Skip to content

#24, Year of the Typewriter | March 1, 2018

It took sun, wind, rain and 10 days for the snow to melt. I say melt, but walking, I still found pockets. That's what this week is all about...pockets of winter and not much else. The tread that was that fresh crunch of snow, went through the sliding slush, to become now cold cedar-stained mud. 

My carpets look like crud.

God I've had it.

The dog gets me out here today. I'm draggin.. She is ever interested in that next turn of the trail. Bounding. Watching. And, god, she won't stop growing. I have taken to calling her 'Wolfie'. I can put my hand on her shoulder blades WITHOUT BENDING MY KNEES. Soon she will be 'Elephant'. 

Is it time yet for a nap?

The car engine light springs on this morning first thing. as soon as I get the nose of the van pointed at the mountain.  As far as I can figure the engine light probably means nothing. Basically, it means $69,  Engine Light and inertia keep me from going up the mountain into no-cellphone zone. I have scrappy sketches of new hikes up there that Ross from Elphinstone Logging Focus made me. That was before the snow fell and that was ages ago and now they all look squiggly. Is that line a road or a creek? Is that circle a rock outcrop or a clearcut? These maps look like I will get lost. They look like hours of frustration. So hell, I went low again today. I don't know the name of the trail, off the BnK but low down the mountain. 

It was green. Old maples with moss pelts. The snow had broken the fir tips off, and in many places the path was littered with it. Broken bits, broken bits. That phrase rattled in my head and with my steps for 20 minutes I guess.

Some slight stirring of spring in that the bush, that tangle of salmonberry and salal now twitters when I walk by. Petra, who is only 7.5 months and doesn't yet know spring, is puzzled by it, and looks at me to see if she is in trouble.

She is not in trouble.

I'm in trouble. Hands stuck in my pockets.

Spring is in trouble. Its due in T - 20 and we aren't nearly there. Everyone is tetchy. 

I should exclude the wolf.

 

 

The Only Animal creates cultivates and inspires theatre work that arises from a deep engagement with place.