Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Tag: Kamloops Page 6 of 8

Kamloops From Up Close – The Things I’ve Learned So Far

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On January 16, 2017

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Homeschooling, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Self-improvement

Originally published as a column in CFJC Today and Armchair Mayor News on January 16, 2017. 

Five years ago when my family and I relocated to Kamloops someone told me that unless you’ve been here a couple of decades or longer, you’re just not ‘Kamloopsian’ enough. It made me feel a bit uneasy and it made me look twice at the people I met, wondering who is Kamloopsian enough and who isn’t.

Fortunately, that did not last too long. It was the end of summer and the farmer’s market was in full swing. As soon as we made our way to the market and said the first hello things started unfolding. I started talking to people and sharing stories only to realize that many of us take the same route when immersed in a place: we reach out and share life bits, regardless of whether there is a family history tying us to one place or another.

Fall brought a newspaper column to write, more people to meet and, often times someone I just met turned out to be a friend of a friend. A small world indeed is what I said every time and still do.

Then again, Kamloops is not exactly a small lost town either. There are over 80,000 people living here and almost 100,000 if you count the areas surrounding the city. Funny enough, there’s rarely a day when I don’t bump into someone I know. That is not where it ends though.

Over the last few months I have been involved, as a volunteer, with a project that culminated in an exhibition that opened on Saturday night at the Kamloops Art Gallery (the BMO open gallery near the library). The topic is sustainability and the people featured in it are local people who go the extra mile when it comes to leaving a smaller energy and consumption footprint. If you have the time, please consider yourself invited.

During the months of bringing this project to fruition (and prior to it during my many engagements with other projects or get togethers), I got to meet many people and I cannot help but be amazed at how much that changed my perspective from those first couple of weeks after arriving to what appeared to be a dusty, hot city where you had to be born and raised here to count. If that ever was Kamloops back in the day, that’s a reality that no longer stands.

In the five years spent here, I’ve met people from all walks of life and though backgrounds are varied and colourful when it comes to professions and personal opinions about the world around and more, the wealth I’ve accumulated by swapping stories and working together with some of them has greatly endeared the very place to my heart.

I am aware that I am not everyone’s cup of tea. Nobody is really. But life is like that; uniqueness is what keeps us curious and able to complement each other, if willing. If working from home and homeschooling also may seem confining (neither has to be), bringing up uncomfortable topics can push one in the untouchables corner.

Yet what I came to realize is that every place, whether big or small, has groups of people that have at least one common denominator, whatever that might be. Yet no one, unless you’re part of a Hollywood happy story, will likely come to your door and present you with an agreeable crowd to hang out and feel comfortable with. Truth is, it takes a bit of reaching out.

It also takes some learning to listen, to speak up and yes, sometimes it takes learning to doubt less and trust that things will turn out OK simply because there is at least another person that cares and shares a common goal. Another thing I’ve learned is that you become more of a place and the place becomes more of you when you lend yourself to it through various actions.

Whether meeting people and working on projects that culminate in highlighting some of the local sparkling spirit, or taking myself out to the hills for a hike and an opportunity to ponder, I’ve come to realize that caring about a place is done through connecting. To the place itself and to the people.

Each of us carries ideas and frustrations and we’re each hardened by life’s small or big mischiefs. There is no perfect person to be with and there is no perfect place to be. Yes, there might be a better place out there. For the time being, and during the time I will spend here, I simply refuse to think that there is any rejection mechanism that keeps people away for not being part of a multigenerational Kamloops dynasty.

While not all circles are opened to everyone and each of us is more accepting of a group over another, that is what keeps things thriving in all directions. But here’s something I’ve learned in the last five years spent here. That if you put your hand out someone will shake it and things will unroll in a good way from there. One mention though: good is never perfect.

The Things I See As I Walk

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On July 12, 2016

In Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories

PathIt’s precisely at 7.30 in the morning that we make our way out. Every morning that is. Routines can come close to boring at times but not this one. Poppy and I take to the trails, each curious to see what’s changed since the day before. Yes, nighttime is a time of secrets and small miracles happening in the tall grasses that sing ever so softly as we walk along, parting them with each step.

I keep my eyes open for flowers – new ones are always a treat. Puppy looks for… well, signs of other dogs. Reminders of time passing from different kinds of clues if you will… Each relevant. I claim no superior knowledge just because I have been assigned to the human category. Every day starts anew in a way that can only be felt as you make your way down the path.

Today I pick but a few Saskatoon berries. They’re getting dry and seedy by now. So many left on bushes, a hint to people being removed from what’s being given to them for free… gifts of sweetness, with a price that is unmatched: gratefulness. An ant climbs on a wrinkled berry and takes the smallest bite you can imagine. It makes no difference to our world but it keeps theirs alive.

There’s scattered berries on the ground, some embedded in tell-tale deer prints. A few steps down the path pup and I stop by a purplish mound of digested berry seeds. Bear? It would not be surprising, but sad in the same way that seeing the occasional deer walking along a sidewalk is.

EyesThe trails pup and I find tranquility on are but islands of wilderness in the midst of residential propriety, shaggy grasses and tall bushes attracting wildlife that used to call it home before any of us did. It is all different now but perhaps this is the compromise that can keep things in balance. For now.

 

 

20160712_075207PoppyThe wild flax flowers are rarer these days as it gets hotter. Along wild-growing poppies, their blue is as convincing as the sky itself and just as addictive. My two most favourite. A few middle-aged red-eyed Susan flowers are staring into the morning sun, feeding on its brightness not realizing it will become the heat punishment of later.

Tragopogon

There are countless fluffy heads of Tragopogons (meadow’s goats beard as I learned the other day), some seeds so determined to leave their birth place they jump onto pup and I as we brush by. Hidden in tall graceful grasses I see daisies and red clover, a poppy that shines red ever so shyly from behind long thin blades.

AstersThere are purple daisy look-alikes that are part of a big family of wildflowers called asters. Shooting stars (also purple, as if that is the choice colour for the wildflowers here) and dandelions, and then, the surprise of a new apparition (yes, purple) delicate looking and of a kind I have yet to learn about.

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We stop by the creek where the other day I stumbled upon a raspberry patch loaded with red globes, some drooping heavily in the gurgling water stream. Fragrant and speaking of summer and forgotten worries. A place to steal sweetness from in a most innocent way possible.

 

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20160711_082626We follow the path up into the forest patch. Bugs tasting pollen and sliding on grass stalks, a balancing worth stopping for, there is so much life to see other than where I step next… Mushrooms push out of the dirt in shady areas, making themselves visible to us and the occasional slug sliding its sticky way across the path looking for supper. The very definition of slow food.

 

Evening skyWe stop at the top to look around. Clouds gather over one side of the sky, hinting at the promised last night’s rain that never came close enough to here. We saw it in the distance, a drape of white steam covering part of the northern landscape, making its way across hills of brown and tired green… a big tease in all…

Poppy runs up and down the slopes, picking up sticks and pine cones and chewing them with the careless hurry of someone who knows there’s more to be found. She returns to check on me every now and then before tumbling down a sandy slope chasing rolling pebbles and asking in a way that I’ve learned to know that more rolling pebbles would be greatly appreciated… I oblige. If dogs could laugh, you could hear her every morning. She does. The boys would attest.

We turn to the paved sidewalks and the leash comes on. A herding dog like her might never take well to moving cars. I keep hoping that maybe one day. Meanwhile, we practice civilized walking, turning around in a circle for a reset every few steps. I am patient and she is too. Love makes it so. I speak softly, except for when I say no. Like a kid wanting to please, the pup correct herself but there’s no telling what she’ll do when the next jumping opportunity comes.

PupWe stop to say hello to the traffic ladies, our friends on the road. They see Poppy grow, admire her foxy looks and laugh when I tell them that someone thought her a wolf the other day… We talk about the unfairness of killing wolves to rectify our wilderness-invading wrongs, about the absurdity of grizzly bear trophy hunts and there’s mentioning of bees and pesticides. How refreshing to not have political correctness stop relevant topics from unfolding.

Pup sits and gets gentle petting and sweet words, and I am grateful for being in the middle of the road chatting with people I should only barely know yet somehow I know better than many other I’ve known for a while as acquaintances. I am grateful for smiles and for the bits we share as the days go by. We’re a friendly team, pup and I.

We get home and it’s quiet. In a few days the boys will be back home and wild ways will remind me again of how lucky I am to be humbled by love, laughter and all the slices of life that come in colours ranging from purple to humbling and everything in between. All the things I try to remember as I walk and listen and see. Life to wonder at, sip after sip, step after step…

If We Are To Love Our Country

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On December 18, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published as a column in NewsKamloops on December 11, 2015.

Then... nowI remember the first time I visited Kamloops. It was mid-summer: dusty, hot and the air was heavy. There was no ocean breeze to wrestle the heat down, but the river, slow moving and steady, was long with its row of trees a welcome refuge and an open invitation we’ve been honoring since.

Two months later our family landed here, and since that day, the river has been a faithful companion to our many adventures.

We canoed up and down the two rivers that meet forming a beautiful line separating the dark blue South Thompson from the silty northern arm, we got to see baby geese following their parents in a line that was as cute as was orderly; we saw foxes and ducks and sunsets galore, we fed gracious swans in mid-winter when the river decorates the sandy shores in icy lace ad wondered at their beauty.

We go swimming every summer night, and we walk alongside the shores in fall and winter. I met my best friend by the river and each stroll we take stopping every now and then to pick rocks and listen to the lapping sounds, reinforces not only our friendship but also my bond with the mysterious ribbon of water that carries too many stories to tell, too obvious to not see…

One of the stories was revealed this summer during our trip through the Kootenays when we happened by a small but well-appointed museum in Invermere where the boys and us adults learned more of David Thompson, the man who the First Nations knew as ‘the Star-gazer’ due to his passion for navigation, the man after which our North Thompson River was named.

We saw his writing and our eyes followed the contours of his words as he was describing the very places we go by when we visit the river. We stepped back in time and were filled with reverence for the gift of learning more of him.

David Thompson is the man who single-handedly mapped almost 50,000 miles of unchartered territory in Western Canada, a tremendous effort that was acknowledged long after his death, which unfortunately saw him poor and blind. Muriel Poulton Dunford, author of ‘North River – The Story of BC’s North Thompson Valley and Yellowhead Highway 5’ tells it all and more.

A man of high moral values and solid principles, David Thompson more than deserves to have his name gracing the rivers that have been the lifeblood of many communities since long ago. One of our homeschooling goals is to learn the history of Canada, British Columbia in particular, and focus long enough on our Thompson-Nicola region. We live here, therefore we should.

I am hoping and wanting that the boys’ love for their country and its history, young as it is if we are to refer for now to the explorers and traders (but that would be tremendously unfair), will only be enhanced as we learn of all those whose steps preceded ours.

A recent perusal through the news of the day revealed a Vogue photo shoot that features our PM and his wife. Though charming and sweet as a couple, I believe the PM’s place may not be a suitable one in a fashion magazine.

I have much admiration for people who go through ups and downs during their marriage and openly show their love for each other nonetheless, yet I could not help but feel that having such glamour imparted to our PM Justin Trudeau and his wife rather steals people’s attention from where it should go, making them focus on something that has little relevance to our present day history.

As they say, noblesse oblige. In the days of coming together as a nation to face humanitarian crises and honour promises that will help the environment worldwide, we need the sense of reverence towards our leaders and people of influence, rather than the short-lived admiration of beautiful people featured in fashion magazines.

Some may argue that love is beautiful and that is true and more, but I’d say that what we need nowadays as we are engaging on a journey led by a new PM, is respect and unflinching trust that we are to be led in the direction of mature leadership.

We need to learn of our history, we need to teach our children of it too, all of it and accurately so, dark times included, so that we can become the democratic, critical but at the same time respectful soundboard for the activities that our leaders conduct on a daily basis. A feedback loop that all democracies need in order to exist as such. Such a job requires knowledge of the past, a vision of the future and a steady arm to take us through the occasional tough present.

Our history is imbued with examples of inspirational people. Whether we learn of rivers or battles won and lost, of daring explorers who left behind so much that nowadays we take for granted, we need to never forget. We need to be able to trust that our leaders will continue to inspire us as we walk the many paths Canada opens before our eyes.

 

It’s a Together Thing – A Kamloops Story

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On January 27, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

(Initially published as a column in the AM News on January 24, 2015)

I saw her talking to someone in a parked car as I was walking towards mine. Then she wobbled her way towards my car. I was already in when I noticed she was standing by the passenger’s window.  I rolled it down.

At first I could not understand what she was saying. She had no teeth and her words were coming out mangled. She must’ve been 65 or so, maybe older.

‘Can you drive me to the Crossroads please? I will give you ten dollars.’

I bought a few seconds of thinking with a somewhat troubled smile, but realized soon enough that I could not say no. I just couldn’t. And I did not want to take her money either.

I said I will. She smiled and climbed in. Slipping on ice made her movements rather awkward. She had an almost empty bottle in one hand and was clutching an old purse with the other. She smelled of booze; that answered the question about the empty bottle. She poured the rest out.

The side of the road was icy and the car slipped a few times. I felt the woman’s gaze on me as I was trying a few maneuvers.

‘We can do it, me and you. Try again. Put it in reverse.’ Her voice was encouraging and the words were coming out less fragmented.

We got unstuck and drove away.

‘You’re a good driver,’ she said full of admiration. Right. If only. I laughed and said thank you. I felt a bit uneasy as we all do when something unusual happens, but I knew this was more than driving someone a few blocks through the downtown.

I turned right and drove into the heart of the downtown. The sun made the ice glitter and it looked pretty. I thought of how many people in this very city will not see that or hate it altogether for that is what you do when it’s cold and all that means warmth has been peeled off of your existence.

‘My name is Joanne. What is yours?’

I said my name and she repeated it slowly.

‘Are you named after your mother?’

I said no, my parents just liked the name. For a couple of seconds my mind flew towards one of the many times I asked my mom why she named me Daniela. She would always smile, her own thoughts carrying her to the time when I was born. There was always another story of my early childhood tucked in with the answer. Slices of life that help us understand.

I asked Joanne where was she from. Nova Scotia, she said. ‘I have nine sisters, but I don’t talk to them on the phone.’ I thought of her as a little girl, playing with her sisters and dreaming of growing up and… The contrast with today’s wrinkled face smelling of booze was sad.

What is life? How does it turn its ugly face and ghoul eyes at some of us… Life becomes a beached whale, abandoned on a beach that holds too much garbage, it just does and we often have no answers. It stinks.

Life can flip from gracious to ungracious in a few moments, and the witnesses to the ungracious disappear like scared birds. Ungracious scares us.

Joanne asked if I know where Crossroads is. I do, I answered. It’s the building that used to be an inn and now it is managed by ASK Wellness who made it into a shelter for the homeless. Fragmented life putters around the building at any given time. It’s a place of hope and despair at once.

Joanne repeated my name one more time, quietly, as if to memorize it.

‘Are you mad at me?’ she asked out of the blue. No, I said. Why would I? I hoped no one would be. Then again, being human makes us prone to emotions of all kinds and a person on the edge of life wearing all the paraphernalia of failure often serves like a mirror we’re never ready to stare in.

‘I like your name, it’s beautiful,’ she said as we parked in front of the building. Someone was sleeping on the sidewalk, lost in an old bright green sleeping bag.

Joanne opened the door, stumbled out with the empty bottle in one hand and the purse in the other. She bowed with a big smile and said thank you, leaving me with my thoughts. Sad and bittersweet, grateful that I was given an opportunity to remember that life is not a high note but a repertoire of many, some so low they growl at you, others so high they hurt your thoughts.

Balance and grace. How do we? How do we mask the failure, how do we fall and how do we get up? It matters to have someone to love you, it matters to be truthful to yourself and know that you can do more than humanely possible; you need a hand to help you up sometimes, hugs to remind of warmth and you need to be loved.

What happened to Joanne? Her journey from Nova Scotia to here and to today, what happened along the way?

Compassion starts with looking into someone’s eyes without judgment. It’s the hardest thing. We all carry stories, we carry our own mountains and valleys we crossed since we can remember, we carry guilt and heartache and all the hope one can muster when hope is a flotilla of broken vessels, most submerged… Can you still do it?

Is there an end to hope? I guess hope is like a torch. Some people carry it with them for as long as they can, and then they attempt to pass it on. It’s up to those who are still standing and have strength to take it and carry it forward. To use it to light a fire that will help warm those who are cold, and cook food if they need it.

It’s a together thing. The hope, making the journeys smother for those who have it rough. No one can do it alone. When we can, as much as we can. Never turn your eyes away when another pair of eyes is trying to find yours. You are the lucky one. You are giving hope and are, in turn, given the gift of humbleness.

Like Joanne said… ‘We can do it. Me and you…’

Stories Of The Old

By

On October 8, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published as a column in the AM News on October 2, 2014. 

A place to beShe said ‘I have something for you to borrow’ and walked to the hallway closet. From the top shelf she got a book. Green and old, hardcover, with writing that spilled the secret: a Kamloops directory from the late ‘40s.

I am visiting with my nonagerian friend I met when we moved to Kamloops. One sunny day in September of 2012 I walked barefoot across the street to her home and introduced myself. We’ve been close since.

We recently said goodbye to our first Kamloops home and I said goodbye to walking across the street to my friend’s home. It’ll be weekly visits from now on, just as good and pleasantly anticipated. Every time I visit with her she tells stories of old Kamloops, and we have a good laugh about many of them. She’s a keeper of memories like no one else. And sadly, one of the few left.

The house we moved into is a 1905 house in a downtown area where old houses still stand, hence my friend’s suggestion that I borrow the book and look up former residents. Our house comes with a soul and it seems logical that we look into finding out who added to it over the years.

My elderly friend always talks of the old days and reinforces my belief that we need to mind them more than we do nowadays. Because history is very hard to keep track of, true history, she says. And knowing how a place and its people came to be, helps us understand how we should shape the future so that it honours us, those before us and those who are still to come.

Kamloops has plenty of history still, and much of it stands right in front of you in shape of old buildings. Some are truly decrepit but some are not. Sadly, many will never make it past this decade.

Just two days ago, a close friend told me of the house her grandfather built and she grew up in. It came down to make room for an apartment building. If you’re ready to picture an old derelict unsafe house that had no future, you’re risking a false, gross assumption.

The house displayed beautiful features of old craftsmanship, mahogany walls and the kind of solid design that could make it through another century. It didn’t, unfairly so.

My nonagerian friend tells me of a friend who moved into a house just down the street that was built by W Jas Moffat, a former mayor of Kamloops and skilled home builder. She read about that in the book she gave me to peruse.

I drove home with the book and a car full of herb planters, drift wood and rocks I had left behind yesterday when we moved. I sat on the front steps among boxes and other paraphernalia, glanced at the river winding its way through the ever-growing new Kamloops and the beautiful hills rolling as far as the eyes could see and then I read through the book. I was struck by an interesting feature: each person had their occupation listed also.

You might be thinking about privacy and such. Oddly enough, it doesn’t violate any privacy concerns of mine. I consider myself a private person and wary of prying eyes in general. But a directory where everyone was listed with their occupation, rather than just an address, revealed a level of transparency that pointed to accountability and citizenship rather than gratuitous exposure.

The book I was holding had been a Kamloops directory, and nowadays is a history book. Not bad of a transformation.

There are stories written on every page, next to each name, just like there are stories written in the dark chocolate wooden floors I step on in our new dwelling. They have been here since 1905 and I consider it a privilege to be able to offer my sons a slice of old Kamloops, since as every recently transplanted resident knows, being new comes with feeling rootless.

Well, it turns out that you can grow roots if willing. Through people who share stories, and through places that you can love and are willing to work hard to bring back to life.

If I am to instill in my sons respect for the values that made Canada what it is and help them grow into citizens who know how to honour it, and demand the same from their political leaders, I figure it’ll be from the ground up, literally. The reverence an old building can inspire is not one we should take for granted. It’s the portal to the days when openness was not considered lack of privacy but civic responsibility. We need more of that.

If you are willing to accept that as truth, then it’ll make sense that the lack of transparency we see nowadays, from a neighborhood or town level to the highest political tier, leads to lack of accountability, damaging in the long run and clearly capable to hurt the solidity of our community and country, and transform the values our anthem reminds us of.

A Taste Of Canada

By

On September 10, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories

Originally published as a column on September 5, 2014 in the Armchair Mayor News. 
SilentIt was Saturday morning and the sun was the brightest in a few days. We were planning an overnight hike to a nearby lake, the boys’ first if you don’t count a canoe camping trip we did a while ago.

Six of us, as we had two of our relatives from Europe, hiking enthusiasts who have never been into the Canadian back country. In a very subjective manner, we might’ve mentioned that British Columbia has the best of it. Subjective with a side of love if you will.

We loaded backpacks, fishing rods included, and somewhat delayed by an afternoon storm, started our trip later than planned. We took a forest trail that saw us chat two by two, drenched by sudden rain and amazed at the sight of tiny forest frogs, chipmunks and squirrels. Sudden wing flaps made room for guessing games about the birds we could not see, and so did crunching noises coming from farther away.

We kept our path and hit the lake two hours later. The adventure that followed included hiking through a swampy terrain and finding our way through thickets, thus helping the boys understand what bushwhacking really means. Rain continued, feet dunked occasionally as we stepped over slippery logs, mud abounded, but all six of us kept going.

The youngest of us got to ride on shoulders most of the way because small feet can only do so much in moose paradise. It really was. We found a moose bed and though we didn’t get to see a real one, we knew they were near. Wild and proud, Canada made us mucky travelers humbled to be there.

Our guests loved it, the boys did too (more so after we reached the cabin we were headed to) and we all had the unmistakable feeling of victory as we approached the cabin in what could be described as complete darkness.

CelebrationWe peeled off drenched clothing, the boys huddled in a sleeping bag together for warmth and us adults made a big fire and got dinner going. Restaurant dining and a walk through town would’ve never made our guests see what we truly wanted to show them. Canada at its finest: colours, textures, smells, simple beauty that if seen and felt for real, would make anyone not only proud but willing to work their hardest to keep it like that.

A bucket of stars spilled on the night sky, and we found the brightest ones on the lake surface as well. The chilled air of the early fall was drawing steam from summer-warm lake waters and because dinner was taking a while anyway, we went for a night swim. Try it at least once.

We toasted to great adventures, resilience and togetherness, and then we had a sleep guarded by far away loons and a harvest moon that fit perfectly above tall pines.

Soup for breakfast, pumpkin bread and coffee, complete with fishing and exploring the surroundings. Then we were ready to head back, hoping for a boat to take us across the lake so we can avoid swamp trekking.

Out of the blue, a boat came. We called on it, asked if crossing would be possible and the man graciously obliged. Two by two, we were deposited to the other side, leaving the swamps to the moose, because they do it better anyway.

We asked the man for his contact details so we can repay his kindness. Smiling he said ‘Not to worry, just pay it forward.’ We smiled back and promised we will. We do often; random acts of kindness are the best way to feel yourself human.

We trekked back. Rain and bright sun accompanied us and when we reached the car we knew the trip had become more than we ever hoped it would be. Our guests got to see what Canada is made of. Beautiful wilderness and kindness to start with; two valuable assets we should keep on guarding because they are part of the foundation we build our identity on. It definitely made us proud to say ‘Welcome to Canada!’

Summer In Kamloops. And Why You Cannot Play favourites

By

On July 27, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Motherhood

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, July 25, 2014

Summer. RiverIt was a bit of a rushed late afternoon so we had watermelon for dinner. Fate favoured the rushed that day; the watermelon was crisp and sweet and the memories of the few mushy watermelons were erased by the dripping sweetness of the one I guessed right.

Then we headed to Prince Charles Park for the dress rehearsal of the ‘Last of the dragons.’ A neighborly perk you could say, lucky. We did not know what to expect, but we love plays. As we were about to discover, our expectations would’ve been surpassed anyway.

Something that I’ve learned along the years is that tastes differ and my cup of tea may not be yours and the other way around. There is a high chance this play and the one we went to see the second night, ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ may just become our common denominator.

I won’t throw my arms in the air urging you to go see them because you might not be convinced. But here’s what the two plays did for me. They made me laugh, they were so dynamic that you could not take your eyes off the fast-moving actors, the décor and costumes were fault-free and if I had to summarize it in one concise statement, it would be something like this: they made me forget about everything else. They were that good.

Why is that remarkable you may ask? Because other than heading out of phone and internet reach with my family, it rarely happens.

Among devastating news of planes being shot down and other falling down without an apparent cause, pipelines wrongfully approved and wars sprouting like toxic mushrooms in some parts of the world, not to mention the plethora of environmental troubling news flooding my inbox every day, it’s hard to evade and stay there for a while.

Well, I did. The boys too. Their faces in late dusk said it all. I did my best to translate that to the two affable play directors that made it all happen.

The second representation was halted by rain for a few minutes but what better way to play skidding tag than on wet grass in almost darkness while waiting for the play to resume. And it did. We really had to see the ending, the boys said. That’s how you know something it’s worth it.

The next day at the farmer’s market downtown, we ran into one of the actresses and made her acquaintance.

Afterwards, walking with my arms full of raspberries and bright yellow zucchini, the two items our garden does not supply at the moment, I felt like I won the jackpot. Because once again I realized the joy of living in a place small enough to allow for bumping into people you know, but big enough to allow for remarkable things to happen.

To the rest of the world, summers in Kamloops are hot. It’s a desert, right? To me, they are beautiful.  Yes, it is hot, yes our little house becomes an oven on those hot days when the sun seems to fulfill some personal vendetta with the very land we step on, but the richness of all that is happening here is hard to ignore. Our own garden included.

We have good music in the park, we have a farmer’s market where smiles and produce are always fresh, we have plays in the park that make you forget about everything else, we have the kind of town that has a heart you could hear the beats of if you just stop and listen for a few moments.

I don’t have a favourite season you see. I thought fall we moved here two years ago. I had spoken too soon. Winter came and we were sold. Then spring, lilac and wildflowers made it even more difficult.

Then of course, this summer, our first in Kamloops, sealed the deal. There is no favourite. We are a lucky bunch. That’s to be grateful for. Whether it is nature gifting us with beauty, or people putting their hearts and talents out there to make us aware of joy even for a bit, well, that’s to be grateful for. Every season has it.

splashThe skies rained on our parade two days ago, literally, but some goodness came out of it. At the neighborhood gas station today one of the attendants told me a heartwarming story of locals helping out those whose vehicles got submerged at the 10th Street underpass. Shoes were lost, he said. Hearts were found, I concluded.

Lucky us. Say it isn’t so.

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