*On a flight from Amsterdam to Vancouver, I met an industrial
helicopter pilot—logging, fire fighting, and construction work. Later that
same year, after I had been thrown out of England, I was working in
Northern Ontario videoing a Spruce Budworm infestation where I again
met Paul, as one of our pilots. The next Spring I applied for a
Screenwriter‘s Development Grant based on a story that simply flooded
my mind about working the infestation. I got the grant, moved to
Vancouver, wrote myself into a corner, took the advice of a friend of Ed‘s,
and subsequently researched a Skycrane helicopter… the pilot was Paul.
He and Ed got along well, o ne thing led to another, and as of this writing,
Ed and Jayne have been together for twenty-two years.
_____Ten More Minutes_____
Saturday‘s weather was crystal clear and warm, excellent for hiking
up Cypress Mountain. Bonnie maintained that she didn‘t know what the
lesson was going to be, as she led nine of us up a root-crossed trail, often
stopping to point out aspects of the flora that represented energy
concentrations of a specific type.
After doing this often, Rachel commented that she mentally began to
separate areas of the terrain into various patchworks, like a quilt of nature.
Difficult to articulate though it was, she said this gave her a sense of being
a part of the fabric of the mountain—her sense of its enormity did not
make her feel diminished. Instead, she began walking more carefully, so
as not to disturb anything.
Initially, I paid no heed to the time or distance we were covering,
with Ed‘s father on my mind, while Bonnie took us up ever-steeper
inclines. Beginning with those who were in the worst physical shape,
followed by the impatient, members of the group began to ask, "How
much further?" with varying degrees of irritation.
At first, she said, "It‘s been years since I walked this trail, so I‘m not
sure, but I think it‘s close; maybe just over that ridge."
Ten minutes later, and long past the ridge we thought she had pointed
to, someone raised the question again.
"I remember now," Bonnie replied confidently, "It's just over there."
When it wasn't, tongue in cheek I suggested, "Maybe it wasn't this
mountain?"
"Hmm," Bonnie contemplated this possibility. "Let's give it another
ten minutes," she said. "I‘m almost sure it wasn‘t Grouse Mountain."
