Grandfather and the Teacher

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Grandfather and The Teacher    … or … Why the leaves change colour in the Autumn.

As retold by Skid Crease

*****

In a beautiful mountain village, there lived a wise old storyteller known simply as Grandfather. The village was too small and too poor to have a school or a government teacher, so all of the children were taught at home. They learned how to tend a garden and how to hunt and fish and how to cook a meal. And once a day the children all went to Grandfather’s cabin and made him a cup of tea and listened to his stories. From his mother, he had learned all the stories of the land and the people and all the creatures that shared the mountain with the people. The stories had been passed along for generations and spoke the truth.

The time of year that the children loved most of all was when the leaves change colour in the autumn. They would run to Grandfather’s cabin, build a huge pile of leaves and jump in them until they were exhausted. And then Grandfather would sit down in his rocking chair and sip his tea. The children knew it was story time!  And their favourite story was about why the leaves change colour. Grandfather would wait until all the children were settled into their leaf blanket, and then he would begin.

“A long time ago, before the people walked the land, the leaves in the forest stayed on the trees all year long. They stayed green and bright and made food for all the creatures of the land. Oh, the sun still was very hot in the summers, and the winds from the north still brought ice and snow in the winter, but there was no spring or fall. The Great Spirit That Loves Life wanted all of the creatures to have food and shelter all through the thirteen moons of one year.

But the little creatures who lived on the forest floor – the worms and the slugs and the spiders and everything tiny that wiggled and crawled – were not happy when the winter came. Their little bodies were frozen by the cold winds and the ice crystals pierced their soft skin. They decided that they had to get the attention of the Great Spirit and so they joined all of their voices together and began to sing,

At first the Great Spirit thought it was the wind rising, but the soft and mournful sound grew stronger and stronger. The Great Spirit That loves Life was curious and followed the sound to a small clearing in the forest. There were all of the little creatures from the forest floor singing as loudly as they could. When they saw the Great Spirit they all suddenly stopped singing. The Great Spirit smiled upon them.

“Why, all my wonderful little creatures – why are you singing such a sad song?”

The little red wiggler worm cleared its tiny pharynx and said, “Well, Great Spirit That Loves Life, first we want you to know how grateful we are for all the beauty of our forest and meadows.” The other tiny creatures all cheered their thanks as well. “However,” continued the little worm, “When the winter comes we have a terrible time. The icy winds freeze us, and we can’t hide in the frozen ground, and the icicles drop on us, and a lot of us are dying. We don’t have fat and fur like the great bear and we can’t fly south like the geese Please help us Great Spirit.”

The Great Spirit apologized at once to the little creatures. “Please forgive me – I had no idea that you were in such pain!” The Great Spirit needed to do something quickly because winter was coming.

Just then the light of the setting sun slanted through the forest trees and made the leaves appear to be on fire! “That’s it,” said the Great Spirit That Loves Life. “I will turn all of the leaves in the forest the colour of the setting sun’s fire and make a warm blanket of red and yellow and orange leaves to remind you of the sun’s warmth. But you must promise to eat all of the leaves in the spring make healthy soil for the trees.” All of the deciduous trees thought that this was a wonderful idea and pledged to support the little creatures.

But the conifer trees objected. “Great Spirit” they said, “What will happen to all of the forest creatures who stay with us for the winter – they will still need food and shelter. And besides, if our sharp needles fall onto the little creatures, they will stab them like an arrow.” The deciduous trees and the conifer trees argued back and forth, and the winds grew colder and colder. The little creatures began to wonder if they would ever get their warm blanket of leaves.

Then the Tamarack tree spoke, “The little creatures need their blanket and the winter animals need their shelter. Since my needles are soft, I will join the bond that the deciduous trees have made with the little creatures and give them my protection. All my conifer brothers and sisters can keep their needles to protect the forest from the cold winter winds.” And so it was agreed. The Great Spirit gave the Tamarack tree a mantle of gold and promised that it a beautiful covering of soft spring green needles would appear when the warmth returned to the land. Then the Great Spirit That Loves Life smiled on the forest, and a shower of red and yellow and orange leaves and golden needles fell from the trees and covered the little creatures.”

Grandfather smiled at the children who were listening intently. “And that is why the leaves change colour in the fall. Now, go and play and let me finish my tea!” The children all gave Grandfather a big hug and then jumped in the big pile of leaves, being careful not to jump on any of the little creatures.

Winter came, and spring, and over the summer, something wonderful happened in the village. The government had decided that the village was big enough for a school and a full time teacher! A government helicopter lowered a big modern portable onto a cement pad that the villagers had made. Then, in the middle of August, the new teacher arrived.

All the children thought she was wonderful! She loved science and stories and hiking on the village trails. And she loved her teaching. She spent almost every spare moment getting her classroom and materials ready for the first day of school.Why, she  even took time to walk around the village and meet all of the people. She especially wanted to meet the Grandfather, but had gone away on a long canoe trip the day the teacher arrived. It was a trip he took every year, alone, before the leaves began to change colour.

This year, for some strange reason, he had left the village earlier than usual. Grandfather always listened to the winds of change, the children told Teacher. They said he went to listen to The Great Spirit That Loves Life to learn more stories of the land. The teacher smiled: the children had such wonderful imaginations!

The first official day of school came and the children came happily into the school. Teacher smiled at them, took the attendance, and then said, “It is much too nice a day to sit in the classroom – take me on a walk and show me your favourite things.” She was a very smart teacher. The children took their teacher by the hand and walked her onto the forest trails. In a little clearing they made a big pile of leaves. The children and their teacher all jumped into the pile and laughed.

“Ah,” said Teacher, “This is my favourite time of the year, when the leaves change colour.” The children stopped jumping, “Really teacher? It is our favourite time of the year too!”

Teacher smiled, “Come and sit around me and I will tell you a story of why the leaves change colour.” The children were amazed – did she know the Grandfather stories too?

“You see, children” Teacher began, ‘the reason that the leaves change colour in the autumn is that all the green chlorophyll in the leaf stops making sugar sap for the tree to grow. As the days become shorter and shorter and the temperature gets colder and colder, the green begins to fade away in the leaf, and all of the other special chemicals that were hiding inside the leaf begin to appear. The carotenoids are yellow and orange and the anthocyanins are red – the same red that is in the salmon’s belly. And when the leaf is not making any more sugar at all, the stem closes off and the leaves fall to the forest floor. In the spring when the snow melts, the decomposers that live on the forest floor slowly mulch the dead leaves and enrich the forest soil. When the spring rains come, the sugary sap that was stored in the roots of the trees begins to rise up as the days warm. It feeds the buds that become the green leaves of the Springtime. Isn’t that a wonderful story!”

The children sat silently staring at Teacher. She really seemed to be a very good teacher, but she didn’t know anything about why the leaves changed colour in the fall. “Teacher,” said the children, “The real reason that the leaves change colour in the fall is that the trees are honouring the promise they made to The Great Spirit That Loves Life to make a warm blanket of all the sun’s colours for all the little creatures that live on the forest floor. And the little creatures promised to always chew up the leaves in the spring to feed the trees so they could make new leaves again.”

Teacher smiled at the children, “That is a wonderful story,” she said, “but the real reason…” and Teacher told them her science story again. Oh dear, thought the children … we have so much to teach her. We will have to take her to see Grandfather when he gets back. The she can learn all of the true stories.

And so it went for the next two weeks. Every time Teacher tried to give the children a proper scientific explanation about the seasons, or the rainfall, or how mountains are made, the children had a Grandfather story to tell. Now, she was a very smart, very caring young Teacher. It was obvious to her that the children all loved and respected Grandfather. So, one day Teacher said to the children, “I would love to meet Grandfather when he comes back from his canoe trip. Maybe we could have tea together.”

“Yes!” cheered the children. There was hope for their teacher after all! And so, only a few days later, the children announced that Grandfather was back and he was very happy that Teacher was coming to his cabin to share tea.

Teacher was a little nervous. She didn’t want to upset Grandfather, but she knew that she had to get her science stories across to the children. The government tests didn’t have any room for Grandfather stories!

When the special day came, the children hiked Teacher along the winding trail that led to Grandfather’s cabin. Grandfather had moved another rocking chair out on the porch and put out his very best tea mugs. “Grandfather,” announced the children, “meet Teacher.” And the children ran off to jump in big piles of leaves that Grandfather had prepared for them.

“It is so wonderful to meet you,” said Grandfather. “Since I have been back, the children have done nothing but tell me how happy they are that you are their teacher. This is good.”

“Well,” said Teacher, “It is wonderful to meet you at last. Since I arrived in the village they have done nothing but tell me all of your stories.”

“Ah,” said Grandfather, “they love the stories. They are the stories of the land and the people and all the creatures that share our home. They are the stories that have been passed down from all the storytellers who came before.”

“I love stories too,” said Teacher. “In fact, one of my favourite stories is about why the leaves change colour in the autumn.”

Grandfather stopped rocking and sat forward in his chair. “Really?” asked Grandfather, “Why that is one of my favourite stories too!”

“Would you like to hear my story?” asked Teacher.

“Oh yes,” said Grandfather. “There is nothing a Storyteller enjoys more than listening to another Storyteller.”

And so the teacher began. She spoke very slowly looking into Grandfather’s eyes. She told him all about the special chemical in the leaf, about the green chlorophyll that helped the leaf take sunshine and water to make sugar for the tree. Grandfather’s eyes were wide with wonder. She told him about how the changing amount of daylight and the angle of the sun and the change in temperature turned off the little sugar factory in the leaf. She told him about all the other special chemicals that hid in the leaf that began to appear when the green chlorophyll stopped working. About how the carotenoids brought their yellow and orange to the leaf, and the anthocyanins brought their salmon red to the leaves.

She told him that when all of those special chemicals stopped working, the stem of the leaf pinched off and the leaves fell to the forest floor. About how all of the tiny and microscopic organisms that lived on the forest floor slowly decomposed the leaves and created a rich mulch so that when the spring rains came the roots of the tree could be nourished. She told him about the sugary sap that was stored as starch in the roots of the tree over the winter, began to rise up into the branches as the days grew warmer and fed the new buds with their sugar. About how the new leaves burst open with the chlorophyll ready to start working with the sun and the water to make food for the tree all over again.

“It is the cycle of materials and the flow of energy that connect all of this, all of us, together,” explained Teacher. “Isn’t it wonderful!”

Grandfather had ben staring at her intently throughout the entire story, but now she noticed that tears were falling down his cheeks. Oh, dear, thought Teacher, I have hurt his feelings.

“Grandfather,” said Teacher gently, “I didn’t mean to upset you. But this is the story I was taught in school.”

“Oh, no,” said Grandfather, “These are tears of joy. That is one of the best stories I have ever heard!”

“Really,” said Teacher, astonished.

“Why, yes” said Grandfather, taking her hand. “I had no idea until right now how much trouble The Great Spirit That Loves Life had gone to just to make a blanket for all the little creatures.”

Grandfather smiled at Teacher, and she slowly smiled back taking his other hand in hers.

“And I, Grandfather, had no idea until this very moment, that I had only learned half the stories.”

The children played in the leaves. It was going to be a very good year.

The Pattern Which Connects – Part One

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My wife now calls me “The Phoenix” but my older son prefers “The Revenant” … in either case, it’s good to be back from the dead. It’s also good to be able to contribute again to my community as a writer and storyteller. It’s sort of like that challenge in “Saving Private Ryan” – you’ve been given a second chance at life, now earn it.

crystal ballI remember asking my father when I was a child, “Dad, how do you become a good person?” HIs answer became my raison’d’etre as an educator:  “Son, hang out with wise people, read what wise people write, listen to what wise people say, practice what wise people do, and then one day you too may become wise.” It takes some of us longer than others.

In my long and slow healing process, I began to reread some of my early influences and finally came to understand a few of them. One of those wise people was the incredible anthropologist, Gregory Bateson. His “Mind and Nature” and “Steps to an Ecology of Mind” were huge influences in my quest to become a wise teacher. From him, I learned that a wise teacher asks questions that demand far more than simple yes or no answers; instead, they demand a depth of thought and reflection and inquiry.

Gregory Bateson first articulated the idea that human ideas and communities are connected by a process similar to the natural selection process found in evolution. Why do some ideas resonate throughout history and others become extinct? He asked:“The pattern which connects. Why do schools teach almost nothing about the pattern which connects? …What pattern connects the crab to the lobster and the orchid to the primrose and all four of them to me? And me to you? And all the six of us to the amoeba in one direction and to the back-ward schitzophrenic in another?”

His daughter, after his death, produced a wonderful memorial film by the more grammatically correct title, “The Pattern That Connects.” I’ll stick with the original.

So, what connects me to you to songbirds and pesticides in Central and South America to Rachel Carson and a Silent Spring to an Inuit mother in the Arctic who can’t feed her child with breast milk because it contains too many toxic chemicals grasshoppered up from the “developed” world?

What is the pattern which connects my best buddy in Eureka, California and my lawyer in Toronto, Ontario to all older men with prostate problems, to an ancient African tea made from Pygeum africanum, to a quest for the “Origins of Spirituality” by members of the Fairlawn United Church.

And now I understand. The pattern which connects all of human interaction is simply that quest for the answers to the age old questions of; “Who are we?”, “From where did we come?”, and “To where are we going?” The first human child that could articulate asked these questions over a million years ago. Gaugin asked the same questions reflecting on the meaning of his existence while painting in Tahiti. The ideas that survive are the ones that keep us thinking and wondering and surviving and developing as humans.

And the human patterns which connect are inextricably linked to all of the ecological connections from which life continues to evolve. Understand the patterns, and we begin to understand our place in the universe. Then we become humble in the knowledge that some of the answers to those great questions are beyond human comprehension, but the quest for those answers may just be the purpose of human existence.

*****

… to be continued … in Part Two: What is the pattern which connects Dr. Heather J. Ross and her cardiac team in Toronto to a remote community in Nunavut to space travel to tribal warfare in the Congo to cell phones. What connects me to the execution of Ken Saro-Wiwa (father) to the Niger Delta to prehistoric plants to the Ogoni people to Royal Dutch Shell, to my grade seven students to my choice of gasoline, to the recent passing of Ken Wiwa (son)? Life and death on Planet Earth …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Phoenix Rising

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IMG_3766It took heart failure and a stroke to reaffirm my suspicions that men are essentially stupid, and intelligent women should be running the world. My wife had seen the signs building long before the state of my health reached emergency proportions. How many men have heard their loving partners say, “Have you seen your doctor lately?” or “I think you need to go for a check-up.” Men dismiss these early warnings as an assault on their invulnerability. And an only child male, supremely independent  as I am, is even more difficult to advise.

When I finally said, “I think I need to go to the doctor,” it was almost too late. The only things open were the hospital Emergency wards. The first one we went to admitted me immediately into cardiac care.  At 3:00 am the next morning, they called my wife to gather our family together to come down and say their goodbyes. It was that close.

When I shocked everyone by reviving, they sent me by ambulance to the Peter Munk Cardiac Centre at Toronto General Hospital where I spent the next 28 days. For the first two weeks, I was bed-ridden in Intensive Care with tubes on IV drips coming out of both arms and a plethora of chest stickers wired to monitors. Then I graduated to the care of the Cardiac team, who spent the next two weeks monitoring my cocktail of  heart medications. They got me out of bed and walking the corridors, stressing the need to get mobile and begin mild exercise every day – slow and steady.

When the team finally determined that the blood clots had cleared from my heart and lungs, they shocked my heart to stop and then shocked it to start again, When I woke up (to the smell of burning chest hair), they told me that my heart was back in regular sinus rhythm. Best news ever! No transplant, no artificial heart, no more excessively rapid atrial fibrillation. A few days later I was cleared to go home.

My wonderful, exhausted wife, who had spent the entire month of August driving back and forth from Caledon to Toronto General, looked at me and said, “The Phoenix, rising from the ashes. You’ve been given a second chance.”  Now I had to earn it.

The primary culprit in this health decline was stress. Stress over financial concerns that I had been trying to deal with by myself, and fighting a losing battle. I wonder how many other retired, economically illiterate males fall into the same category, hiding their weaknesses and becoming more isolated day by day. According to recent news reports, quite a few. There are an increasing number of retirees and seniors falling into high debt. With that must come the stress of trying to successsfully meet all of the needs of our families, and realizing we are falling short, My advice to all stubborn senior males is to share the burden with your loved ones, work out the solutions together, as we are doing now, and get rid of the depression.  I am certain that there is a direct link between an overload of the stress hormone, cortisol, and heart failure. It is not worth preserving the myth of male omnipotence. Find humility.

And listen to our partners when they tell you you’re not looking so well. They may, after all, be just a little more perceptive than we are.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon

WORTH REPEATING: Only Children Hunt for Sport

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I first wrote this post several years ago in reponse to a Ducks Unlimited challenge. The furor created over Walter James Palmer’s poaching of Cecil the Lion motivated me to republish it here: Nothing has changed.

*****

HuntingTrophiesAfter a recent post, I was asked if I were anti-hunting, and my answer was a clear, “NO.” I will ensure that my soon-to-be teenager is skilled in marksmanship with both gun and bow and arrow, and knows how to fish with rod and net. I will ensure that hunter safety trainlng is part of his curriculum for the twenty-first century. I will teach him that if he ever needs to take the life of an animal for food, that he will do it quickly, skillfully and respectfully. But under no circumstances do I support trophy hunting. Big boys with big guns and bigger egos.

For over a million years the hominids that eventually came to be known as homo sapiens were hunter gatherers, so you could safely say that there are some pretty basic skills hard wired into our DNA. The agricultural aspects of our existence didn’t apppear until about 10,000 years ago after the last Ice Age had significantly melted back to the poles.

in what we know of our human history, generally women and children were small game hunters and gatherers of every seed, nut, fruit, and edible leaf that they could find. They basically kept the community alive – not much has changed for women. The men appear to have been the chest pounders and the hunters of larger prey. Given our primate chain of development, protein was a highly valued resource and we worked hard to get it. We became so good at it that post ice age hunters crossing from northern Asia into North America are thought to have been partially responsible for the extinction of several large ungulates.

The toys that children were given in those days were toys that would teach them basic hunting skills through play – the wooden spear, the sling shot, the small bow and arrow, the knife. In those days you had to get pretty close to your prey to kill it. You had to know the habits and habitat of that animal thoroughly. You had to know where the heart and lungs pumped so your shot would make a clean kill. You and the animals knew each other very well. Consider the skill necessary to get within 10m of a deer for a clean shot with bow and arrow. Some of my greatest outdoor nature skills were learned from real hunters and trappers who had an absolutely intimate knowledge and respect for their environment, and only ever took what they needed off the land and water.

I still remember receiving my first rifle from my father, one I used very effectively to clear an infestation of groundhogs from a cattle field on his farm near Cobourg – my dad taught me how to skin and clean them – my first real lessons in anatomy and how to avoid those nasty scent glands that could spoil your stew. (I learned later that the groundhogs not only had seniority, but an invaluable role in the food chain and energy cycle – I stopped hunting them). I still remember my first fishing rod and “the big trip” every spring to Inverlochy Lodge with “the men” to fish for the  mighty northern pike. Everything we caught, we ate. Nothing got stuffed and mounted.

I hunt with a computer now, feeding my family with a whole different set of skills. But when the machine breaks down, and I need to feed my family from the land and water once again, I know exactly how to do it skillfully and respectfully.

On a trip with my students to the North West Territories several years ago, we were out on the tundra with our Inuit hosts, preparing the tradional snack of tea and pilot biscuits, when one of the hunters jumped on his snowmobile and headed over a ridge. We heard the sharp crack of a fifle shot, and he was back in minutes with a caribou slung over his komatiq. He knelt by the caribou’s head for a moment saying something in Inuktituk, then skillfully removed the skin, rolled it up and put it on the sled, butchered the caribou on the spot, and we had lunch – abolutely one of the best teaching moments of my long career. My big city students for the first time saw that direct connection to the land and their food source. They learned later that the hunter had whispered a thank you to the caribou for presenting itself so that the hunter could feed us, his family.

But trophy hunters, that’s a whole different class of human. So called sport hunting is a huge global industry – just check out all the things you can buy at Pro Bass. But using a laser guided scope and a high powered rifle to kill an animal 300 m away, remove only the head for a wall trophy, and call it sport is ludicrous in the extreme and deserves a good Gary Larson cartoon. End of discussion.

Real adults hunt to feed their families. Only children hunt for sport.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon

Harper and Aglukkaq Missing In Action

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CSOTAI spent three days this past week as part of the media team covering the Climate Summit of the Americas, and the International Economic Forum of the Americas in Toronto. It was my first experience as an accredited reporter and a member of the Canadian Association of Journalists. Being a member of the press has its privileges and its responsibilities.

One of those privileges was the chance to spend three intense days with our Premier, Environment and Climate Change Minister, First Nations Grand Chiefs and Chiefs, Governors, Mayors, and former Presidents and Vice-Presidents, including every climate change denier’s nemesis, Al Gore.

But the majority of the delegates were business leaders, entrepreneurs, engineers, and community leaders. They were there to acknowledge that the tide had turned, that the change to a low-carbon economy and society was already underway, and that the era of fossil fuel energy was going the way of the dinosaurs.

One of the responsibilities of the press is to report honestly and accurately, without bias or exclusion, in a news report. An editorial commentary has free reign for opinion. This is an editorial.

While two cabinet ministers from “Our Government™”, Tony Clement and Lisa Raitt, attended the Economic Forum, no one from the federal government showed up at the Climate Summit, prompting Governor Jerry Brown of California to tell Stephen Harper to “Get with it!”

While Leona Aglukkaq frolicked in Nunavut, and Stephen Harper picknicked in Rouge Park with Earth Rangers attired children in the photo op, Sheila Watt-Cloutier, Inuk defender and a member of the Order of Canada spoke to the Climate Summit delegates from her heart and soul. She stated: “What is needed is a debate on human rights – it is a moral and ethical imperative.”

This is much more than an issue of climate science and economic opportunity. In the Arctic this is a critical issue of social justice and the failure to address it is criminal.

ERHarperWhen the Prime Minister and the Minister of the Environment fail to show up for the debate, it sends a very clear signal to Canadians. It says, “We really just don’t care.” The road to to Paris, like the road to Hell,  is paved with election photo-ops. So while Harper posed for the press with his new children’s crusade, and Aglukkaq fiddled in the far north while the Arctic melted, the Province of Ontario stood up, was counted, and took action.

On Thursday, July 9, 2015, Ontario and 21 other states, provinces and regions signed the first-ever Pan American Climate Action Statement. Felipe Calderon, former President of Mexico, best summed up the significance of this event: “We now have clear evidence of states, provinces, cities, and businesses leading the way on climate action and achieving strong economic growth at the same time. This Summit has been an incredible demonstration of this bottom-up momentum and should inspire more ambition by all on the road to Paris.”

Our current federal government is missing in action. Sending Stephen Harper or one of his minions to Paris, would be as embarrassing for Canada on the world stage as if Rob Ford had still been in office to open Toronto’s Pan-Am and Para-Pan-Am Games. In October we will have the opportunity to pick a different team to represent Canada at the Climate Summit in Paris. Let’s hope that we pick a team that understands the science and cares about the human condition.

*****

Skid Crease, Caledon