaret Atwood the other day.

No, it was my ex-newspaper photographer partner John Denniston whom Peggy (once you’re in correspondence, the nickname is quite in order) saw fit to address.

“Dear John,” she wrote in response to his Jan. 17 letter to her about a memorable encounter at the Edmonton Journal in 1969. In those fraught early-feminism days, the paper had decreed that every woman had to be identified as “Miss” or “Mrs.” – the new term “Ms” was verboten. After the photo session, John asked, and Margaret (definitely not Peggy in this situation), refused to say. The look she gave him was something he remembers to this day.

“How interesting to read this story after so many years,” Atwood's March 21 letter continued. “As your memory of our meeting suggests, choosing a female honorific was a touchy subject at the time – for those on both sides of the question. It was evidently also a matter of whose wrath would be worse. Your letter suggests mine, which is probably correct.

“Kind regards,

“Margaret Atwood.”

Here’s what John wrote to prompt this response:

Dear Margaret,

In your book “Burning Questions” there is a story that refers to your time at the University of Alberta when you were, as I remember it, the poet in residence. One of the perks of this position was that you had your photograph published in the Edmonton Journal newspaper.

The photograph was taken in the Journal’s photo department and I was the photographer assigned. After taking your picture I asked your name, which you gave me, and then I said, “Is that Miss or Mrs?” You said nothing. I repeated the question and again you said nothing. I started looking around for clues, a ring on your finger, then at your companion whose face indicated only, “don’t ask at me.” I asked the question again and was met again with silence but the look on your face had changed and your companion had started moving slowly away, out into the hallway, which I, not being completely clueless, realized was from his fear of harm being done to me and him not wanting to be collateral damage. At this point I gave up, said thanks for coming in and left the picture captioned as Margaret Atwood.

What you didn’t realize is that the day before you came in to have your picture taken, the editor-in-chief had declared, because of his opposition to the newly created title “Ms”, that every woman whose name appeared in the newspaper would be identified as “Miss” or “Mrs” without exception.

I had decided to take my chances with the wrath of the editor-in-chief rather than with you.

Regards,

John Denniston

 As this Sept. 27, 1969 Edmonton Journal photo and column indicate, Margaret Atwood had very definite positions from the start of her famous career.

Colours

Not enough people wear bright colours in Vancouver, I decided, after my friend Ros showed up for lunch in this cheerful jacket. It was a perfect contrast with the beige cob buildings in the City Farmer garden in Kitsilano.

 When I met Ros after her return from winter in Mexico this week, the first thing I noticed was colour. The intense red of her puffy jacket and wide red scarf stood out to me like a stop sign. The clothes are not from Mexico – they’re Ros’s winter wear here – but they put me in mind of the bright colours I associate with that country.

Which made me think about the colours of Vancouver, and why Ros’s red made such an impression.  Winter here is green and grey, serene and beautiful. By this point in the year, though, I think most of us are colour-starved. It may be why we go a bit mad over our spring flowers.

We can’t do much about nature’s hues, but I wonder why, when we have a choice, we choose drab?

All winter, our sidewalks are parades of dark coats under black umbrellas. Our cars are grey or black or white – what happened to the bright flash of blue and red and yellow on the highways of my youth? Even our houses, at least in my part of town, are dull whites, beiges and grays. Except for the totally trendy ones, which are black.

I confess I fit right in. My house is white. My winter coat is long and grey.

Ros dares to stand out on our dull winter streets. Her red is a reminder that there are other, more cheerful colours in this world.

I'm a duller photo subject altogether, although I've ditched my winter grey for slightly brighter purple. 

Spring is late in Vancouver this year, as you can see from this plot at the City Farmer garden. It still has the drabness of winter.

The main part of my favourite garden in Vancouver, also in Kitsilano, hasn't burst into full spring colour yet.  

But outside the picket fence, passersby can glory in purple crocuses and white snowdrops.

It's a stunning show of colour the entire length of the fence. 

A Pink Dawn viburnum is blooming at the front of the house.

Under it, what a show of blossoms for colour-starved Vancouverites!

Evolution of a garden

In 2002, I was dreaming of transforming this section of our Saltspring Island property into an English country garden paradise. All photos by John Denniston.

By 2022, it looked pretty lush, with a weeping silver pear to the left,  roses to the left and centre front and California lilacs to the centre and right. But you don't want to know what was growing in the jungle underneath.

In early 2023, John took a weed-whacker and mattock to the jungle, clearing the way for some new plants.

Oh, it was the chance of a lifetime! From a shady garden in Vancouver to a sunny one in Saltspring with plenty of room for every plant I’d ever fantasized about.

And so, a silver weeping pear (as seen in all the best English gardens!), a “golden” mock orange, a hardy rugosa rose, a delicately pink magnolia, two California lilacs, and a pink lavatera were among the treasures I lovingly dug into our Saltspring property 20 years ago.  Plus, at least at first, flats of home-started seedlings of all kinds of colourful sun-loving annuals and perennials.

Well, things wax and wane over the years, and I learned that sporadic maintenance of a dry, hot garden has its costs. The magnolia died quite soon, the mock orange struggled and the lavatera scraggled. The spreading rose moved in on the weeping pear with deadly intent, and while the California lilacs grew and grew, large dead brown spots appeared. The sun-loving flowers, both annuals and perennials, vanished after a season.

After awhile, that dreamed-of garden turned into a jungle of tall grasses, English ivy, periwinkle, blackberries, and fast-propagating mystery trees with cruel thorns. I was grateful to see occasional sparks of  colour from the lavatera and roses, but chose not to look too closely at what was happening underneath all that.

Which brings us to this year, when a friend offered us some plants from her Saltspring garden. “Do you have space?” she asked.

A little ashamed of our neglect in the face of her new-gardener’s enthusiasm, we began delving into the undergrowth, me with a garden fork, John with a weed-whacker and mattock. We discovered the California lilacs, planted as shrubs, had become huge trees with massive trunks, oddly contorted because of their struggles with the undergrowth. The pear had survived, but competition from the roses had killed off branches on one side, leaving it asymmetrical. Dry sticks of lavatera poked up from roots that still had some life to them.

Once the jungle was cleared away, we could see once more where we’d started 20 years ago. There was room for the new plants, which are tough ones suitable for island conditions. We dug them in, wishing them well against the competition coiled in the ground all around them. 

Sadder but wiser, we have no more illusions that our garden will ever be a slice of English-country paradise.

The garden in 2004...

...in 2007...

...in 2009... (we'd obviously been away for awhile, but notice the regular lilac to the left in full bloom)

...in 2014...

...in 2017... (once again, the garden is overgrown, but this time the pink lavatera is thriving to the right front.)

Earlier this year, a good clear-out of the undergrowth exposed full-grown California lilacs. 

One was badly contorted by the tough life it's led in the undergrowth. 

Back to shovels and bags of fresh soil. Let's see how tough these new plants are!