Yet ANOTHER birthday.

“Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m 64?”
Yet ANOTHER birthday.

“Doing the garden, digging the weeds
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m 64?”
“Larger than life” is the phrase that comes to mind when I think of my friend Alex. Big man, big voice, big smile, big laugh, a big touch of the outrageous. I’ve known him and Teresa for 34 years now, as we’ve lived out our lives around the world.
Recently I received a short email message:
Alex passed away suddenly at home after returning from Mongolia.
And with that, everything changes.
After hearing the news, shocked and shattered, I took myself to the forest to try to find some peace. At first I couldn’t even see the woods as the chattering mind took over completely. Why? how? what? – speculation – questions – imaginary answers – noisy in-between-the-ears. Then after walking awhile, I realized something and spoke to him directly. “So, Alex, now you know,” I said, out loud, and with that, the monkey mind chatter faded, and I was once again able to see my surroundings.
A sudden, screeching turned my attention to the bushes to my left along the path. I moved closer to see what it was. A large Stellar Jay, with beautiful shimmering deep dark blue feathers, creating a huge ruckus in the dappled shade. I stuck around to watch it. A squawking, screaming, preening beauty of a bird – the first time I’d seen it this season. “Alex?” I whispered. Larger than life.
As the days pass and flashes of memory rise to the surface I find I’m always smiling. I remember things. A boisterous evening in Amsterdam, where on an evening cruise on the canals Alex got in a spirited discussion with the boat staff about the true meaning of ‘unlimited’ complementary wine. His unique fashion sense at the cottage, as he headed down the path to the beach, towel draped over his shoulder, wearing nothing but a Speedo with cowboy boots and hat. The seemingly outrageous stories that you’re never 100% sure whether he is actually serious or pulling your leg big time. Could be both.
About a month before he died, he called one Saturday afternoon from Mongolia, where he was working on what was to be a year-long contract. I hadn’t spoken to him for a number of years but, as with all good, long-time friends, the years melted away at the sound of that so familiar voice. As usual, there was much joking and laughter and we talked about them coming to visit once his contract was over and he was back in Canada. It seemed we had all the time in the world.
Understanding – believing – that he is gone is, I’m finding, a slow process of absorbing this and incorporating it into my new reality. A reality that is now intertwined with thought and feeling, spirit and above all else, memory. What is real? Certainly the sound of Alex’s voice echoing in my head today is as real as anything else. I can’t help thinking, and rightly, that this marks a beginning of something. At the age I have lasted to (Alex was a few years younger), inevitably more loss is to come. Already I’ve been thinking about how I am accepting the idea that some people in my life I may not see again, but who nonetheless live strongly in memory. As the love endures, the spirit, the echo of voices, the smiles and laughter, remain a strong part of my entire being. Never to be forgotten.

Alex Jurshevski with Teresa


It’s been summer and I’ve been on vacation from my vacation life.
No painting, no writing, little photography, no special projects, little time on-line, not much time in The Bunkie at all. Instead I moved locations and spent my time outside in The Bunkie Patio, reading books, playing Sudoku, watching hummingbirds and petting Dennis the Cat who would settle himself on my lap for a morning/mid-day/afternoon/anytime nap. Beside the Pergola, stretched out on the garden lounge chair, I named this activity “Pergin’, singing to the tune of Bob Marley’s “Jammin’”.
Every half hour or so I would see something in the garden that needed attention and would get up to water or deadhead or whatever – one thing leads to another and it might be awhile before I could find my way back to my chair. It was not all peace and bliss however and every so often escape became necessary.
The new construction behind us continues apace, as the framers are at work now, hammering and sawing and drilling with the pfsssst of the compressor going off every few minutes. During those first days of starting construction of the house the carpenters started up at 7:30 in the morning, shattering the peace and quiet. I thought of Number One Son, Steve, the carpenter, who no doubt was doing the same thing at his own build down in Sooke. That made it easy – all that was needed was an attitude adjustment. All I had to do was think of these construction workers as a bunch of little Steve’s, working hard to buy dog food for a bunch of little Rosie’s. Problem solved, pound away.

Steve’s Rosie
As it turned out, the build in the lot behind us was not our only problem this summer. There’s another new build on the next street over, and that noise comes in from that direction, and across the street Neighbour Dave is doing a major house renovation, most of which takes place in the evenings and weekends, so when the guys behind us knock off for the day, it starts up across the street. Likewise Neighbour Wayne decided to build the biggest garage ever, within eye and ear shot, and he too is doing it after work hours, on weekends and well into the evening hours. Across the street in another direction another neighbour decided to have a new fence built. Then the chainsaws started as our next neighbour decided to cut down the tree that served as a privacy screen between our two properties. The summer of noise.
Sometimes I would wear big noise-cancelling head phones, working my way on shuffle through 4573 songs in my iTunes Library. Often we would flee for the day, exploring new places not too far away and expanding the perimeter.
Kayaking to the White Whale
Over the years anytime I have made any kind of wish list, I’ve always had “do more kayaking” on it. But there’s a big difference between wishing and executing and I really don’t know why I haven’t made the effort all that often. That may be about to change.
One summer weekend we drove up to Courtenay (a 45 minute drive up the coast) where we rented a kayak to make our way up the estuary to the river.
We launched our double kayak and started pedaling up the estuary toward our destination. That is not a typo. This kayak, a Hobie, has pedals, we didn’t use the paddles strapped alongside at all. It was a blast. It reminded me of the pedal boat at the cottage years ago I was so fond of and unlike my experience on a later rental on Quadra Island on another occasion using a regular kayak, no sore shoulder or blisters on the base of the thumb. This particular kind of kayak can even come with an optional electric motor! (We didn’t have one on our rental). Seems bizarre to me but I get it. Keeping the boomers active and out on the water.

The estuary was magnificent – that just-above-the-water-level view was the perfect vantage point to watch the resting geese and other shore birds. We passed by dozens of seals and watched a group of 4 sharing a large salmon, tearing off chunks of the deep pink (uh salmon-coloured) flesh. Eagles perched above us in tall trees along the river and I spotted a brown feathered juvenile, under two years old, who had not yet grown into his distinctive white-head coloration.

Our destination – our favourite lunch spot, the White Whale pub. Many times I’ve sat on their terrace overlooking the river and watched people paddling up to the dock and many times I’ve wished that was me.

Tribal Journeys 2017
Speaking of paddling…

On another day trip we headed up to Campbell River to be part of the welcoming at the conclusion of this year’s Tribal Journeys epic canoe voyage.
Since 1993 First Nations tribes from all over the coast participate in the annual event making their way along the coast to the destination of whichever tribe is hosting the potlatch for that year. This time the hosts were the We Wai Kai and We Wai Kum of Quadra Island and Campbell River. Depending where they are coming from, some canoes are on the water for as many as 5 weeks, stopping along the way for rest and recovery at different tribal territories along the coast. It is a time of reconnection between peoples and honouring the past and present of these seafaring nations.
This year over 85 canoes from over 50 tribes completed the journey, landing that afternoon under the hazy, smokey skies that had descending on us that week from the inland fires. As they made the ceremonial crossing across the waters between Campbell River and Quadra Island they were greeted by a humpback whale. It was exciting to watch the canoe families paddle past us; the crowd had great energy as we all celebrated the event, both as bystanders and participants. People-watching in the crowd was as much fun as watching those sleek, beautifully painted canoes.






This year we celebrate the 150th anniversary of this country. First Nations also have something to celebrate. Surviving those 150 years. Despite best efforts.