The House that Bert Built

Our Home, 1910-2010

Bert’s ghost haunts our home and reminds us of those things that really matter.

Last night Andrew, Tess and I, dog in tow, were out for an evening stroll when our neighbour waved us down.  I spoke with him several weeks ago regarding the origins of our home: it was built by his grandfather’s brother, Bert, probably over a hundred years ago.  He explained that photos of our neighbourhood had been passed down through the generations and among them was a picture of our home.  Last night he emerged with a copy of the photo for us and I was immediately transported back to a very different time.

I was immediately struck by the absence of our driveway and it occurred to me that paved driveways were irrelevant in a time without cars.  Imagine a place where streets are primarily for socializing.  Where you can cross at a leisurely pace.  Where children can play without fear of death or dismemberment.  How lovely it must have been to stroll down the sidewalk without the need to dodge the neighbours’ vehicles as they rushed onto the street.

Next I saw that there were no hydro wires dangling from our roof.  No dishwashers, washing machines or microwaves.  No flat screen televisions or iPads.  How liberating it must have been to lie down for sleep without the nagging suspicion that you forgot to charge your Blackberry.  To have a conversation with your children without MTV blaring in the background.

Our house was built before access to running water.  Before garbage collection.  Before the major highway a few kilometres away where transport trucks regularly commute from Buffalo to Toronto, perhaps carrying garlic grown in China or plastic toys from Taiwan.

The history of my home is a testament to the simple life, a lifestyle that is ardently guarded by the ghosts of days gone by.  Good luck putting in a swimming pool with all of those gorgeous maple trees in the way.   We let go of our second car partly because our driveway wasn’t designed for any vehicles, let alone multiples.  And certainly the ghosts are in the yard late at night tending to our vegetable garden… how else could it be possible for us to enjoy bountiful harvests each season with next to little knowledge of modern agriculture?

One hundred years after my house was constructed we are beginning to understand that we can learn much from the way that our predecessors built homes, neighbourhoods and entire communities.  These places were built to accommodate people.  From their safe streets to their community centric institutions, these places were premised on raising families, familiarity with neighbours, and a firm grasp of the line between necessity and luxury.  These communities respected themselves, each other and the resources on which the relied.

I am honoured to be a part of the legacy on Main Street.  And late last night, once the rest of the family was asleep, I made a promise to Bert and his contemporaries that I would heed what they had built.

 

Working Girl

Maternity leave is over and there you are back at your desk. You have spent many hours in this place, and yet now the environment seems surreal…

Your baby stares back at you from the picture frame to the right of your monitor.  That face is so darling it brings tears to your eyes.  Your heart aches as you think about the time you used to have together.  But you know that you are giving her wings as she is out in the world making new friends and discovering herself.  So you take a deep breath and swallow the lump in your throat.

Your diplomas hang on the wall above you.  A reminder of that fresh-faced, power-hungry twenty-something who still lives somewhere deep inside you.  Many moons ago you were up all night writing essays and drinking coffee by the pot cramming for finals.  Then after graduation you overcame even greater obstacles: making an impression, dealing with unconstructive criticism, living in airports, taking on responsibilities far above your pay scale.  You’ve worked hard to get here.

Your phone is silent.  A year is a long time to be away from an office environment and the players have changed.  No one is running to you desperate for a fix to their last-minute emergency because they’ve forgotten how thrilled you are to be a part of the solution.  No one is calling you for the inside scoop because you just don’t have it anymore.  The world doesn’t stand still, but you’re back in it now and in time you will once again be an indispensable member of the team.

Your paycheck waits in your inbox.  How novel it seems to bring in an income.  You are sharing the load in your relationship and providing yourself and your baby with security in case the unthinkable happens.  You will be able to empower her with education and see her down the aisle.  You will retire in time to be there when she becomes a mother.

Your coffee steams and lets off a delicious aroma.  For the first time in a year you will enjoy the entire cup before it gets cold.  This is your time to remind yourself that, though your life will never be the same as it was, you are still your own person.  And this sense of self makes you a better mother.

So turn on our computer, make a few calls and sift through your inbox.  But when the work day is over, hold your baby, kiss your husband and congratulate yourself for keeping it together.

 

Where We Live

Do you love your home?  I mean, really LOVE it?

I do.

We live in Port Dalhousie, Ontario, Canada and in my world there are few better places.  This morning I awoke in our charming nearly hundred year old home and looked out the window to see the morning rowers doing their drills in the pond across the street.  I prepared Tess for her day and hopped on my bike for a leisurely 20 minute cruise to work, past the lighthouse and up beautiful tree-lined streets.

We walk the beach every day.  In the summertime, a lovingly restored carousel welcomes children of all ages for only a nickel per ride.  Depending on the season or time of day, there are sun worshipers, dog walkers, kite boarders or sandcastle architects toiling away at their craft.  We pick up some ice cream or, if grandparents are babysitting, we hit a patio for a couple of beers.  We stroll down the pier and it feels like we’re approaching the end of the earth.

Last night I took the dog out before bedtime.  I carefully examined each home we passed and took in the quaint characteristics, as no two homes on our block look the same.  I rested on a bench near the water and observed a breathtaking sunset reflecting off the lake.

At the end of May the best farm stand opens down the street and we learn about new produce, growing techniques and indulge in freshly baked cinnamon buns.  Further down the road our vintner neighbours harvest the grapes for the pinot grigio will one day enjoy with dinner.

This past week-end we took up sailing and cast off from the marina down the street.  From our 24′ vessel we conquered the harbour and I came to realize that from our home we can set sail to virtually anywhere in the world.  Now we scope the docks in search of for sale signs and plan our eventual voyage.

We don’t live in our car.  We can afford our house.  We grow our own vegetables.  And each day I chart the progress of the Japanese white pine we planted in our front yard last year to commemorate Tess’ birth.

Does this sound like paradise?  Or maybe you’ve found your own little piece of heaven.  Where you live might be the most important decision you ever make… if this post leaves you with a sense of longing then maybe it’s time to rethink the place you call home.

 

Our Town Faro

Faro, Yukon used to be a bustling northern community until the local mine shut its doors for good. I visited the town a few years ago to find a town devastated by decline.  But despite the boarded up businesses and abandoned houses there was still a palpable community spirit among those that remained who were filled with hope for the future of Faro. The teenagers learned trades, the officials promoted the quality of life and families refused to leave.

In these uncertain times, sadly Faro is not alone when it comes to community sustainability.  In Quesnel, BC, businesses struggle to survive after mountain pine beetles decimated the local forestry industry.  In Tuktoyaktuk, NWT, and Dawson City, YK, schools and municipal buildings are slowly sinking into the ocean as the permafrost melts.  In Okotoks, AB planners try to supply local residents in an area of mounting water shortages.  And across North America, we see examples of decaying public infrastructure when bridges collapse, sink holes appear and boil water advisories are issued.

Tomorrow I’ll be discussing the Faro example, among others, with a group of colleagues as we discuss the long-term sustainability of our own community.  Each place has its own characteristics that will either usher it into a happy future or stand in the way of long-term progress.  Like other communities alarmed by mounting challenges this century, we will be examining our own attributes and obstacles.   In doing so I hope we will avoid a similar fate to the one that has befallen the good people of Faro.

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A letter to Andrea

My last official day of maternity leave

Today is my last official day of maternity leave.

This week has been a week of reflection and, ultimately, judgment.  What should I have done differently?  Do I have any regrets?  Am I meant to be a stay-at-home-mom after all?  Is my baby ready to enter the big, bad world?  Am I?

I can’t believe how much has transpired in a single year.  This time last year I was bed-ridden after a tumultuous c-section, still reeling from too much medication, sleep deprived, overwhelmed and scared.  Meanwhile, I had a fragile newborn who depended on me for her very existence.  I wasn’t prepared for a slow recovery and sleepless nights.  My whole world had changed and I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through.

There were times when Tess would repeatedly wake in the middle of the night and I would break down beside her crib in a fit of desperation.  I wasn’t prepared for the demands of an infant.  Without me she couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t move.  Though making her laugh was wondrous, her cries were heart wrenching.  People told me to enjoy this time, but I was too overwhelmed and frantic to take them seriously.

There were times when I wanted to go back to work.  I’d sneak into the office to feel out the environment and subtly imply a premature return.  I’d visit as many colleagues as possible, consoled by repeated assertions that I was missed in my workplace.  Then I’d wait for my husband to come home from work and suggest a role reversal with a series of “what ifs…”

But then there were times when I felt like I was flying.  Our first swim together.  Our first bike ride together.  Tess’ first trip to the cottage.  Her first spoonful of food.  Her baptism.  Her first birthday.  Watching her with my husband and realizing she has the best father in the world.

With each passing day, motherhood became just a little bit easier.  I would understand one more of her little cues, and she one of mine.  We have both become more in tune to each other’s needs, more tolerant of compromise.  And if I ever doubt my decisions or my actions over the past year I look at Tess for affirmation.  She is an inquisitive, active, beautiful and content little girl.  She is perfect.  If I did anything wrong, it sure doesn’t show.

Yesterday I held Tess in my arms and cried.  Somehow she knew this was the end of an era as she held on tight and cried along with me.  I asked for a sign: some indication that we were ready to enter this next phase in our lives.  Then, an hour later, she walked her first steps.

We made it through the year together.  And though I am overwhelmed by a sense of conclusion I take solace in the knowledge that this is just the prelude to greater things.

Andrea, as you await the arrival of your little girl this week all at once I am elated for you, nervous for you, jealous of you.  May your maternity leave be every bit as satisfying.

 

Woman vs. Herself

On some days

To try would be crazy

The waves are like mountains

And the distance an avenue to certain death

–

But some days

I think I can make it

The shore is glass, my heart is strong

And I slice through the water with graceful ease

–

Then I’d arrive

To a hero’s welcome

The crowd chants my name

And power and riches are mine

–

But when the press leaves

And the fanfare subsides

I’d kick up my feet, crack open a beer

And long for what I left behind

 

Debutante

The two of us and so many more

Awaited your arrival like nothing before

And we will always mark that unforgettable day

When you came into our lives on the first of May

–

A year has passed and so much has transpired

Your first smile and wave, your bassinet retired

Our sweet little angel, through and through

Today, baby girl, a toast to you.

 

Where will you be when the lights go out?

Our house during Earth Hour, March 2010

I will always remember the day the lights went out.

I was sitting at my desk and everything shut down.  I met my husband at home to find our apartment powerless as well.  Our stove unusable, we decided to venture down to the market for something to eat.  Store after store was locked up due to power outages.  We continued walking aimlessly until we asked an RCMP officer where we might find an open restaurant.  He told us that the entire province and eastern seaboard was experiencing a major black out that could last for days.

Most of us viewed the 2003 blackout as a fluke incident and a novelty.  My husband and I eventually found a cozy place that had opened without power and we dined by candlelight and swiped our credit cards the old-fashioned way.  Save for the uncomfortable heat and spoiled food in our fridge, we were in the clear.

But what if it happened again?  What if we were without power for weeks, or months?  What if the power outage was accompanied by some sort of catastrophic storm, terrorist attack or civil unrest?  It is a plausible and, many argue, a likely scenario.  Our society’s rampant consumption habits paired with our dependence on inefficient, non-renewable sources of energy have left us vulnerable.

Now that I am a mother, the possibility of such an event terrifies me.  While my husband and I might get by in a disaster, would we be able to fulfill the basic needs of an infant?  Do we have enough formula on hand?  Would our home keep us comfortable in a heat wave or ice storm?  In the wake of major campaigns, such as Earth Hour, Earth Day, and Emergency Preparedness Week, my awareness has turned to fanaticism.

According to Public Safety Canada, households should maintain adequate supplies to sustain themselves for at least 72 hours following an emergency.  It is our responsibility to understand the risks in our regions, prepare plans with our families and build a kit that includes basic survival items such as water, non-perishable food, emergency contacts, medications and infant formula.  Additional items, such as toilet paper, matches, fuel and a change of clothes would also prove useful in an emergency.  During Emergency Preparedness Week, the Government of Canada blasts communiques that urge each family to ensure they have a their kit ready to go should some sort of unthinkable disaster arise.

Surely an emergency kit is a wise investment in our family’s security and Canadians, particularly those of us with children or elders in our care, should aim to ensure a few basic items are on hand.  But, if we want to get fanatical, we can go even further.  I obsess over ways to protect food storage, heating, cooling and potable water.  I look to our backyard vegetable garden as a means of food security and try to plan harvests in a way that will maximize the growing season.  I find myself pondering how our household might become less dependent on scarce and polluting energy sources and research the feasibility of solar, geothermal or wind generation on our property.  I’m convinced these kinds of household investments will go even further in ensuring my family is secure.

Then again, isn’t it the role of government to ensure basic needs of their citizens are protected?  It follows, then, that our tax dollars should be invested in renewable energy sources, food security and infrastructure protection.  Yet my national government continues to support oil sands projects in ways that diminish transparency and axed an eco retrofit program that made major headway into energy retrofitting because it was too successful.  Until such a time comes when my federal government agrees to tackle root causes in their emergency management planning, I will continue to feel as secure as those in the Ninth Ward.

According to industry experts, such as Tim Flannery, Bill McKibben and Fred Krupp, our window of opportunity to slow the effects of human activity on the planet are rapidly diminishing.  If we reduce consumption immediately, emissions may scale back to a point where catastrophic events are less likely.  Unfortunately, in my observation many of us continue to play the waiting game: we complain that our leaders are not taking substantive steps while our leaders seek affirmation from us that bold moves on the climate change agenda will assure their posts are secure during the next election.  Unless this cycle comes to an abrupt end, we had better be sure we have more than flashlights in our emergency kits.

A serious paradigm shift is required before the lights go out for good.

Happy Earth Day.

 

Adventures in the Real World

Last week the dreaded but inevitable milestone came to be when I dropped Tess off at daycare for the first time. I told myself it wouldn’t be as terrible as I anticipated, but when I handed Tess over and her lower lip started quivering and tears welled up in her eyes I was terrified to turn and leave.  I made my way down the front steps and turned back to see the confused and frightened look in her beautiful eyes.  It was an image I knew I would never forget and I immediately started sobbing as I walked away.

I did everything I could to make the experience easier on us.  I selected a great daycare hosted by a loving family in a fantastic neighbourhood not far from work and home.  I took her there for visits to acclimatize to the new environment.  I spelled out the standard “helicopter mom” list of emergency contacts, schedules, and instructions that I’m sure would have any care provider questioning their decision to take me on as a client.  I’ve done everything by the book…. so why is it that I’ve had to take frequent breaks from my keyboard as I write this post because recalling the experience sends tears streaming down my cheeks?

In the instant I handed Tess to our daycare provider, I immediately understood why women decide to leave their office to stay home with their children.  I admire and respect their courage and dedication to their families.  But, as much as I want to spend every minute with Tess for the rest of my days, I know that a stay-at-home-mom is not who I am.  As maternity leave comes to an end, I find myself searching for every tidbit of information to give me insights into what is happening at work.  I’m absolutely certain that the place is falling to pieces without me there to provide recommendations for the past twelve months.  And I secretly relish this thought, ready to return rejuvenated with the fresh perspectives I attained during my leave…. if only I could overcome the misery of spending my days without Tess.

My afternoon away from Tess was excruciating.  I sobbed to my dental hygienist, cell phone clutched to my close to my chest, and babbled as my teeth were scraped and polished.  I resisted the urge to rush back after only an hour and opted to go for a swim, hoping that plunging into the cold water would rinse away the lump in my throat and the pit in my stomach.  When that didn’t work I stood in a steaming hot shower and cried unabashedly hoping, but not really caring, that the sound of the running water would render my sobs inaudible to others in the change room.

When I finally returned to daycare, our reunion was uneasy.  She was overtired and adjusting to a new experience and I was completely overcome with guilt.  Thankfully, I was invited to stay for a visit and observe her new environment.

What she had learned in a single afternoon amazed me.  She saw that little people her size can walk, all by themselves, without the aid of furniture or mommy.  She saw the consequences of her actions, such as denying another child the pleasure of a special toy or overexcitedly grabbing hands or locks of hair.  She was exposed to new routines, new menus and new friends.  These were experiences and life lessons that I was not capable of providing her at home.

Later that evening Tess looked directly into my eyes and recalled an animated, if incoherent, account of the day’s events.  It occurred to me that our bond could grow stronger by spending time apart.  All this time I have been rationalizing my need for a life of my own and never stopped to think that Tess might also like a life outside the home.

Yesterday I dropped Tess of at daycare for the second time.  This time I arrived early to help her get settled before I had to leave and thankfully my departure was tearless.  I kissed her good-bye, took a deep breath and walked out the door.  I told myself this was the best thing for both of us and allowed myself to enjoy an afternoon on my own.  When I returned I heard the unmistakable sound of Tess’ laugh coming form the backyard.  I peered in and was delighted to see her interacting with the other children and having a wonderful time.  When she saw me she smiled and reached out for a hug.  It was wonderful.

Tess made three new friends yesterday.  She ate a rice cake at snack time.  She won an award for being a friend to the environment.  Even at 11 months, she is her own person with her own goals and agendas.  And once she finished telling me about her day I promised her that I would try my best to never, ever hold her back.

 

Innocence Lost on Main Street

The view from our driveway last night

6:40 pm

Last night we emerged for our post-dinner stroll to find police crews roping off our street.  A block away, a female driver had wrapped her car around a hydro pole.  As we walked in the opposite direction, we saw that her car have been swerving down the street for over a kilometer, riding up on the boulevard and sidewalk and hitting trees, street signs and parked cars along the way.

Though officials have yet to confirm that alcohol was a factor in the crash, based on the evidence on our street and eyewitness accounts I will assume the driver’s blood level far exceeded legal limits.  Neighbours said they saw the women at the local bar down the street, enjoying the warm weather with drinks on the patio all afternoon.  According to onlookers, by 4:00 pm she was visibly inebriated.

Miraculously no one was hurt but the driver, who was airlifted to hospital with life threatening injuries.  Neighbourhood gossip has it that a couple of dog walkers and local boys on bikes narrowly escaped the path of destruction.

I embraced Tess and kissed her forehead.  Just an hour earlier we had been cycling down the street, with Tess in her child seat, happily enjoying the sunshine.  What if this driver had decided to leave the bar an hour earlier?  What if we had stayed at our play date an hour later?  Despite our regular caution, including helmets, signals and strict adherence to all rules of the road, nothing could have protected us from a drunk driver.  The thought made me sick to my stomach.

I thought about our street at dinnertime on a lovely spring evening, the sidewalks filled with families, pets, and seniors out for a stroll.  Cyclists out for their evening rides.  Children in strollers out for one last happy walk before bedtime.  It’s a beautiful scene, and a big part of why I love our neighbourhood.  But, in an instant, the crash had robbed us of our carefree evening and had us pondering “what if….”

I sifted our local paper this morning for news on the crash and found a single cold, fact-filled paragraph.  Though I knew this was standard reporting for such an incident, for some reason I felt cheated.  What about our tightly knit lakeside community?  What about the destruction to the places where our kids learn to ride their bikes?  Where families gather before church?  Where neighbours come together?  Even if for an evening, the innocence of our street had been taken from us.

The next day I find myself wondering how we can take back our street.  Yes, we could insist on regular police checks by the bar district.  We could pour money into anti drunk-driving campaigns.  I’m sure these measures would make some difference.  But my fear extends beyond drunk driving to those driving down my street on their cell phones.  I even fear myself, fiddling with the radio or trying to retrieve the baby’s pacifier while behind the wheel.  We continually fail to recognize that our vehicles are potentially fatal machines and a single distraction is an avenue for the unthinkable.  Needless to say, my contempt for cars has become entrenched.

The solution?  Drive less. Walk your kids to school.  Ride your bike to work.  And for heaven’s sake: if you’ve been drinking, do not get behind the wheel.  We are less of a menace to our neighbourhoods when our modes of transportation are powered by us and us alone.

I sincerely hope the driver recovers from her injuries and uses this experience in a way that positively contributes to the community.  My heart goes out to her family and friends during this difficult time.