Not my pigeon

We have an extraordinary, trajicomic situation on our hands tonight involving three Iraqi-Canadian gentlemen and three birds. 

A lost pigeon adopted us mid-April when it found birdseed in our garden. I have been feeding it ever since, and it has not left, making itself at home, often reminding me to serve it food and water, but not letting anyone come close enough to catch it. The other day in hot weather it distinctly asked me for a bath and, when I provided this, it sat in it with great pleasure for five minutes before fluffing up its feathers to preen and getting out again, wildly flapping its wings to get rid of the wetness, rather like a dog shaking itself after a swim in the river.

It was months before I could lure the pigeon close enough (it had started eating sunflower seeds from my hand before backing off) to decipher the ID tag on its leg, which turned out to be a phone number and the name Samir Ma[+ three more letters]. After a few guesses and some online detective work by Chris, we got through to the person whose name and number this was; he does keep pigeons and lives seven hours drive away, too far a distance for such a bird to have travelled unaided; we then discovered that it had been sold for $50 along with a large number of other fancy pigeons to a man who lives in Barrhaven on the edge of Ottawa. 

Because none of the men in this story (except for Chris) speaks English as his first language, communications have been another challenge. 

I asked Samir for the phone number of the Barrhaven gentleman and called him this morning, woke him from a deep sleep, I fear; he was fairly incoherent and apologised later. He eventually sent me a text message asking for a photo of our resident bird. When I sent it he replied with the classic (British English) phrase: ''That is not my pigeon!'' And in any case he did not want any more pigeons because a doctor had advised his wife to avoid them.

Reporting back to Samir, I expected to hear no more, but this evening a third gentleman, who lives in a more accessible part of Ottawa, contacted me to say he was coming over straight away to catch our bird for his friend. He arrived with net and cage after a difficult drive in the rush hour, twice calling us to ask the way to our house, but failed to do any catching. As I'd predicted, our pigeon approached the seeds we put out for it but as soon as it detected a twitch of the net it flew up onto the roof, of course. And so on, multiple times. This creature is not stupid and appreciates his freedom (after four months we finally have confirmation that he's male). 

The third pigeon fancier then proposed he should drive back home to fetch two tame pigeons that he promised would lure ours down to join them. Our feathered friend did notice his would-be companions, the ''Indian'' one fluffling out her tail most seductively, but he would not play at this game. 

After a long wait in the dark, in the drizzle, with a cup of strong coffee I had made for him, the poor bird-catcher has now left me with the net and cage, taking his two other birds home. They hopped onto his arm as good as gold and he held them both in one hand as he left. Apparently they will sit still in the car, no problem. Our male pigeon is back on our bedroom window ledge completely out of reach, sheltering from the rain and settling in for the night.

Now what? We have to set off on a week's trip away in a couple of days, leaving any birds and other animals there may be on our property (a mouse has just scavenged for the remaining seeds on the patio) to their own devices, and the pigeon may not survive our absence.

To be continued.

From tumbling water to still water

On Saturday, following a complicated route to avoid Highway 17 for the sake of a change of scene, we overshot the entrance to the Eau Claire Gorge conservation area near Mattawa. We'd been driving up and downhill along unsurfaced or heavily sanded country roads through farmland following Google directions. Turned the car around to try again from the other direction and found it near a small church. Strictly speaking, the conservation area was closed for this early spring season but the entrance gates weren't shut, so we went in anyway, manoeuvring the car carefully around the fallen trees that lay half across the road. Another car was in the parking lot at the start of the trail and its owners were having a snack at the picnic table there.

"The water's really moving today," the man warned us. "Take care!" As we set off into the forest to follow the White Trail the woman hurried after us to warn us where the dangerous sections lay. Keep away from the edge of the cliff, was the gist, in case we were to slip on the pine needles. She also advised us to watch our step over the roots and rocks on the trail, rightly so, as that uneven surface continued for two kilometres. The walk began with an obstacle to climb over or under or pick our way around, a freshly fallen tree. Much of the ground off the trail was soft and muddy from recently melted snow. A beautiful forest though. We could hear the river ahead, at the top of the gorge.

The water made waves as it came rushing by. Falling into the river, we wouldn't have stood a chance of survival. We followed its bank and the path rose onto the rocky sides of the gorge. A big yellow sign said DANGER and the steps for the descent were sealed off. Once we worked out where the alternative path led, we could step down the slope to the right. A sturdy stick I'd found steadied me; I move along very slowly on this kind of hike so Chris has to keep stopping to wait for me to catch up. 

At the bottom end of the gorge the river spread itself out into rapids that gave the illusion of being higher than we were, and on the shady side was an accumulation of remaining snow, most of which had compacted itself into a veritable icefield, across which cedars had fallen. We picked our way over this to the far side then started climbing a fairly steep slope back into the woods to walk under tall maples, cedars, hemlocks, spruce, birch and pines. The smell of the sap and the pine needles was lovely.

We passed a hut with moss growing on its roof, the reconstruction of a loggers' cabin. You can go inside when the summer hiking season officially starts.

The rest of the day brought us views of calmer water, as we skirted a series of blue lakes on the drive back to Mattawa. In the evening, we observed from various park benches how the surface of the two rivers seemed to capture and retain the light that was slowly vanishing from the sky, having left the golden mountainsides in deep purple shadow.

This morning (Sunday) we left Mattawa to return to our aeroplane parked at North Bay, so as to fly home; before we reached the airport I insisted that we stop a moment on the shore Lake Nipissing, where there wasn't any wind, so that the water was utterly smooth, and here I saw my second loon of the weekend, diving. It isn't visible in this photo:

At Mattawa

In the Ojibwa language Mattawa means “Meeting of the Waters” --- specifically these are the waters of the Mattawa River and the Ottawa (aka Kitchissippi) River.

For the first time in ages (two years plus?) today we  travelled to somewhere we hadn't seen before. Admittedly our flight to North Bay was familiar enough, over the Pembroke area and the Algonquin Park, with a crosswind landing at the destination competently done by Chris. But then the FBO man handed us the key to the FBO's Volvo (promising us a cheaper rate than the airport car rental companies), and we drove it east along the 17 to Mattawa where we are spending two nights on a whim. It is peaceful here, just what we need, and we're taking advantage of perfect spring weather.

We can imagine the 17th century explorers and 18th / 19th century voyageurs camping on this point, lighting a fire and watching the sun set with their Algonquin companions who had known the way here for millenia. Etienne Brulé and Radisson were the French pioneers who came here.

We aren't sleeping out of doors but at Le Voyageur Inn that has a very friendly low-key atmosphere, clean, tidy and well run by a family from Asia who serve Thai food in their large restaurant, clearly a favourite place for the locals to dine. Everyone seems to know one another here. In its heyday at the start of the 20th century Le Voyageur must have been the place to meet, as it's one of the largest buildings in town, with a big balcony and dormer windows.

I can also imagine our late Ottawa-Vanier MP Mauril Bélanger growing up here as a boy ("our" MP because we used to vote for him). A river bridge across the Mattawa proudly bears his name. The town must have a sizeable French-Catholic population to judge by the large, strikingly modern church with two schools for the children of the parish adjoining it, plus a Garderie for the little ones called Rayons de Soleil.

A railway crosses the Ottawa River here, just beyond our hotel room windows in fact, and this afternoon we heard and saw a goods train rattling by.

There's one more thing worth mentioning before I fall asleep and that is the giant Joe Muffraw (only the francophone raftsmen could pronounce his real name properly: Joe Montferrand) carved out of a large piece of lumber, who stands by the waterfront park, a man of legendary strength and ferocity, especially in the 1820s when he frequented these parts of Canada. There's a story of him canoeing from Mattawa to Ottawa in one day, surely an exaggeration? and of him knocking 100 men down at once who had been waiting to ambush him on the Portage Bridge in Ottawa. That story reminds me of Cryrano de Bergerac:

Cent hommes! Quel courage!

Still cold

It's March now, and the windchill is still in the minus-20s, although the ice-clearing operations on the Rideau River allow us to see clear water from the park by our street. Chris' operation hasn't yet taken place despite the fact he is on the Emergency List. Yesterday he waited for the pre-op consultation in a room full of people wearing casts and slings on their limbs. It is that time of year.

Today I have three meetings to attend: the German conversation that I'm hosting, a preparatory meeting with the next guest speaker on our Environment Action program, and a meeting with University Women Helping Afghan Women at which we are meeting Marie-France Lalonde, the Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister of Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada.

Fast forward

Hard to believe it is still February, so much has happened. Since the dramatic end to the truckers' protest there has been no lull in the drama of one thing following another, all very troubling except for a relaxing little trip for the two of us with a night in Kingston, to be described in a separate post. On the drive home from Kingston, tuning into CBC radio, we heard the Federal Government's response to the invasion of Ukraine by Putin's military forces, the deputy PM Chrystia Freeland giving an impressive, slowly enunciated speech in three languages, English, French and Ukranian. Though born in Alberta, her mother came from Ukraine, it seems, and Freeland herself, Minister of Everything, as the Globe and Mail very recently described her, has a Master's degree in Slavonic studies from Oxford University. Her page on the government website also says this about her:

After launching her career in journalism as a Ukraine-based freelance correspondent for the Financial Times, The Washington Post, and The Economist, Ms. Freeland went on to various roles at the Financial Times of London. She then served as deputy editor of the Toronto-based Globe and Mail between 1999 and 2001, before returning to the Financial Times as deputy editor and then as United States managing editor.

The news from Ukraine, reminiscent of the news from Afghanistan, is so upsetting I'm having a hard time forcing myself to follow it. I feel for our pacifist daughter Emma who speaks Russian and once lived for three months on the outskirts of Moscow; she has fairly close friends / colleagues both in Russia and in Ukraine. And I know someone from Kiev, that we must now call Kyiv.

Ice has coated the whole of eastern Ontario to the extent that, if you're a skater, as some are, you can skate the length of the runway at Rockcliffe airport, as well as the taxiways.

Then on Friday Chris broke his arm and wrist while clearing snow off the steps by our front door. There was thick, uneven ice under the snow there, that we hadn't done anything about since our return from Kingston. He broke the ulna and radius plus several of the little wrist bones. At the Montfort Hospital he was efficiently and kindly dealt with by the Emergency staff who made two attempts to realign the wrist bones by force, under a local anaesthetic, with no success until the second attempt; then they put the whole of his lower arm in a cast and sent him home for a very belated supper. 

At some point next week he is going to be called back for surgery under full anaesthetic; we have no further details about that yet. Since Friday night he's been suffering a lot of discomfort and some sharp pain which we're dealing with by means of Tylenol and various distractions. He's sleeping reasonably well so far, but a normal night's rest isn't possible. We'll have to get used to this as it will take at least seven weeks for the injury to heal. Although it's the left hand that's out of action (he's right-handed, thank heavens) I now have to help him with many things we usually take for granted he can do by himself, and he can no longer help me with housework and such. 

It's all rather time-consuming, but not so bad for me as for Chris who keeps suffering from instant replays of his fall on the steps which make him shout with dismay. Apparently the downtown residents who were tortured by the honking of truckers' horns day and night are also suffering from something of this sort: phantom honking, like a very unpleasant kind of "Ohrwurm" (as the Germans call it, a song you can't get out of your head). This is Post Traumatic Stress.

On Facebook, about 100 people have sent Chris get-well-soon wishes and wise advice to me, friends have come round to help in various ways (Carol, our go-to person in times of stress, has been particularly supportive, driving back and forth to the hospital in treacherous driving conditions when I didn't seem up to it) and our family members overseas keep on calling us by phone and video to say comforting things. We had four friends round to supper on Friday.

At the second attempt today, we did manage to fit Chris' sling on top of a winter jacket without too much agony resulting, so we went for a very short walk round the block between snow squalls.

My brother-in-law and sister have been put through the mill as well, he having just got through open-heart surgery to install (wrong word?) a missing heart valve with a valve from a cow's heart. He was in hospital for nearly a week this month.

The Rideau River ice clearing operations continue. They have started to dynamite the ice.

Getting rid of the protest

Police are undertaking a massive clearance operation today, arresting the ringleaders of the Trucker Convoy protest and beginning to get the problem vehicles out the way. I'm following the live report from the CBC. Their photographers are having some trouble with their camera batteries because of the cold, and have to climb over mounds of snow to get their shots.

It is Day 22 of the Ottawa crisis. This morning the police calmly moved into Rideau Street and other streets near the parliament area in squadrons from various parts of the country, and then the Mounties joined in also:

The protesters are standing around just watching the police operations at the intersection of Rideau Street and Sussex Drive, identifiable by their lack of masks. Some of them are wrapped in flags which may or may not be keeping them warm. There's still a windchill in the minus-20s.

The Sûreté du Québec police have donned their gas masks, which makes one wonder what may come next. There seems to be a cautious approach because they are aware of our international audience.

The courts have to process all of the arrests today, which is going to make it a long day; so far 70 people have been arrested, says the police chief (at 3:30 p.m.). The police seem to be making serious efforts to avoid too much use of force although they are carrying guns. At one point the CBC filmed a family group among the protesters, with children (crying) gently being led out of the way. Apparently two family groups with seven children per family(!), are staying in their hotel today. There are pets down there too, although they had been warned that the pets could be confiscated.

All of the downtown core is closed down today, shops, public transport, everything.

Tow trucks are lining up on Nicholas Street, some of them disguised as police vehicles to protect the drivers from future harassment from protest supporters. Their usual logos are covered over. The stubborn truckers who have now been parked on Wellington Street for three weeks. They are building barricades out of snow after the big snowfall last night, ostensibly to keep the police out. "A bit of a symbolic barrier," says the reporter, because it obviously won't be as effective as a concrete barrier. Their slogan for the last few days is "Hold the line!" Some truckers have decided to leave voluntarily now. Others are still there, hoping the rumours that the police will come over to their side at the end, are true. I don't think that's likely.

The protesters are still using their stage for amateur concerts. According to one reporter, it's still a "festive atmosphere!" 

The carrying out of their deliberate and methodical plan will take time, says the police chief.

The Protest

Just now, in Ottawa, the truckers' convoy protest looks more like a party than a serious protest. They have been partying with their thousands of supporters for 17 days now, in the heart of town, on Parliament Hill. If it weren't for the minus 25 wind chills on some of those days (current conditions minus 21, feels like minus 28) you'd think it was a premature celebration of Canada Day. And perhaps that's the point. The people in this demonstration were lonely, restless, frustrated in multiple ways, probably desperate to let off steam and experience some togetherness because "the government"--- by which I fear they mean everyone who isn't on their side --- has neglected them. But they particularly loathe Mr. Trudeau, condemning him in four-letter words or the Quebec-French equivalent (Tabarnak! Calisse!).

I have been struggling to find valid reasons for behaviour that shocks me and most of my friends. The rebels are like disruptive teenagers in a school classroom. They have brought the business district to a standstill. How is it possible to forgive these people for the fumes of their idling trucks and the noise pollution from their honking horns? One night they were particularly loud and non-stop, deliberately honking outside the Bruyère Hospital because a few health-care workers have been sacked for their refusal to be vaccinated against Covid before coming to work. That night an old lady died at this hospital with her daughter alongside her, who said that noise was "brutal." Did anyone apologise? I don't think so. I also know an Afghan woman traumatised by the violence in her country who has recently moved to Ottawa and given birth to a little girl. The noise keeping her baby awake caused her great distress. I heard of another downtown resident who has moved out of town for the duration. 

As my brother-in-law often says, the veneer of civilisation is very thin. The gentleman at the fruit and vegetable shop I frequent at the market has locked the door. He calls the intruders "barbarians" and only lets me in to shop there because he recognises me and knows I'll wear a mask.

A hot tub is being used by the more flamboyant members of the demo. They have also brought in whole drum sets and a stage for impromptu concerts. Barbecues on Wellington Street. Some demonstrators are spending the night in their trucks; others can afford to sleep at the Chateau Laurier, it seems. Numerous children and flags everywhere (Canadian, Quebec flags, flags from the USA). The excuse for the noisy party is that this is a "Freedom Convoy" which means that the participants cannot endure mandates. Initially they disapproved of the new regulation that wouldn't let them drive across the border into the USA unless they had proof of vaccination. That has changed into a rebellion against "all mandates." 

A few in favour of the protest have been arguing with me; here are some (paraphrased) comments they made: 

• If you had come from an eastern European country and lived through the communist régime, you wouldn't approve of mandates and restrictions. Canada has turned into a "police state."
• To me personally --- "At your age your future is limited. You must understand that progress must happen and you are not part of it." (I rose to the bait and replied that I would continue to be "part of it" until I dropped dead. We disagree on what "it" is, of course.)
• The protests are not only warranted, but absolutely necessary, because all levels of government are failing to uphold people's rights.
• Having to wear a mask or queue for a vaccine brings on panic attacks in people suffering from mental disturbances such as PTSD, so they shouldn't be obliged to do this.

A kind-hearted, long-time friend of ours has been bringing the Parliament Hill demonstrators homemade muffins every day. She says: 

thousands of Canadians have been fired because they didn't want a forced medical procedure or [their] businesses had to close because of the lockdowns so they've lost their homes, can't pay the rent and worry how to feed their children [...] It is so distressing to see these decent hard-working salt-of-the-earth [vaccine refusers] be demonized and bullied by a bunch of salaried, comfortable stuffed shirts.

I asked her why anyone would refuse to be vaccinated, with that much to lose, and in reply I received lengthy descriptions, with reference links, of why Covid vaccines don't really work and how medical intervention, encouraged by Big Pharma, messes up one's immune system. One's body has the ability to recover from Covid unaided, is the implication. She adds: 

Previously highly respected and eminent doctors, scientists, epidemiologists, virologists are censured, belittled and discredited as quacks spewing misinformation when they express concern or raise questions or offer alternatives. The physicians’ governance body demands strict obedience to a new ruling where doctors can no longer use their own discretion in dealing with individual patients but must impose the arbitrary Covid protocol. They are no longer allowed to give any exemptions for philosophical, religious or medical reasons.

For the sake of our friendship, we had a civilized phone chat and then agreed to stop pointlessly arguing about it. 

The other one who disagreed with me simply said, "Get off my wall!" So I did.

A more objective comment from a friend who grew up on the Prairies was that people from out west like to make their own decisions without being told what to do, because in the past, they have had to.

Anyway, Ottawa citizens against the protest are starting to make their position clearer as well. A counter-demonstration this weekend successfully blocked a line of trucks when they stood in the road holding up placards that said, TRUCK OFF! 

Four generations of Eco-babes

On Friday I went to what they called a Pink Tea, hosted online by the Famous Five Foundation. This was nothing to do with Enid Blyton stories; the Famous Five in this context are the five famous Canadian ladies of the 1920s who declared women to be persons, who used to meet over cups of tea; their statues in Ottawa and elsewhere commemorate them.

Women Leading Climate Solutions was the title of the event. One speaker referred to her like-minded female colleagues as eco-babes, which made me squirm, somewhat. Anyhow there's an "unwavering spirit" among them. Us.

JL used to do Don River cleanups in Toronto as a child, "hands-on stuff". She studied science but came to the conclusion that no action came from that. Since then, her aim in life has been to change policies and find practical solutions. The approach matters, she said. We have to be committed to optimism without being naive. We have to realise that there are solutions; the general public is not so aware. It's challenging to have to do the same thing over and over again. JL has been fighting for the environment since the 1980s, up against big institutions entrenched in their ways. We are in the denial stage of grief for the planet and that needs to be overcome. Others will take the credit for the work we shall push them into. Never mind. Needing everybody, we're obliged to work with people who are not like us.

MB was an outdoor child who also left pure sciences for environmental studies ⁠— human health and biodiversity. She finds it hard to "stay true" to her motivation. Councillors make condescending remarks to younger people, failing to appreciate their expertise. The mentoring work she engages with is ongoing and reciprocal. She mentors young children as well as adults. In her region she is developing a Climate Hub.

ES reminded the gathering that not-for-profit organisations have to create their own marketing team, and on a very low budget, too. Her motto is Occam's Razor ⁠— go for the simplest solution always.

We had some representatives of Generation Z at the meeting, mentees. I always have to do a Google search to remind myself which generation is which, but these two girls appeared to be in their 20s. One of them had young children and wanted to know from the panellists what she should be teaching them.

Answers: simple habits like not leaving taps running, turning lights off. Teach your children easy meal planning or meal preparation.Teach food habits or garbage habits in manageable chunks, and make sure you model them yourself. Where fashion is concerned, teach them about quality versus quantity. Get them to understand that one country's actions will affect others in the world. Get them making posters for strikes and demos; show them there's strength in numbers. Encourage them to keep asking questions.

Get your kids outside: nature has so much to teach us! The medicine for Nature Deficit Disorder is Eco Action!

The other Gen. Z girl wanted to talk about holding authorities accountable. Why isn't the government doing more? complained MB. We need to understand the bigger picture rather than getting stuck in our individual guilt for not doing enough. Be aware that the oil companies are deliberately shifting the blame for environmental damage onto consumers. 

Did we know that half of our emissions come from buildings? [I quote, but question that statistic.] Retrofits need to be ramped up. It should be pointed out that retrofitting creates jobs, benefits whole communities and improves people's health. People can be helped to claim their rebates for retrofits; let's make the process easier for them.

Final quick questions for the panellists were sentence completion prompts:

When I'm confused, I ...?

...consult a colleague / ... make a list / ... ask a lot of questions.

When I'm sad, I ...?

...go outside / ... spend time with my family / ... talk to somebody.

When I'm scared, I ...?

... go back to my purpose / ... go for it! / ... freeze! 

*****

If I'm not mistaken, Pink Tea women seem to be implying that we can do whatever it takes to change the world for the better without involving any men, but this seems rather short-sighted. Not being a very ardent feminist, I think the men in our lives should be joining in as well.

Extreme cold, continued

Clear. Wind up to 15 km/h. Low minus 28. Wind chill minus 21 this evening and minus 36 overnight. Risk of frostbite. So says Environment Canada again, and meanwhile, a possibly record-breaking snowstorm is brewing on the eastern coast of the USA. 

In Ottawa, a convoy of truckers from western Canada and their supporters arrived to protest against restrictions of every kind and vaccination rules in particular. 

As an Englishman, says Chris ironically, he wants the freedom to drive on the left when everyone else is driving on the right. 

I personally think the truckers' demonstration is an attention-seeking howl against loneliness.* This evening, not mentioning that, I sent a very short letter to the Editor of the Ottawa Citizen, commenting on the pollution and greenhouse gas emissions created by this huge demonstration. I know someone who intends to brave the crowds and the police in order to carry a placard with the slogan Stop Air Pollution. Protect the Environment! I hope she won't get into trouble. Another acquaintance of mine, sympathetic with the truckers' cause, says she is going out to offer them hot drinks.

Interesting times.

I persuaded Chris to drive us (on the right) to Wakefield, this afternoon, where we walked for an hour in the minus 20-something windchill. We must be getting hardened to the cold because we couldn't have borne that a couple of weeks ago. We walked through the village to the covered bridge and back, the sidewalks strewn with sand, under a very blue sky, as you can see from the photos, with seriously long icicles hanging from the buildings.

We love the peacefulness of Wakefield.

On a video chat with George, Sha and Eddy in Australia where it's tomorrow morning, they were complaining about the heat, Eddy making balloons (blimps, he called them) drift around in the downdraft from their air-conditioner.

* Footnote, Saturday: I had a new insight into this, on reading reports of why some of the truckers and their supporters are taking part. These are first-generation immigrants from Eastern Europe, and the recent COVID-related government restrictions remind them too much of their youth in Communist-controlled countries. In another article it is revealed that a fifth of Canada's truck drivers are from south Asia. These people do not support the protest but fear that our food-supply systems are breaking down and that could lead to more unrest.

My friend survived her solo demonstration on Parliament Hill without mishap, carrying her homemade placard saying STOP AIR POLLUTION, PROTECT THE ENVIRONMENT. She sent me an email afterwards: 

I received a lot of thumbs up and smiles for the most part. Five pickup trucks put on the gas and bumped out the fumes. Two people cussed me out. [...] the organizer of the group from the west said that he was the inventor of a catalytic converter that many of the big rigs had on their engines. I said that the area still smelled and he said maybe it was my breath because I was wearing a mask. Most people were not wearing masks. 

So I got my protest out of my system. Glad I made my statement.

Reusing our resources

January 25

A fascinating panel discussion on The Circular Economy was presented by the Globe and Mail, with Ryan MacDonald, senior editor of Climate, Environment and Resources, as the moderator.

Tima Bansal, Canada Research Chair in Business Sustainability at the Ivey Business School, spoke first.

Current linear economy allows what we use to keep accumulating in the earth, in the air, in the water. In the circular economy of the future, we shall be able to keep reusing our resources. The Council of Canadian Academies has published a report on the "state of circularity" in Canada that reveals how far we have to go. Canada lags behind. At present only 6% of the materials we use are circled back into use, in comparison with 30% of materials in the Netherlands and 19% in France. This difference is partly because it is more expensive to collect and move stuff within Canada. Our three layers of government are another challenge. How do we make the system more harmonious? How we we get our supply chains lined up? Canadians are great consumers. We "love our stuff" and there's so much demand for plastics! So some education is needed. Canadians are good at extracting mineral resources but we ought to understand the value of re-manufacturing byproducts into something else.

Recycled plastics can be reintroduced into the economy. The right to repair should be paramount (although if consumers repair their own goods it may invalidate the warranty). Packaging should be up-cycled into multiple-use containers.

Julie Poitras-Saulnier, CEO and co-founder of Loop, that "repurposes the outcasts of the food industry," claims that the food industry discards huge amounts of fruit and vegetables which can be turned into new products: juices, smoothies, sauces, crusts, even gin! Loop's trick is to pay money for the rejected products, so as to encourage food companies and retailers to get rid of their waste productively. However, to avoid too much delay and to keep the supply of food consistent, the distribution model needs to change. It takes three days to press 50 pallets of grapes, she said, so timing is crucial. 

How are Loop's products marketed? The right words have to be chosen; people can be educated to appreciate "up-cycled" food.

As everyone should know, there's a difference between "best before" and "use by" dates on products. Another panellist, Bilal Jarmakani, representing Solar X, said that home-owners and business owners were asking "Is solar sustainable?" Solar panels that are past their prime and ready to be replaced by more up-to-date models are usually "still fully functional" in fact, and, until Covid restrictions put a stop to this, were being shipped to Nigeria. More recently the northern communities of Canada have been making use of them, via a social enterprise called Indigenous Clean Energy, ICE.

Another interesting contribution to the discussion was by Tim Faveri, VP Sustainability and Shared Value at Maple Leaf Foods. Because his company is famous for its meat products, and meat-consumption is questionable these days, they are doing their best to come across as eco-friendly. He said their goal was to be "the most sustainable protein company on earth!" That's a big ambition. Circularity in the case of Maple Leaf Foods starts with the production of manure from animals raised for meat. He mentioned their "hog operations in Manitoba" in this context, where they are doing their best to eliminate wasted energy and wasted water. The energy generated by their "processes" is used for heating the water that cleans and sanitizes the animal pens. Then he spoke of the company's packaging goals. They need better infrastructure to bring this about, but the eventual objective is to make all packaging from recycled or biodegradable materials. The waste generated from their food processing can be repurposed as by-products: pet foods, oils, soaps, fertilizers. Anything organic can be turned into renewable fuel. This does require some collaboration with other companies.

Sheri Hinish, a spokesperson for IBM, wants environmentalists to add another R-word to the usual Reduce, Reuse, Repurpose / Redesign, Recycle options: ReTHINK. There will have to be shorter supply chains in the future. Tim Faveri agreed with that, saying that 82% of the emissions generated in his business come from the supply chains and it's important to keep measuring and recording this. 

A question from the audience led to a discussion of how consumers can be persuaded to change their spending habits. This is an important question; we are "feeding the machine" and it's up to us, when we go shopping, to choose the right brands. Consumers do want to make a difference as is evidenced by the popularity of the Thank My Farmer initiative, enabling people to make donations to coffee farmers, for example.

Of course, consumers also ask "What's in it for me?" If people are made to feel they are part of something larger, they become "empowered by purpose" and spend their money on the right things. Julie Poitras-Saulnier of Loop advised, "Don't talk down to your customers. They're smart." Transparency builds trust.

Circular products don't have to be more expensive. Initiatives for change are mostly at the local level, for now.

There's inevitable resistance from the traditional natural resources economy in Canada. We could upgrade our own oil and gas rather than shipping it elsewhere; this is something we'll have to think about. Because our natural resources are relatively cheap, we ought to put a higher price on carbon and disposal fees should be higher. 

We should embrace the shift to renewables, and build locally. Decision makers must anticipate the transformation, asking "what about jobs?" We're going to need more minerals to reach a net-zero GHG emissions target, hence more jobs. So that communities become more resilient in the face of change, we should think in terms of redeployment rather than unemployment. Here too, transparent decision-making is important, more effective than offering subsidies! Banks should be encouraged to support companies that have a positive environmental impact; this added value must be integrated into the business model. Data collection is a low-hanging fruit, but it requires a process imposed by the government.

Alan meets Elizabeth

Alan Neal of All in a Day on CBC-Radio (Ottawa) donated some of his precious after-work time last Tuesday to engage in a public conversation with the author Elizabeth Hay. This meeting was a fundraiser for student scholarships, hosted by a CFUW-Club in our vicinity, CFUW-Kanata. I know the person who designed the publicity poster, who was nervous before the event, hoping it would go well. She needn't have worried.

The guest speakers, two professional "wordsmiths" as someone put it, knew how to make their dialogue compelling. I felt I was eavesdropping on a private conversation, so exclusive and personal did it seem: an illusion, deliberately and skillfully contrived.

Elizabeth Hay's book All Things Consoled is about her relationship with her parents. Although she's primarily a writer of fiction, she considers the real world to be more interesting. 

Her father, like Albert Camus, was a man who spurned fiction in favour of non-fiction. A high-school principal, he ruled the roost. Her mother was his "counterpoint".

"I keep track of things," says Elizabeth Hay, constantly taking notes; All Things Consoled had originated as an unpublished series of short stories. ("I'm always looking for stories.") Her editor had persuaded her to make the book biographical instead, and advised her to "start with the crisis!" Elizabeth realised in any case that she was incapable of giving her parents fictional names. "I couldn't pretend they weren't who they were."

Her goal with these family memoirs was simply to end up with a good book. Alan Neal probed further: did her siblings mind?

She laughed. "I don't ask [their] permission!" She warned her brother and sister she was writing this book and sent them a copy once she had finished. "Happily, they're all still talking to me."

She hates talking on the phone; it makes her feel "cornered". She likes being left alone.

While her father was still alive, she felt unable to write about his anger. Her mother was a gentle soul, an artist, whose studio was her true home. Elizabeth called her death from pneumonia an escape. ("Pneumonia, the old person's friend!") For Elizabeth too it was an escape, from the pain of looking after her mother. When they were younger she remembers how her mother's creative drive was thwarted, how she was not happy until she had work to do as an artist. The two of them handled rejection and disappointment in the same way. "I just wish we could get a little recognition," her mother used to say. In the end, both of them did. In 2007, Elizabeth won the Giller Prize, and has other awards besides. The room we saw in the background on the Zoom webinar was decorated with her mother's paintings and other artwork. She calls it the Mumsaleum.

When Elizabeth was 15, the family moved to England for a year where she went to school, clearly a formative experience. She says she has "muscle/joint memory" feeling emotion through her knees, always going shaky in the knees when something overwhelms her.

"I thought I was a poet," said Elizabeth. "It surprised me to write novels; I was always drawn to stories." 

She appreciates honest reactions to any work-in-progress and gets her husband and son to act as editors. "What I try to do is hit something real ... and surprising. Then I hit the ground and keep going."

Alan gently pressed her to divulge what sort of book she is working on now, but she refused to say. He managed to extract the admission that it is based on something she published before, resuming the narrative in 2008. He startled her at the end of the conversation by holding up a copy of four poems she had written long ago. 

"Wherever did you find those?"

"Dig deep enough," he answered, "and you find stuff!"

Learning about the landfill

Meike Woehlert at the meeting

Environment Action, again.

Last Monday, January 17th, two very cooperative ("outreach") representatives of the City of Ottawa's waste management services, Ashley Cheslock and Meike Woehlert, gave us the latest news of the Master Plan For Solid Waste and answered our questions about garbage disposal and recycling. 51 people attended this meeting, a record for the Environment Action group; nearly half of the audience were people from outside of our Club. As part of the presentation we watched two well-made videos, What Happens To My Garbage? and What Happens To My Recycling? This was at my request, perhaps too ambitious an idea, because there were a couple of embarrassing technical hitches while we were trying to get the videos to work. I had practised without any problems, but on the day, the audio settings let me down. No matter, we kept going as a team, and the meeting was well received.

One worrying takeaway was that if we carry on disposing of non-recyclable rubbish at the present rate our landfill will be full by 2038 or thereabouts. So between now and then we ought to give more thought to what we throw away.

The speakers encouraged us citizens to engage with the city on its plans for the future because our opinions count, so they say. A public survey on how waste should be managed in Ottawa starts next month; by the way, there's a nice photo of Ashley on that page.

Since then, many a follow-up email to send, read or reply to, so it has been a busy week. I compiled a reference list of places that will accept the stuff we want to dispose of, and this morning I heard that my counterpart at the CFUW-Nepean Club has been doing exactly the same thing for her group and received her list. Rather than put it all in our bins destined for the landfill there are numerous "take it back" options in the city and better yet, worthy organizations that will either hand things over to people in need or re-purpose them for a good cause. My contacts keep contacting me to tell me of more such opportunities. Once the spring cleaning season starts, and with decluttering a trendy pastime these days, especially for our generation, such lists will be a great help, both for us and for the environment.

Old style literary French

A few diplomats and Diplomatic Hospitality Canadians read the story about Le renard from Saint-Exupéry's Le Petit Prince, this morning, with emotion and appreciation, but we became rather bogged down in the verb tenses. The book, banned by the Vichy régime in France during the 2nd World War, first appeared in 1943. This style of writing seems rather archaic nowadays, but I vaguely remember having to learn the verb forms in my school days. I need to revise them now, so am noting this link sent to us afterwards by Marie Danielle, that elucidates the difference between the tenses and 'moods' of verbs in written and spoken French.

Extreme cold

There was a record snowfall followed by a spate of "Extreme Cold" warnings. 48 cm of snow in a day on Monday, the rest of the week clear and bright, but giving us wind-chill temperatures in the minus 30s. Strangely enough a smog warning was in effect too, yesterday, caused by particles of pollution trapped beneath an inversion. 

We didn't venture out on last week's snow day; we braved the nippy air on the other days, though not for too long at a stretch. The snow crunches with a squeak underfoot; I've heard it said that Inuit people don't need thermometers because they can tell the extent of the cold from the sound made by their boots as they walk along.

Last weekend we walked near the airport with Benoit, the trail by the river particularly chilly because it faces north. It was a relief to come up the hill to the sunnier area near the airfield, where we could feel the sun's warmth on our faces.

This morning Chris and I did two laps of "the Chelsea loop" aka "Sugar Bush trail" with Elva and Laurie, glad to walk under such a bright blue sky. Laurie was sensibly wearing his down-filled ski-pants. I must find a pair of those for Chris.

The wildlife huddled up somewhere during the worst of the weather, but we've seen the squirrels and birds emerge again at this end of the week, the squirrels' furry noses and tails dusted with snow, the chickadees, white breasted nuthatches and juncoes flitting across the garden to a tray of seeds that Chris put out for them near our kitchen door. Today I was amazed to see a flock of American robins in by the Minto Bridges. I thought those birds flew south to avoid the cold.

Coyotes are apparently on the rampage in some parts of town (I haven't spotted one yet) and there's a dancing bear in the Byward Market as usual, unusually snow-coated, not a real one.

Ça continue ...

A French conversation again tomorrow; Marie Danielle will introduce the group to a passage from Saint-Exupéry's Le Petit Prince. At a previous conversation, she got us reading extracts from Maria Chapdelaine by Louis Hémon, a book I didn't know, but I bought it from the Librairie du Soleil in town last week and am reading the whole of it now. Wikipedia tells me ...

Aimed at young French and Quebec people, the book had been included in school curricula, translated, and has been extensively analyzed and adapted.

What I'll remember from this novel will be the descriptions of people's struggle for the basic necessities, food and warmth, through the harsh winters of the old days, in the northern forests. The story is set in the Lac Saint-Jean area near Saguenay where we flew in the spring of 2013. Spring comes late to those parts of Canada.

Blockflöte

Another cultural pursuit at home this month is learning the keyboard accompaniment for JS Bach's aria Schafe können sicher weiden in preparation for Chris' Tuesday singing lessons. Although I remember the voice part from school lessons (with my dad as the music teacher) more than half a century ago I had no idea then of the subtlety of the accompaniment with its opening in thirds, originally meant for a pair of Blockflöten, and the trudging bass line. There's something tremendously satisfying about playing it now, so long as I get the notes right. Chris feels the same about conquering the challenges of the melody line. We're still practising our romantic Schubert, Schumann, Vaughan Williams repertoire, but aiming to branch out into Bach and Handel as well, lately.

Everyone in the Movie Club I belong to was asked to watch The Lost Daughter on Netflix this month, set on an island in Greece. The film stars Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley (as the main character's younger self) and then share our reviews of it. This was mine:

I wasn't quite sure which person the lost daughter is supposed to be. The doll in this story is particularly disturbing; there are too many films where dolls turn out to be horrific, harmful objects. Do you remember the science fiction satire Barbarella (1968) that included man-eating dolls?

I keep thinking about The Lost Daughter. This very well acted film forces us to consider our relationship with our own children. The younger Leda seems to have been in her mid-twenties when she had her children. So was I — uncomfortable memories surface of the times when my parenting skills were none too good.

The film is all about girl children and their mothers, but surely boys can be just as sensitive to tensions in the adult world and in just as much need of reassurance; in my opinion, sons deserve sympathy too, and so do fathers, even if societal norms allow men more licence to do what they want, when they want. Another omission was the role of Leda's mother, the grandmother. When the little girls have been abandoned by their mother, their grandmother (just mentioned in passing at one moment, never shown as a person in the drama) must have become a very important person in their lives, and how did she feel about Leda's bid for freedom? Another thought: did Leda's frustrations stem from her own upbringing? Was she influenced by her own mother's desire to be more than just a mother? That would figure — the grandmother would have been of that unfulfilled, postwar generation of women who had limited options.

It seems to me that this film is all about frustration. The little girl on the beach, howling in distress at not being able to find her doll, is just one example of this. The main characters all suffer from frustrations of one sort or another and keep losing their patience. For the younger Leda, never to have a moment to herself when her young children are in the house, is a privation similar to being in prison. For a bookish and sensual person this lack of privacy becomes unbearable, hence her decision to escape. The academic conference with its opportunities for "liaisons dangereuses" has given her a taste of freedom. She's craving adult company, sick of the childish dialogues with her demanding daughters and obviously tired of her husband's company. She is fond of her family but they whine when she doesn't give them her full attention. She tries, but doesn't know how to control her pent-up emotions, and when she slams a door the glass breaks.

I particularly sympathized with the older Leda at those moments when she had her precious holiday ruined by rowdy people behaving badly and was helpless to do anything about it. Her temper tantrum in the cinema (brought on by frustration again) conveyed that so well!

The Nina character (played by Dakota Johnson), the other young mother in the film, is physically attractive but turns out to be an unpleasant, untrustworthy character. Why is Leda attracted to her? How badly is she injured at the end; is she killed? The orange peeling scene was food for thought: is it an imaginary orange (so unlike the symbolic, rotting one, that she picked up earlier in the film)? Does Leda feel that the stabbing has been a punishment for her failures as a mother and that now she has paid the price, she can move on with her life, if there is any life to follow (is there?), with more serenity?

In summary, I didn't like the film at all, but it's a good one.

And I've just remembered that we heard a podcast that was a lively discussion of Homer's The Iliad. I took notes on that, to help me follow the speakers' train of thought. Chris is now reading The Iliad and finding it depressing, page after page about people doing stupid things, he says.

Third and last shot?

For the record ...

This morning I received the third of my Moderna vaccine injections and let's hope that's it, to keep me safe from Covid, which as far as I know I have never yet caught. 

I enjoyed my early half hour walk into town, a slightly further route than my normal beat these days, with the sun trying to shine through light flurries of snowflakes on a more or less deserted city. NCC employees were removing the Christmas decorations from the lampposts on Sparks Street which reminds me that I ought to un-decorate my Christmas tree at home, today, now that Twelfth Night has come and gone.

My appointment was at the drug store in the basement of "240 Sparks" a government office building that used to be crowded with civil servants on their way to and from work; an empty place today. There was no delay at my appointment other than to wait my turn after a lady who was about to receive her shot as I arrived. The pharmacist kindly treated me to a mere half-dose, although my age (though not by much) should have meant getting the full third dose. In her opinion, since I had "reacted" to the first two doses (April 13 and July 6 last year) in an obvious way, this meant that my immune system was obviously in good working order and the smaller vaccine boost would be sufficient for me.

Celebrating with a flat white take-out coffee from Bridgehead on the way back I crossed paths with Chris at the market who had been in another part of town, taking the car for a software update (another sort of booster service), and coming home by train.

Sandra's project

I have an artist / activist friend, Sandra Marshall, who posted this on Facebook yesterday. I feel that her extraordinary posts, that she makes public, should be widely shared: 

This is the last day of 2021 and I thought I would look back on my sketches of remarkable community minded women and men over the past Covid years. I filled 6 and more small sketchbooks, around 300 daily sketches and tried to provide short resumés of their ideas and work. 

They include nature, climate and civil rights activists, healthcare workers and firefighters who put their lives on the line, politicians, scientists and researchers looking for new solutions to old problems, people in housing and urban planning domains who are suggesting new environmental ways forward, people who trying to improve our justice system and who are fighting in court now for justice for others, especially indigenous justice, people who work for world peace and peace of mind, singers who have touched the chords of my heart, visual artists, women who fought for rights in our legal system, people who made me laugh, people who worked for food equity. 

Thanks to the journalists and writers on a whole range of subjects who helped me see the world in a sharper way. 

Thanks also to Wikipedia and Youtube for providing backgrounds and the ideas of those whom I wanted to know better.

In case you wonder whom Sandra has chosen to sketch, she included the list in this post:

Nellie McClung, Emily Murphy, Irene Parlby, Louise McKinney, Henrietta Edwards, Carrie Derick, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Alice Wilson, Kenojuak Ashevak, Mary Two-Axe Early, Chika Oriuwa, Donna May Kimmaliardjuk, Donna Strickland, Viola Desmond, Marie Lacost Gérin Lajoie, Thérese Cascrain, Myrtha LaPierre, Jennifer Doudna and Emmanuelle Charpentier, Doris Anderson, Mary Travers La Bolduc, Buffy Sainte-Marie, Eugenia Duodu, Adelaide Hunter Hoodless, Violet Milstead, Tanya Talaga, Jane Jacobs, Bobbi Gill, Marilyn Bell, Brenda Milner, Molly Lamb Bobak, Sima Samar, Beverley McLauchlin, Elsie MacGill, Gina Cody, Maary Majka, Emma Marshall, Mary Riter Hamilton, Moly Stoichaet, Roberta Bondar, Annamie Paul, Cheryl Rockman-Greenberg, Margaret Atwood, Ursula Franklin, Rosemary Brown, Sue Johnson, Sallly Armstrong, Lucia Kowaluk, Deborah Cook, Hoda Elmaraghy, Annemieke Farenhorst, Diana Beresfor-Kroeger, Sheila Watt-Cloutier, Judy Lamarsh, Amanda Lang, Betty Fox, Louise ArbouMcClintock, Jack Andraka, Maya Penn, Sojourner Truth, Eleanor Roosevelt, Maya Angelou, Nadia Murad, Lillian Petersen, E. Donnall Thomas, Donald Henderson, Jonas Salk, Robert Kosh, Joseph Howe, Emily Carr, David Keith, Murray Sinclair, Chanie Wenjack, Christie Blatchford, Malala Yousafzai,Catherine Dion, Dominque Anglade, Chris Hadfield, Matt Galloway, Michael Enright, Oliver Sacks, Alexei Navalny, Martin Luther King and Coret ta Scott King, Nahlah Ayed, Amanda Gorman, Bob Dylan, Charles Darwin, Maude Lewis, Kamala Harris, Chika Oriuwa, Kevin Page, Joe Fafard, Andrea Stroeve-Sawa, Charlie Angus,Chrystia Freeland, Mark Carney, Miranda Wang, Peter Bryce, Bill McKibben, Wangari Maathai, Agnes MacPhail, Frank Oz and Jim Henson (with Miss Piggy andKermit), Naomi Klein, Randy fobister,Marie-Pierre Iippersiel, Margit Hideg, Catherine Abreu, Laurent Duvernay-Tardif, Kim Campbell, Jody Wilson-Raybould, Michael J Fox, Zoé Yunker, Kate Raworth, Peter Juni, Elizabeth Bagshw, Hana Fatima Syed,NaHeed Nenshi, Irwin Waller, Holly Johnson, Gwen Madiba, Dianne Saxe, Judson Brewer, Birgit Umaigea, Patrick Archambault, Ian Waddell, Aalan Rusbridger, Melina Laboucan-Massimo, Joan Harrison, Edward Burtynsky, Matt Landos, Farley Mowat, Zobai Jawed, Ford Doolittle, Stacey Abrams, Kara Lavender Law, Allan Savory, Katie Alumba, Elisabeth Logue, Dalai Lama, Loujain Alhathloul, Nauset, Karjann Aarup, Barry Pinsky, Joe Baker, Julia Gillard, Katherine Hayhoe, Mike Flannigan, Parlika, Olivier Trecases, Dennis Fotinos, Elizabeth Royte, Dr. Kwadwo Kyeremanteng, Robb Barnes, Brené Brown, Annie and Bernard Leiffet, Tim Flannery, Leonard Cohen, Kim Pate, David Koliski...and more to come!

Sandra's sketch of palliative care doctor and researcher Dr. Kwadwo Kyeremanteng, newly appointed director of the Ottawa ICU.