An Open Letter to the Metro Vancouver Board of Directors: Do not further industrialize our protected ecosystems and poison our ocean.

Honourable Councillors, Mayors, and Chief of the MVBD:



This story isn’t mine, but it moves me.


“Bye-and-bye (the two boys) came to a river and walked beside this, following it down until they came to the sea. Now the water was a long way out, and as they walked over the sand, they saw water spurting up all about them. “Look!” said one, “there must be something down there; we will find out what it is!”

They got sticks and scraped away the sand until they came to a large clam. It may be good to eat, they thought, and breaking it open, they tasted it. Ah, it was good! They both began to dig, and very soon had a large pile of clams. They carried them up to the beach and, getting cedar sticks, made a fire and put the clams beside it to cook.

For many months they lived at that place beside the river, always having plenty to eat, for besides the deer they killed, they could always dig clams when the water went out. One day, when the water was very low, they saw something splashing in the river, and, hurrying to look, found more salmon than they could count, swimming up the river. The water was filled with salmon, and more and more were coming, all pushing and fighting to get far up in the fresh water…


… It did not take the boys very long to get back to their old home, for they walked night and day, they were in such a hurry to see their family again. One morning the mother woke to see two young men standing in the door of her little house. “We have come back to you mother!” they called. “We have found a place where food is all about us—no need to hunt for hours for a meal. There is food that you have never heard of—more than a large tribe would need. See, we have brought some of the new food for you to eat.”







This recounting is part of the origin story of the K’ómoks First Nation, written down in a book titled “Two houses, half-buried in sand.” by Beryl Mildred Cryer. This origin story was translated by Mary Rice from an elder from Kuper Island prior to 1932. Cultures - K'ómoks First Nation (komoks.ca)

This story sends a thrill down my spine, for it recounts the plentiful food and fresh water resources of the Georgia Strait before urban, agricultural, and industrial wastewater poisoned our shores. Imagine a beach that delivers miles of fresh shellfish with every ebb of the tide! Imagine a stream so abundant with spawning salmon that you can catch the fish with your hands and toss it up on the river bank!


I appeal to every Mayor and Councillor upon the Metro Vancouver Board of Directors:


Hold this image in your mind as you consider whether to approve the expansion of industrial land across the Urban Containment Boundary. This boundary was set in place to protect the endangered watershed of the TATALU (Little Campbell River). The use of this forested and pastoral area for industry will send an unsustainable burden of contaminated water into the watershed, destroying a critical salmon spawning river and flooding the shores of the Semiahmoo First Nation Reservation.


Don’t let this short-sighted destruction be your legacy. Our waters can be restored. In fact, there are several environmental organizations like the Shared Waters Alliance who have spent the last two decades cleaning and rebuilding our waterways. A return to clam harvesting and a thriving orca population is not impossible. However, the development of this protected land in South Surrey into industrial land will destroy decades of restoration. It will also further directly poison the land and water of the costal Semiahmoo First Nations People, and expose the local municipal governments to litigation. This Wednesday, vote

AGAINST the proposed amendment to the South Campbell Heights Regional Growth Strategy.



Charity Gosling

To learn more about this important vote that will turn protected land into industrial use, and how you can help, go to: 

https://arocha.ca/south-campbell-heights-lap/?mc_cid=d2f156b121&mc_eid=6774f045dd

A Different Kind of Hurt: The Physical Pain of Mental Injury

 A friend once shared that her youngest son was born with a painful yet invisible neurological condition. For years the young boy struggled with excruciating pain. Still, he lacked the language and understanding to communicate what was wrong because the pain was normal for him. It wasn't until the young man reached his early 20s that he gained the insight and language to share his experience and to finally receive treatment.

This story reminded me of my experience of mental illness. I lived with depression and anxiety after the birth of my second child. My brain hurt, but it was unlike any type of pain I'd ever known. I had no similar experience to draw on. I lacked the language to say what was happening. It made it nearly impossible for me to verbalize to myself what was wrong, much less express it to others.

But that didn't mean that my pain wasn't real.

I am so grateful that our culture is beginning to give language and recognition to the pain of mental illness. After a journey of years with metal injury, I now understand that my pain is real because my brain is real. When you bang your shin, you don't need to look to know something is wrong. When something triggers my anxiety, I am now experienced enough to know "'ouch' that hurt! I need to take care of that so I can heal".

But it's still hard to precisely describe the sensation, mainly because, short of using an MRI machine, you can't see the damage and we don’t seem to have the language to communicate exactly what is going on.

Still, I want to try… because my mental pain is a physical sensation that I am learning to identify. The closest way I can describe it is it feels like an aching bruise. I feel it and know that something inside my head just took damage. Some parts of my brain grow foggy, and other parts start to over-fire. Panicking neurons lead to secondary sensations like nausea and a pounding pulse. I may start to blackout. In extreme cases, my nose might even begin to bleed.

I think of medication for mental illness as a supportive cast to protect the damaged areas of my brain and of therapy as rehab to strengthen and protect those areas. With these supports, I can calm and regulate my nervous system when something 'bangs' me mentally. Even better, I have learned that I can protect myself BEFORE mental injury occurs with things like exercise, nutrition, sleep, and journaling.

Do you know what else? Just like no one escapes external injuries on this journey of life, I doubt that any of us totally escape mental injury. A traumatic situation bruises your mind just like a dropped dishwasher door can knock your shins. Some wounds heal quickly. Some can be ignored. Some leave scars that inhibit your original cognitive function. Like external ailments, some mental injuries can heal and others can be even cured. Some mental ailments may presently lack a cure, but the symptoms can, happily, be managed.

Addressing mental pain and seeking out ways to heal just makes sense. We would never demand that someone continue to walk on a broken leg! Would you call an athlete rehabbing an injury weak? Or would you admire the grit it takes to return to health?

If you know what I’m talking about, I want to reassure you: you're not ‘crazy’. The pain in your brain is a symptom of a mental injury. That drowning feeling that cripples you and presses you into the bed? That's not you; it's your injury. There is help. It can get better. 

You are not alone.

Dreamscapes

In my dreams, my family owns a house. The house stands upon the top of a grassy hill like a great wooden ship cresting a wave. The sea is the dreary and complex city pressing up against the hill on all sides, held at bay by a great tall white wall.

This is the home that no one else wanted. When we found it, it had been the ancient squat of a mad hoarder, with piles of garbage up to our necks in every room.

But we loved it. We bought it and began to clean it. As we cleaned, we discovered that beneath the garbage was a vast and dazzling collection of fantastic items from across the entire world. Each room on the second and third floors of this house is dedicated to a different collection.

The home in my dreams is full of wonders. Everything is made of polished gleaming wood. The bay windows in the dining room take the space of an entire wall and somehow always look out onto an endless misty moor. There is always something to repair in this home, and there is always another nook to discover. Usually, these nooks are small sunny spots filled with pillows and books.

The basement of the house is frightening and fascinating. It is the only place in the home that defies order, no matter how hard my lucid dreaming self tries to repair and clear it. The basement is always dimly lit with a maze of ancient clothes from across time hanging on racks. The clothes are beautiful and delicate, and yet they fit poorly and always smell bad. The clothes are the happiest staying where they are.

The basement floor is wet. Beyond the clothes, there is a mountain of rusted and tangled sports equipment, like a hedge of thorns.

If you can make it past the broken sports equipment, you come to a place where you see that the home's foundation is cracked. Above the cracked foundation, there is a large hole rotten through the wooden wall. This hole refuses to be repaired, no matter how I try, and it fills me with unease. I must face the fact that one day my dreams will crumble, and the house will collapse. And maybe we were fools to have bought this home at all.

The hole weeps like an open wound, and it reminds me of the heel of Achilles. Wild dogs, spiders, and raccoons come into the basement through the hole and make nests in the ancient clothes. 

I flee back up to the dining room and try not to think of the hole.

There is a secret elevator in the house. It took some time to find it, and it doesn't always work. But if you can get over the fear of cramped spaces and the possibility that the elevator might get stuck and trap you forever between the house's walls, you can take the elevator to the very secret top floor. 

When you step out of the elevator, you see that half of the top floor opens to a wild alpine rooftop garden. The other half of the secret top floor is cool, white, and metallic. There is a futuristic command interface inside of an egg-shaped room. This room looks like the bridge of a battleship with a large screen and a wide control panel. This is where the greatest secret lies. My wonderful house on the hill doesn't just look like a ship; it IS a ship, controlled by science and magic and a benevolent AI personality.

All you have to do is say the word, and the city around you grows liquid. The house turns into a mighty ship and sails through the world's landscapes as if they were water. You can go anywhere, have any adventure and sometimes even lift up off the earth and sail through the sunrise.

I return to this magical home many nights while I sleep, and the dream builds and shifts. There is a trapdoor leading to a secret underground world. There is a train that circles the base and never lets you leave. There is a room where you can learn magic as long as you never tell anyone else where it is. And gargles. There are gargoyles on the chimney tops...

But I have spent too long in bed. There are chores to be done and people to greet.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep..."

Sweet dreams.

:)