On longe une longue base militaire, planquée parmis les pins.
Il y en a des pins. Forêts uniformes, plantées en rangées, coupées à blanc puis reboisées.
Entre les pins, il y a quelques arbousiers et des cistus.
Les pentes sont douces. L’air est chaud et parfumé.
On se sent fort et passionés. Déja nos vélos deviennent une extension de notre corps.
Ça y est on a des vélos choisis minutieusement.
On est bien excités de commencer la VélOdyssée.
Bayonne: Ancienne ville bien fortifiée.
Son héritage Basque, longtemps réprimé qui refait surface avec force et fierté.
Les théatres sont animés.
À travers les fenêtres entrouvertes on entend des chansons traditionnelles jouées ensemble.
Nos premiers bouts de chemin se font le long de la Côte d’Argent, nommée ainsi pour le sable blanc fin qui y règne.
On passe par des hectares de pins. C’est monotome mais aussi méditatif.
Au fur et à mesure que nos corps se musclent, nos pensées se calment aussi.
A little paradise on Earth where villas blend into the hills.
I am grateful to have enjoyed this relaxing, wind-down time in a familiar place
with my loving sister & my loving partner.
We crept along the coastline that was badly washed out from storms.
They made me go places I wouldn’t have dared to go otherwise.
We discovered funny little viles, funky seastuff, beachglass and beachtiles.
I was glad to show Michael around my hometown of Biot in the Alpes Maritimes.
The Alpes Maritimes is a French department where the Alpes mountain range dip into the Mediterranean sea and hug Italy, making for an incredibly diverse and breathtaking scenery.
Luckily, my sister Olivia could come with us for the ride. We hadn’t been back here together for ages, as the family had spread to all corners of the world.
So we also took Mike to visit the town Valbonne, also adorable although it follows more of a square design. I always remember this town as being very coveted by Brits.
We stayed in Antibes, a coastal city, where the yacht and fishing ports make the pubs lively with sailors.
When I tell religious people that I do not believe in any deity, what ensues is some feeling of shock, followed by concern. Often people worry that living without religion will make me less moral, more materialistic and generally misguided in life. I feel quite the opposite.
Being alive and conscious in this present moment is a short gift from the Universe. That is humbling. Every breath I take is the result of so many ancient and recent, physical and biological, processes. So, the boundaries of my Self extend very far through time and space. That gives me deep roots. My ancestors are in the air, in the ground and in the ocean. That knowledge encourages me to respect the Earth for the sake of the unborn beings. In a sense, everything surrounding me fills me with awe because it is the result of a mysterious life force.
I have had the great opportunity to be a part of the community that deeply respects, and even reveres Mother Nature. That experience has allowed me to grow as a global citizen.
We, individuals who have graduated from the grasp or religious doctrines, need to reclaim spaces and times to voice our gratefulness, reflect on our intentions, thoughts and actions and contemplate on this great mystery. In other words, let’s hold space for non-religious introspection and community bonding.
Finally, on the theme of religion, I want to caution people who believe that their intentions shape their reality through some quantum effect. It seems so obviously flawed to me, but I will let the short conversation between theoretical physicist Leonard Mlodinow and guru Deepak Chopra convince you on this one.
The thing you see, is that reality’s so fleetingly complex
I am teased when eye contemplate Nature perfecting chaos
Mater Terra reveals her poetry to the patient observer
Like dust blown on the Earth, I live gently
in the home of families from time immemorial.
King Salmon, regal Eagle, Jester otters, untamed packs of proud wolves,
stealthy cougars, magical slugs, quiet creeping lichens, invisibilium of mycelium,
whales who share our same thin atmosphere…
We are just getting aquainted
I have not lived here as long as the Tla-o-qui-aht –
this grand family, grounded in the ever-changing nature of this place,
who foster the naa –observation – and
teach of ?Isaak – to be observant and act accordingly: Respect.
The sounds of their mother tongue were coaxed by the Earth’s music.
Here, tourists experience pristine wilderness, as they are blown around.
In the eyes of the Tla-o-qui-aht ‘home’ is neither ‘pristine’ or ‘wild’
The way the ocean hosts the spawn in a caring roar of infinite motion
The way the branches dance in the wind, flexible, shaken, awaken, broken
their buds rubbing against each other negociating an aerial sunpatch
The way the krill and fish, feed the birds who, in turn
between a sky dance, bonding and wondering
(un)knowingly nourish our land with their jackson pollock droppings
Enamoured with how this reality unfolds,
a vertiginous mystery
Will understanding give us a grasp?
Her essence must be explainable in one formula
Yet, fluidity remains a mystery to the master engineers in mechanics
Mathematics cannot get a grip on the Devas – the provider
As E.E.Cummings would say: ‘Not for philosophy does this rose give a damn’
I guess, that what I would like to convey is that we share the same breath
What a fluke it is to be
Simply Being.
Let alone being! in this whirlwind of beauty and uglyness
this madness of push and pull between order and chaos
the ever-evolving moment of ocean motion . . .
Pause
to think that our ancestors survived wars, famines, insurgencies, exodus, mammoth hunts, dietary experiments, dehydration, tribal clashes, disease, saber-tooth tiger attacks, disorientation, hunger… and many other catastrophes that my cerebrus does not even have the capacity to grasp.
Our family tree, has endured
and I can BE for a fleeting while.
Walk gently
Be humble
The following piece is about my experience living on an intentional community – The Tofino Habitat Society. Many people have been here or know someone who has. Stories have been circulating on the internet, and they are not all glamorous. The name ‘Poole’s Land’ or ‘Symbiosis Ecovillage’ might reveal memories and opinions, making emotions resurface.
My truth is my own. I have had my own experiences here, with the relationships I have woven and the contributions I have made. All stories are important to tell because too often the most sensational stories will paint the whole picture. As often is the case, my story is more mixed than the viral ones.
I wandered into ‘Poole’s Land’ and ended up sticking around for longer than I expected, that is, until it evolved into the Tofino Habitat Society. I found that other people who have have lived and participated in this (flawed yet) promising project, have been drawn by their curiousity and hope:
I cannot start without introducing where I came from:
I come from a place of love: a father who is involved in providing energy to humans, a mother who brings them good health and happiness & an artistic and utopian older sister. I was brought up on hikes and home-cooked meals, developing an deep love for food. When I got to ‘the Land’, I had recently ended 18 consecutive years of being a student. I had studied Agriculture and Environment at McGill University, focusing on food systems and the ecological impact that they have.
During those studies, I thoroughly understood the symptoms of the Earth as it is infested with an acute case of humans. Every square kilometre has been
paced,
managed,
damaged,
‘improved’,
speculated upon,
fought over….
Certainly, what I learnt empowered me. Yet this knowledge also shattered me. Warm tears of anxiety would surface after a lecture on how severely our existence destroys the fragility of our climate, land and oceans. So, I chose to focus on agriculture – the interface between human life (and pleasure) and our environment. After graduating I did not feel so much more prepared to solve the imminent climate disruptions, soil erosion and water scarcity. Maybe just more overwhelmed.
How DO I fight the dragon?
So after graduation, I felt the need to spend time with my beloved grandmother and learn about her farm and woodlot in France. If there was one thing I could do, amidst all of this upcoming gloom and uncertainty, it would be to learn from her, to facilitate cultural transmission. I call her Mère Michelle. I spent many vacations on her property, where she fishes carps and pikes from freshwater ponds – a beautiful mixture of natural & anthropogenic features. She also tends to her Certified Sustainable woodlot and to flourishing flower beds. She knows all of the birds who visit her feeder and grows some interesting delicacies, like the physalis.
We were close, exchanging letters and an understanding that I was interested in taking over her hard work. Unfortunately, at the age of 84, which was a couple months before my graduation and our reunion, she got a serious brain stroke. She was ressuscitated into a vegetable state where she now remains, over 3 years later. As you can imagine, this broke my heart. I spent the winter on her farm, paying her regular visits at the hospital and catching up on the sleep missed during the demanding University years.
A serious break was in order. Amidst the complexities of managing human life on Earth, I had to rediscover the simple pleasures of life. My generation is expected to fix this complex system that we contribute to without ever having chosen it, without ever shaping it. (Except in minuscule ways with our purchases, our occasional votes or petitions). When facing what looks like a shaky, dire future full of unknowns, I seek a simple solution – and a philosophy for fulfilment. Surely, the answer to such a mess must be simple. Not a set of regulations, negociations and calculations.
I was drawn back to Canada, after being chilled by the aloof and haughty attitude of the Frenchies. I was to go West with a great fiery friend of mine and onto a tree-planting* job with two lovely souls. The repetitive action – shovel poking ground, inserting young tree and moving on to the next fertile spot, creating and ideal density was a good meditation. ‘It builds character ey!’. I witnessed first-hand the immensity of the clearcut destruction: hauntingly beautiful open skies and silence. British Columbia: Brazil of the North.
As spring moved on, the tree-planting season dried up. With some money in my pocket, I went floating and wandering. I had to see the vast ocean. So I hitchiked to Vancouver Island with a curly-haired islander.
I was drawn to Tofino by rumours of its breath-taking beauty.
Here, magestic old trees kiss the waves while eagles tease the otters,
and kelp poke their heads from the changing water.
I was invited over to ‘the Land’ by a young man who ended up being as angelic as his name, Gabriel. When he showed me around, I was not so naïve as to believe that by living in the forest, sharing meals and bonfires, the world would be fixed. It was comforting to be surrounded by lively, caring, people. Surely, simple living is the answer. Surely looking out for each other is another answer. Taking intitiative and responsibility for shaping the place you live in is important. Some people here understood that.
Obviously there were great set-backs to some of the idealism in us: Smoking too much weed. The owner of the property, being was knee-deep in the sales of ‘Earth Medecines’ aka psychedelics, was more devoted to his business than to the greater vision (or simply too incoherent). The wetness of Tofino (It is a rainforest after all!), combined with the lack of suitable housing, would often wipe off people clinging to their summer’s dream. However, the wild party reputation of the place, was are not so easily shaken off.
Despite all of this, I gained a lot from this experience. First, living with 20 to 100 people daily teaches you a lot about yourself and about pack dynamics. I got to be surrounded by wilderness and colorful folks. Of course there were Rainbows and Drainbows, but I blossomed there. I met my beloved partner there – but that is another story. It’s a long and beautiful story, because the two of us stuck together.
We came back to the Ecovillage-in-the-making, after further meanderings in the great land of Canada. M. Poole, it seemed, was getting tired and willing to slowly let go of the place, entrusting his daughter with its care, if she would like to undertake such an endeavour. The time was ripe. We helped clean it up, introduce some basic rules and hash-out the larger vision. We built composting toilets with the help of skilled and dedicated members of the Land. We set up a comprehensive system for managing the campers and residents. Individuals are stepping up and take responsibility for what can be a thriving, positive, regenerative, creative community. We planted a seed. Now, to see whether it will be nurtured.
I encourage everyone to participate in collective living. It is so enriching for the mind and heart. We cannot go through Life alone. Every action matters, whether getting to know your neighbour, having potlucks, growing food in public areas, joining a club or sharing meals with your roommates. Kindness is as vital as air. Touch is as vital as food. We are human. Be excellent to each other.
*As most Canadians know, tree-planting, is not a tree-hugger’s save-the-world kind of mission. It is the planting part of the extractive clear-cut forestry. A time and energy-consuming forestry practice, that destroys soils and habitat, compromises freshwater, wastes wood, and creates scars on the Earth.
She is my favorite librarian.
On the surface, a quirky woman, a glimpse of her mystery.
She lives on a float house in the Tofino’s inlet.
Morchella – Morilles – Morels
La ruée vers les morilles c’est un peu comme la ruée vers l’or.
C’est un champignon très prisé. Il pousse sous certains arbres, généralement en petites quantités. Mais l’année après un feu de forêt, les récoltes sont exceptionnelles. Imagine un paysage apocalyptique où pratiquement tous les arbres sont réduits a des poteaux charbonneux… Occasionellement quelques épis de conifers sortent pratiquements intacts, séchées et ocres où encore vertes. Un nuage de cendres accompagne chacun de tes pas.
C’est à ça que ça ressemble, après 200km sur un chemin forestier, au centre du massif rocheux Keena qui se trouve à l’Ouest du Lac artificiel Williston, au nord de la Colombie Brittanique. Pour commencer, on explore le versant Nord, car c’est accessible du chemin forestier. Les accès sont limités alors il va falloir explorer surtout à pied.
Içi le terrain semble parfait. Un feu d’une intensité modérée est passé par içi, exposant la terre minérale mais laissant derrière assez d’épines accrochées aux conifers pour que le vent les déposent en un petit tapis orangé qui garde le sol humide. De temps en temps, le vent emporte ces bois morts et forme un jeux géant et ardu de Mikado. Aprés avoir évité ça et exploré differentes pentes, élevations et façades de la montagne, nous trouvons aux pieds de grands arbres des minuscule boutons de morilles. Ces minuscules champignons se cammouflent en cones de pins! Encore quelques jours et ils seront récoltés par des cueilleurs avec couteau en mains et des bacs à champignons empilés sur leurs dos.
Il y a des histoires incroyables de ruées vers la morille que les vieux cueuilleurs de champignons nous racontent. Des villes provisoires sont érigées avec des baches. Des cueuilleurs viennent de tous les coins du monde pour se faire plein de cash qui n’est pas taxé. C’est la joie. Il y a des restaurants, des bars et mêmes des bordels provisoires. La plupart ne mettent pas un rond de côté et quand une grosse pluie arrive et les champignons moisissent, des centaines de personnes se trouvent bloquées en plein milieu de nulle part. Ils se rendent au village le plus proche et vendent tous ce qu’ils possèdent mais ce n’est pas suffisant pour sortir de là. Une année il parait que l’assistance sociale a du ammener un camion dans le village fait de baches pour distribuer des billets d’avions qui renverrait les cueuilleurs à leur maison.
Il y a déjà des dizaines de cueuilleurs dans ce feux. La sécheresse qui affecte la côte Ouest des États-Unis, fait qu’ils n’ont pas eu de morilles. Donc beaucoup d’américains sont montés au Canada pour une deuxième chance. Il y a une équipe de Cambodien, de Québécois, des Chèques etc. Tous ont entendus parler de la saison extremement lucrative du printemps dernier au Yukon et sont venus tenter leur chance en Colombie Brittanique.
Avant de se décider à cueuillir içi il faut terminer notre mission d’éclaireurs. Il faut aller explorer le versant Sud, voir si les morilles y sont déjà ! Au fur et à mesure qu’on grimpe le feux a eu un effet different sur l’écorce des arbres: elle semble brulée plus légeremment, craquée et pelée, exposant le bois propre dessous et créant un effet tacheté. Après 400 mètres de dénivelé on voit que le feux s’est aretté vers le sommet de la montagne, qui s’applatit, où des lichens, des pins et des sapins, du thé de Labrador, des lycopods sont sains et saufs. On se retourne et on apprecie la vue des montagnes brulées et les deux petits lacs, qui luisent comme des perles sur la rivière.
On continue à travers la végétation, toujours en quête d’une vue du versant Sud, et on tombe sur une plantation de pins ! On a l’impression d’êtres en plein milieu de nulle part, que personne ne s’aventurerait a déboiser içi. . . Mais, nous y voila ! Pratiquement tous les arbres de la Colombie Brittanique ont étés coupés pour du bois, papier etc. Il reste quelques forêts vierges qui ont étés épargnées soit parce-que les machines ne pouvaient pas y accéder, soit parce-que la population s’est mobilisée et a exigé la protection de notre patrimoine commun, comme c’est le cas à Tofino, où nous avons atterit après avoir changé d’avis et décidé que la saison des morilles était trop risquée pour nous.
– Namaste, Alice
(Prochainement . . . Notre vie sur l’île de Vancouver !
Practically all of our belongings are packed in this 4 cylinder mini-van.
Mike converted the back to have a bed. We tried to pack as lightly as possible – for the sake of minimalism and reducing fuel consumption.
By driving from London Ontario to Montreal Quebec and then to Prince George British Columbia we burnt approximately 500 Liters of gasoline, which amounts to 1.15 tons of CO2, according to the Uni of Exeter.
Comparatively, had we taken the plane, we would have emitted 0.78 tons of CO2, according to this Carbon Footprint calculator but would not have been able to take our gear, kitchen and bedroom with us. Nor would we have been able to appreciate the beauty of Canada and meet its fauna, flora and folks along the way !
A costly impact to this nomadic lifestyle. What a love/hate relationship with the magical petroleum.
We’ll try and make up for it by saving water, not using air-conditioning or dryers, eating locally, reducing our use of petroleum products, not buying new stuff . . .
– Alice
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