The Whale as Teacher

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Dedicated to Diz Glitheroe (EYES Project) and Geoff Green (Students on Ice), who first gave voice to this story.

as retold by Skid Crease for LTTA (Learning Through the Arts)

*****

It was the last day of the Students on Ice 2008 expedition to the Antarctic, everyone packed up and ready to begin the journey back to Patagonia and then home. The ship was underway heading north when suddenly a two metre dorsal fin broke the water.

The ship cut the engines as the expedition team watched a large male Orca lead a pod of five smaller Orcas past the ship. Then someone yelled, “Seal!” There, on a small ice floe, lay a seal directly in the Orca’s path! The cameras came out as students and staff prepared to record a quick flash of wild nature.

The large male stopped and circled back and forth in front of the pod, and then turned and headed straight for the seal. The young Orcas stayed back, as the male swam towards the floe and then began to circle it. With his large dorsal fin out of the water, the rapid circling of the flow created a vortex of water that soon swept the seal off the floe and into the open ocean. Cameras ready!

But when the Orca emerged from the water, the seal was not in his mouth. Instead, he carried the seal on his head and swam back to the floe and gently deposited the seal back on the ice. He repeated this two more times, and the cameras were poised each time to record the meal. However, the large male swam back to the pod, circled back and forth around them several times and then moved behind them.

The young Orcas then swam towards the floe, and in turn each repeated the vortex wave that swept the seal off the ice floe. Each time the passengers on board were prepared to record the kill. Each time, the young Orcas returned the seal to the ice. One student on board commented that the seal at this point was probably thinking, “OK, just get it over with.” But after each young Orca had done exactly as the big male had done, they swam back to him. He circled around them, and then they all swam away, fading into the Antarctic vastness.

The seal sat on the ice floe, possibly as open jawed as the people on the ship. One Antarctic biologist, who had been studying these ecosystems for twenty-five years, confessed that he had never in his life seen anything like this. For every person on deck watching was the sudden and life changing realization that other species teach, and teach with respect for the food that sustains their lives.

Lesson done, the Orcas moved out into vast interconnected network of the oceans, the seal left to live and breed, life honoured, their lives unchanged. But the passengers on that ship returned home completely changed, perhaps with a voice that would say, “We are not alone.” And like that Apollo 1968 Christmas Eve photo of the Earthrise, perhaps that will be the greatest gift of all.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon

Earth Day 2050, a fantasy

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Reprinted from April 23, 2012

The following story was created after I asked my 12 year old son what he would say to “Our Leader™’s” children if he met them in the future. His response is the quote written in bold at the end of the story. The children of today are wiser than the children of light.

*****

William had just passed his fiftieth birthday. He had spent most of his adult life known as The Speaker for the Dead, the one who went into the razed and grieving communities and cleansed their guilt by telling the truth of their loves and losses, their sins and graces, and their pain was eased.  Twenty years ago, after the collapse of the inland fisheries, he had moved north of Superior, found a spring fed lake in a tiny remote valley and built his cabin. He became known as the Guardian of the Spring. To those who came with respect he shared the water freely.  They were allowed to quench their thirst, and happily carried their water jugs, filled to the brim, back to their shelters.

The world had changed a great deal in his fifty years. Agriculture in the Great Plains had been devastated by decades of drought, the coastlines of the east and west and north Maritimes had been buried under rising seas, and the Great Quake of 2033 had destroyed the oil pipelines to the Pacific and Gulf of Mexico. Ontario had been annexed by New York, and Quebec had long ago separated to preserve a just society. After the Wild Western Separation, Alberta and British Columbia had disintegrated into warring fiefdoms, and only Newfoundland seemed to prosper, as an ice-free Arctic encouraged the surviving European trawlers to its ports.

With the death of the oil economy, North America had descended into chaos and anarchy and the remnants of the central governments disappeared. But north of Superior, climate change had extended the growing season and the winds of change had been kind. A few small settlements prospered here, and one was in William’s valley.

As Guardian of the Spring, it was William’s responsibility and honour to share the water freely with those who walked the Earth lightly.  But more often than not Marauders appeared who had heard of the pure waters and verdant forests. The Marauders had respect for nothing and their cruelty was renowned. Then it was William’s responsibility and honour to rid the valley of their presence. William’s reputation spread, and the Marauders stopped coming to his valley.  There was easier prey elsewhere.

Then there were they others who came from time to time. They were called The Shunned, the children of the politicians who had sacrificed the temple of the Earth to the money lenders. They were adults now, cursed to walk the Earth begging forgiveness for the evil that their parents had visited upon the water planet and all its living things.

It was the supreme irony that on April 22, 2050, Benjamin and Rachel came stumbling out of the mist and down the forest paths of William’s valley.  He watched them through his spotting scope and recognized them immediately.  They were the lowest of The Shunned, the children of the Great Destroyer, the one whose ignorance and greed had sacrificed the greatest country on Earth.

As they passed each shelter, the people turned their backs.  The Shunned were cold and hungry and thirsty, but not a single person offered them the slightest comfort. They approached William’s cabin cautiously; the Speaker for the Dead, the Guardian of the Spring had become a mythical hero, the one who spoke truth to power, and they feared him.  They stopped at the front porch of the cabin and waited. Only the Guardian could release them from this curse.

William opened the door slowly and stepped out into the early morning light. Benjamin and Rachel held out their open palms in supplication and were about to speak, when William raised his arm for silence.  He took a deep breath, remembered the sacrifices his mother and father had made to heal the Earth, and spoke the words he had been waiting fifty years to say,

Children of my enemy, why have you come? 

I offer no forgiveness for your father’s sins.

William turned his back, the morning sun warm on his shoulders. Benjamin and Rachel felt nothing but the cold winds of retribution.

And so, The Shunned left the Valley of the Guardian and wandered the scorched Earth, homeless and condemned, until the end of their days. So let it be written; so let it be done.

*****

“I will punish the children for the sins of the father to the third and fourth generation.” Exodus 20:5

“For whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.” Galatians 6:7, 8

“What goes around, comes around.” Justin Timberlake

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon

Beware The Monster

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Once upon a time there were two neighbours. We'll call them Winston and Benito. They were very good neighbours when they first met. But over the years, things began to sour. Winston loved to plant native species and keep his property looking naturally beautiful. He only had a little grass, but he kept it looking healthy. Benito didn't have much time for lawn care. When the weeds in his yard got so high that the weed seeds all blew into Winston's yard, Winston, who lived downwind, sighed, took out his lawn mower and cut Benito's weeds down for him. Then they put up a fence between the two back yards, but left the space between their homes a common passageway.

The space between the houses had a nice grassy strip down the middle and a walkway for each house from the front to the back lawn. It was not big, but it was neat and clean. Winston cut the grass and pulled the weeds. When the weeks got too high in Benito's yard, Winston would take his lawn mower around the fence and clean up Benito's back-yard. Winston realized he had a friendly slob living beside him.

Winston and Benito each had a son. Winston's son was creative and intelligent. Benito's son was destructive and not as intelligent. Winston's son loved to play in the woods, make building block worlds, play the piano, and learn about science. Benito's son liked to play with his friend in the space between the houses where no one could see them. One day he and his friend decided to stuff Winston's furnace exhaust pipe with sticks and stones. Winston's family soon began to get headaches. 

When the furnace man came to do his yearly service, he found a bad air problem inside the house, checked everything, and discovered the blocked pipe. The service man was very concerned. Winston was very concerned for his family's safety. He knew Benito's son had been playing between the houses so he spoke to Benito. Benito told his son not to play between the houses anymore. Benito's son did not listen.

Benito's son and friends next stuffed all of their broken action figures into Winston's rainbarrel that was located between the two houses. Winston noticed one day that it was overflowing and not draining out to water the garden. He pumped out the rainbarrel, turned it over, and heard a rattlling inside. After several hours of shaking, Winston had all of the action figure pieces out on his driveway. He returned them to Benito. Benito told his son not to play between the houses anymore. Benito's son did not listen. Winston began to wonder if his neighbours were so friendly after all.

Winston got a pet – a little pet perfect for a little house on a little lot in a subdivision. Benito got a pet – a big pet perfect for guarding an estate lot. The neighbours still got along, and the pets got along. The little pet made little pet poops that were easy to clean up. The big pet dumped a lot. Benito left the clean-up job to his son. His son didn't listen. Benito had so much pet poop that he scooped it into a big garbage pail and left it in his back yard, uncovered. It was a hot, rainy summer.

One day, Winston's wife complained about the flies and the terrible smell in their backyard. Winston looked over the fence. He saw the waist high weeds, he saw the large steaming garbage pail of pet excrement swarming with flies. He was angry. He put on his rubber gloves, bagged all of the pet poop, put it in the proper garbage location for pick-up, took out his lawn mower, and cut the weeds down. Benito told his son to clean up after the pet. His son did not listen. Winston began to wonder if he was living beside a monster.

Benito's pet was a female. Benito decided to breed her. She had a litter. Benito decided to keep one of the little pets. It grew. Now Benito had two big pets in a little house on a little lot in a little subdivision. Again Winston's wife complained about the smell. Again Winston cleaned it up, cut the grass, and told Benito. Again Benito told his son to clean up after the pets. Benito's son did not listen. Then Benito's relative moved in with him. Benito's relative had an even bigger pet. A big roaring male pet. Now there were three big loud, pooping pets in a little house on a little lot in a little subdivision. Winston now knew he had a Monster living beside him.

One day Benito came to Winston and said, "My wife is going crazy with these pets in the house. We have no back door. I want to build a gate between our two houses so the pets can play in the space between the houses." Winston said, "That would mean I would not be able to use the space between our houses. My side door, and my meters and utilities are here. Let me think about it." When Winston came home one day, he found Benito and Bentio's relative and Benito's son buidling a gate between the houses. They had bolted a frame into the side of Winston's house. Winston was very angry. He now knew for certain that a Monster was living beside him and he was going to have to fight the Monster to save his home.

From that day on, from morning to night, the big pets were let out in the space between the houses and roared and pooped and roared and pooped and roared and pooped all day long. Winston did not go to the side of his house anymore.

One day as warmer weather approached, Winston happened to look over his back gate at the space between the houses. There was pet poop from one side of the space to the other. Winston's entire walkway was covered in pet poop. There was not a single blade of grass left. Winston got very, very angry. He cleaned up the pet poop, bagged it, and left it for Benito.

Soon after, Winston heard a banging on the side of his house and a lot of yelling. He went outside and looked over the big front gate. There he saw Benito's son and some of his friends throwing pet poop at each other with a ball throwing stick. There was pet poop all over the side of Winston's house. Winston got very, very angry. He told all the boys to leave and never come back to play there again. The boys listened. he told Benito's son to clean up the side of his house with soap and disinfectant and to clean up every piece of pet poop from the property and bag it properly. Benito's son listened. He told Benito's son that if he ever found him doing anything like that again, the pet poop would hit the fan.

Then he looked up on the Internet to see how to humanely keep pets from pooping on your property. He went out and bought a big container of a hot spice and sprinkled it all over his walkway. Benito's son took the pets into the back yard and played with them. He rolled their toys through the hot spice. The pets got sick. Benito's mother came over to accuse Winston of making her pets throw up in the house. Winston told her that the smell of the hot spice alone keeps pets away, but a pet's favourite chew toy rolled in cayenne pepper was a different story, so maybe she should have a good long talk with her son who should not have been playing between the houses. Benito's mother didn't listen. She was angry. Benito was angry. But Winston was the angriest of them all.

Winston went out the next day and bought fence post spikes. He measured the property line with a transit and the property map. He staked a line out between the houses. Over the next month, Winston worked with a fury to put up a fence between the two houses. He took down the big gate, put up a centre post, and put two gates back in their place. Benito was not happy. Winston did not care.

The three big pets conintued to roar for everyone to hear from morning until night, but the pet poop was now confined to Benito's yard. Benito continued to pile the poop into open garbage pails until a very angry Winston told him one day that it was illegal. Benito also let the pets out to poop and pee all over the driveway. He would then scoop the poop, but it in the pail, and use his hose to wash the excrement residue down the driveway. Winston lived downstream, and so the fecal colliform water would wash across the front of Winston's driveway all the way down the street to the storm sewer. Winston put up a cement dam to stop the contamination. Benito would knock it down. Winston would put it back.

With nowhere to play out of sight of adults between the houses, Benito's son got bored. So Benito gave him a high powered projectile gun. In a small lot in a small subdivision, Benito's son would go out into his backyard and shoot his projectile gun. His aim, like his judgement, was not very good. Neighbours in the back of the yard had projectiles flying through their yards. Neighbours to the side had projectiles flying thorugh their yards. Then one day, Benito's son forgot the talk he had with Winston about never bothering his home again. Winston's wife was working upstairs when she heard a loud CRACK. The bedroom window had been shattered by a projectile.

Winston's wife came storming downstairs, went to Benito's house, brought Benito's son up to see the damage, and told him he was going to pay for a new window. Winston confronted Benito, reviewed the pet poop history and the projectile damage and demanded responsibility and an apology. Benito said he would take care of the window replacement. At no time did Benito every apologize for the disprespect and damage caused to Winston's property over the years, or for the behavious of his son. Benito didn't get it. This made Winston very, very, very angry.

Winston was like an elephant who would not forget. When the window finally came, Benito paid for it. Winston put a sticker with the cost of the window on the broken one when it was put out in the garbage and compared it to the price of a projectile. Benito's wife was very angry. Winston did not care. Winston was living with a simmering constant anger. He had come to the conclusion that his neighbour and his family were not good neighbours at all, but were stupid disrespectful Monsters.

One mild winter day, when Winston was shovelling the snow from the walkway between the houses, the smell of pet poop hit him again. He lost it. He began to shovel snow over the fence in a frenzy. He shovelled all of the snow along the fence over the fence. Benito was angry and yelled at Winston. Winston yelled back that snow melts away a lot easier than pet poop stuck to your house. They began to argue. Benito told Winston he was acting like a stupid person. Winston stopped, recalling the wisdom of Mark Twain: "Never argue with a fool; onlookers may not be able to tell the difference." 

Winston sat down and reflected and realized that was exactly what he had done. He apologized to Benito. No excuses for bad behaviour. His wife and son looked worried that Winston too had lowered himself to the level of the beast he was fighting – he was so angry he was acting stupid. Winston had forgotten the warning from Friedrich Neitzsche: "Whoever battles with monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." Winston did not want to be a monster. The side of his house had become an abyss into which he no longer wished to gaze.

Winston went to see the Lego Movie to clear his mind and renew his spirit. And , with the Everything is Awesome song ringing in his ears, he returned home to llive happily ever after.

The End,

or The Beginning…

*****

This is a story. Names, characters, places, and incidents are totally a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to animals and plants (living or dead), businesses, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. "The Lego Movie" and the "Everything is Awesome" song are real.

Legacy

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JunoI never want to forget the stories of our parents who fought for our freedom, who lost the innocence of their youth in battles not of their own making, but in defence of something far greater than themselves, following the clarion call of leaders to whom they entrusted their honour. A quiet conversation at a curling game revealed that my teammate had a father who had served in the Juno Beach D-Day landing in 1944; I had a father who was a Hurricane pilot and a POW for 3 1/2 years in the infamous Stalag Luft III prison camp of The Great Escape fame. One story led to another and we slowly resurrected each other's photos and war logs from our parents. I had the privilege this last week of reading of the journey of a father and his son taking part in the 50th Anniversary of the Juno Beach landing on June 6, 1944. The album was filled with wonderful photos of family and friends  sharing a unforgettable trip through history.

But the most moving story of all was his personal reflection when he and his dad visited the graveyard of all of the fallen. He recorded in his journal that he simply couldn't believe the number of white crosses, and the young age that marked their passage. His father had gone one way through the rows, he through another. When they met again, he learned his dad had found the name of a friend from Craigleith, and was too overcome to speak.

We should all be too overcome to speak. But their stories must be told ere, as Wilfred Owen warned us, we must not inflict the great lie upon our children: "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." No more will ideolgical fanatics sacrifice the youth of their countries for the good and glory of their ambitions.  

So, to honour their stories, what do we do with their war logs, our journals, their stories when we pass on? Who will be the storytellers for our veterans? I do not want my father's or my friend's father's sacrifice to end up in a dumpster, or a government shredder. I want a veteran's library.

There are fewer and fewer left to remember – we pass the torch of their memories – someone, please, hold it high.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon 

Promises to Keep – the story

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I did another little canoe solo this week and returned to my favourite campsite to keep a promise. My wife was busy at work, my youngest son was off to high school, and I was free to take the path of the paddle again. This week, the lake was quiet with only the occasional fisherman trolling by slowly. The week before I had to deal with the regular end-of-summer folk buzzing the lake with skiboats and wakeboarders and the insidious "personal water craft" that have allowed a motorcycle gang mentality to take over summer waterways. Add alcohol to the mix and you have stupid people on powerful machines just waiting for an accident to happen or a campsite to trash.

On the other hand that week, I met a wonderful family from Oakville – Ed and Sheila and their children and dog – who had motor boated in to the campsite opposite mine and were having a hearty week of family camping. I paddled over to their site to say hello and ask them about the condition of their campground. They were delighted that I was cleaning up the other site, they had tried to do the same with theirs, and we ended up talking about everything under the sun – responsible camping, values and ethics, climate change, school, and even dog training. We had established a camping community of like minds, they in their motorboat and me in my canoe. All good.

Then on the way out, I stopped at my favourite truck stop near Waubaushene, topped off my Prius, and sat down for a coffee. The woman serving me had noticed my canoe and was suitably impressed (Chester IS special). When I told her where I had been camping and cleaning up, she gave me a big smile and said, "I got married there. In February. We walked across the ice to the rock shelf above the second pool." Now that is truly a small world. My wife and I were also married in the great outdoors.

It turned out that Wendy had been born in Atlanta, moved to Missouri, and vacationed every summer on our northern Ontario lake, eventually moving up to live here permanently. Although the man she married had lived all his life on that lake, they didn't meet until she was in her thirties as fate would have it. We chatted on for several minutes, another like mind who loved canoes, cottages, and clean campsites. I promised Wendy I was coming back to finish the job and to post a notice to future campers. It was a promise I was keeping both to all those who lived in and loved our northern lakes and sacred spaces, and to my father. 

From my youth until his passing, we went fishing and camping often during the summer. From Georgian Bay to Rice Lake to Temagami, we fished and camped our way to an unbreakable father and son bond. Whenever we left a campsite, he would make a final walkabout, ensuring that the fire was dead out and that a little pile of sheltered kindling was tucked away discreetly for the next camper. Then he would turn to me and say, "Son, always leave your campsite cleaner than you found it."

I put that saying up in a small sign on "my campsite" yesterday. Then I canoed down the channel and cleaned up three more. An endless quest along the path of the paddle. Thanks, Dad, for giving my retirement a purpose. I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon