by Rob Wood
For instance a typical call my go like this:
“Say, Honey, when you comin’ home?”
“Bleep, bleep, bleep”
“Can you send me some money?”
“Bleep.”
I also remember being entertained for hours by the Shakespearean tragicomedy that was being played out every night in our living room between the cat and the dog. Laurie and Kiersten would have to translate the subtle body language to clue me in to what the animals were really thinking. For instance, the cat would be trying to let us know it was suppertime, but rather than lose face and have to lower her dignity by demanding attention herself, she would bug the dog and get her to bark and rattle her doggy dinner bowl instead.
Laurie embarked on what would gradually become a lifetime vocation, a fine organic garden inside a stockade fence of cedar pickets to keep the deer out. The garden was (and still is) her pride and joy. She also kept chickens and sometimes geese and ducks. We were given a couple of geese for a wedding present two years after arriving on the land. We called them Pierre and Margaret after Prime Minister Trudeau and his wife.
I did a lot of the grunt work in the garden while Laurie did the cultivating. We bought seeds, started them in the greenhouse and prepared the soil with compost made from household scraps, chicken manure and seaweed. We brought in pigs to help break up and fertilize the land. We used an old gas-fired rototiller to plow the ground, and we planted in May when the soil warmed up. Summertime brought abundant harvests and the vegetables tasted delicious. Many, such as root crops, Brussels sprouts, leeks and kale, stayed in the ground and we used them all through the winter. Although greatly expanded and somewhat more sophisticated now, the original organic garden is still the mainstay of our homestead lifestyle many years later.
Although I was initially in my life deprived of any but the most elementary experience with using tools, my academic training had fostered a keen interest in vernacular architecture. Dwellings made from local materials that blend into their surroundings with elegant simplicity invariably possess a timeless quality that expresses unique, personal joy and pride in the instinctive process of human nest building.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful,” I had often vaguely imagined, “to witness that kind of authentic form of self-expression?”
Fantasy alone could not possibly have replicated the depth of pleasure the actual experience would turn out to be. It’s almost as if all my previous adventures had been preparing me for this. What an incredible bonus the Canadian wilderness offers for those brave enough to commit to living beyond the grid! It allows the absolute freedom to manifest this basic human impulse unfettered by all the conventional codes and standards intended to protect us from making our own mistakes. It was especially satisfying to share that elemental experience with two young ladies I loved.
Again with apologies to Monty Python, what is unquestionably true is that in spite of “’aving it tuff in them days, we were very ’appy,” in our old cosmic shack.
“And if you’re trying to tell that to us young people today, we won’t believe a word of it!” interjected one young skier.
-5-
BACK TO THE LAND COMMUNITY
“Was the community a hippie commune?”
WE DIDN’T EXACTLY THINK OF it as such at the time but it probably amounted to that in the end. The original founding intention was to beat the capitalistic system by collectively purchasing a large piece of land at a relatively low cost per acre and sharing it without subdivision, rather than separately buying many smaller, more expensive pieces. Most of the members attempted to follow the traditions of self-sufficiency and self-reliance of the Canadian pioneers and share the goals and aspirations of the hippie movement: peace, love and communal living. There was also a looser common goal of incorporating the spirit of adventure and direct involvement with nature into our daily lives and sharing it with our kids.
There were ten families in the land co-operative, and we had bought the quarter section (160 acres) of south-facing waterfront property from a logging company that had just finished logging the land for the second time. Fortunately, it had not all been clear-cut, and although there were fresh-cut patches there were also areas of standing timber between them. The island had no paved roads, water supply, electricity or telephones. The nearest connection with the public road access was a remote dirt road several miles away on the next island. There were, however, some old logging skid roads on the property, and the co-op had purchased a second-hand tractor. We brought it in on a barge, and it worked surprisingly well for transporting loads up from the makeshift dock up to the house sites.
Initially, most of our time was spent clearing house sites in the patches of logging slash. This work was done by hand except for chainsaws, the tractor and a few primitive tools. We would buck up all the old logging slash and debris with a chainsaw, drag the pieces with the tractor, then manhandle them onto huge burn piles. We scored dynamite from our logging friends and used it to blow up the old stumps. Even though clearing land by hand in this way was commonly referred to as back-breaking work, it was very satisfying. Working the land, you don’t need a plan. You just go out in the morning and start dealing with what is most obviously in need of attention. Then one thing leads on to the next. At the end of the day you’re tired but satisfied by the visible progress; you’re energized by the combination of vigorous exercise, fresh air and the energy of the land itself. We often worked collectively on each other’s places and developed good camaraderie (most of the time), with lots of potluck suppers and sharing of child care duties. Because there were no cars, everywhere we went on the land was on foot and by boat on the ocean, so we were all in pretty good shape.
“How did you get by without regular jobs?”
THE RELATIVELY LOW COST OF living was considerably augmented by voluntarily reduced material standards, particularly of housing and domestic services. Most people lived in home-built shacks, as we did, heated by simple thin metal wood stoves that acquired the affectionate self-deprecating label of “hippie stoves,” very primitive if any plumbing, no electricity and no cars or insurance. We grew some vegetables right away, but it took many years to build up the soil to get any serious production from gardens. We gathered valuable wild edible food such as stinging nettles in the spring and chanterelle mushrooms in the fall. There were so many fish close by that we could easily catch enough for supper just by dropping a line and jigging for cod or red snapper. In the summertime the local guys had competitions called derbies to see who could catch the biggest salmon. Thirty-pounders were very common. Some of those same guys would hunt deer in the fall. So there was always a lot of smoked salmon or venison as well as clams, oysters and prawns being offered and or traded around the neighbourhood. Some folks would take seasonal work such as tree planting, logging, fishing and wilderness guiding, which, though it took them away from home, often meant going farther out into the wilds with even more uncertainty and adventure.
All of these traditional, part-time ways of making a living on remote parts of the coast had in common not only a deep respect for the elements but also a positive attitude toward adversity and a willingness to commit to the flow of events. Just like mountaineering, surviving without getting hurt required a high degree of self-reliance and full responsibility and accountability for the consequences of one’s own actions. It also generated profoundly satisfying communion both with nature and with each other that could and did become addictive.
“We’ve heard that hippies liked to dance and have orgies. Was there any of that in your island community?”
WE CELEBRATED JUST ABOUT EVERY pagan occasion possible with wild and outrageous parties and dances that often lasted for days. All the problems associated with “making a living” or “getting things done” faded into the background, replaced by camaraderie, live music, dancing galore, communal feasting, good vibrations and fun.
Winter Solstice was always particularly important because it meant the sun was
coming back and the long winter evenings would be getting shorter again. Saluting the sun made a lot of sense when the lack of light during the winter months was more psychologically challenging than bad weather. At solstice we made up for it with dancing and singing around huge bonfires.
Mardi Gras was always a colourful and hilarious event because we had one couple from New Orleans who were serious party animals and insisted on teaching “y’all” how to let it “all hang loose.” They made us up, especially the kids, with elaborate, homemade, fancy costumes, masks and face paint. They wandered around with big sorcerer’s staffs with ribbons and bells on them, shouting, “Happen everybody! … Happen!”
Blossom parties were delightful celebrations of the arrival of spring. Summer Solstice was usurped by our co-op’s particular specialty, Leo Parties.
Astrology was quite popular, and August is the time of year of the fire sign, Leo. We had several co-op members with birthdays in Leo, and Leos being fiery types they made sure everybody else had to share their celebration of themselves.
Hundreds of hippies descended on our property, camping out and partying for three days on these occasions every summer. We would set up a Mexican street stand-type restaurant under a pole shack and tarp and take turns at churning out burritos and gallons of homebrewed beer. We also put on pantomimes with a different theme every year, with fancy dress and the whole works. All the co-op adults and kids were involved.
In the most memorable Leo party of all, the theme for the pantomime was Star Wars and the show was due to start right after lunch. It had been blowing southeast and raining all morning, but then right on cue, with great karmic synchronicity, the wind switched to westerly (good weather wind) and the sun came out. The kids especially were very excited about getting the show started. Trouble was, within minutes the westerly wind was blowing a gale. Some of us were really alarmed when we saw trees starting to come down all around where the kids and visitors had congregated. We considered postponing the show and trying to direct people to shelter until we realized that there was no way anything on these occasions could be directed or managed. These events had a life of their own. The whole thing was essentially anarchic and karmic. Plus on our forested property there was nowhere else to go that was more sheltered or safe. We were in nature’s hands.
The show went on and the wind increased to storm force. Just as Darth Vader made his dramatic appearance walking slowly down the main road, a huge alder crashed down just yards behind him and then another in front of him. Of course the audience cheered wildly and the kids screamed hysterically. It was the ultimate in theatrical drama. Hemlock trees were snapping in the middle, with the top halves of the trees flying through the air and crashing down in the bush hundreds of feet away. The “Force” must have been with us because, miraculously, no one was hurt and the show was the success of a lifetime.
“What was it that was most different about the alternative lifestyle?”
ONE OF THE MOST REMARKABLE novelties (that still continues to surprise visitors) was the depth of the prevailing silence. An awe-inspiring sensation in itself, this peaceful background influence had a profoundly calming effect on the mind and also accentuated the orchestration of sounds and other sensory stimulation when they did occur. Bird calls, for instance, such as woodpeckers hammering, ravens croaking, eagles squeaking, robins whistling, pierced the silence of the forest with a sharp clarity of tone and frequency that never failed to catch our attention. The sad cries of gulls and terns rang out across the channel and right into our hearts as great flocks circled and dove for fish in the rapids. With even the gentlest of breezes, tree branches swayed and danced, while ripples and wavelets broke up the reflections of sunlight on the water into oval-shaped pools of colour, catching our notice and reminding us of west coast Native art.
As tidal currents swirled the ocean, the light in the sky, though often limited to varying shades of grey in bad weather, moved both external and my personal wave reflections, in a dynamic and moody dance. Emanating from the silence, the powerful ambient energy of the land, the sea and the elements was not merely auditory or aesthetic; it spoke directly to our emotions, reawakening my childhood feelings of allegiance for the mysterious hidden connectivity. It reminded me of “the pact” and the essential motivation for embarking on this adventurous experiment in living on the edge of wilderness.
Like many other young people at that time, we explored the excitement and intrigue of alternative forms of consciousness. Perception and awareness of the vibrating energy fields of the environment was heightened by the ingestion of mild psychotropic plants such as psilocybin mushrooms and marijuana, which were relatively harmless, cheap and readily available. It was quite a common sight on the BC west coast in those days to see colourful long-haired hippies on their hands and knees in local farmers’ fields looking for magic mushrooms or carrying buckets of water to pot gardens hidden in the woods.
When I tried mushrooms it was initially quite scary. I was giggling and babbling so uncontrollably I could no longer communicate and had to slip away into the woods on my own. I found a mossy glade with sunlight shafting through the forest and a pretty view out to the ocean. Here I stripped off my clothes, lay down on my back in the warm moss and relaxed. As I gazed up into the amazingly complex, intricate and dazzling web of branches that formed the forest canopy, all normal sense of being a separate individual entity with a name, an identity and the ability to control my circumstances, dissolved into a continuous, pulsating flow of energy. There was no separation of internal and external, this or that. Far from being threatening and fearsome, this new sensation was conducive to entering a timeless, thoughtless and pleasing pulse of awareness, with an increasingly reassuring realization that the trees, rocks, flowers and mountains were all similarly, harmoniously pulsating. In this way the initial fear was gradually replaced by an enticing and euphoric feeling of being part of the interflow of energy linking all things, including me, in a single continuous process. At that point I got up on my feet and slowly walked around, overwhelmed by a flood of joy and happiness. I do believe I even hugged a few trees and chatted with some chickadees that were chirping around. I gazed in infinite, timeless wonder at the close-up beauty and intricacy of the wings of a butterfly that landed on my naked belly, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Couldn’t you do this without drugs?”
YES, TO A DEGREE, AND it didn’t take me long to realize the drugs were unnecessary. Although this takes conscious effort, imagination and discipline, previous experience helps. The drugs assist in “rattling one’s cage,” breaking through the conditioned mental constructs of the subconscious mind that govern a very high percentage of our thoughts, actions and emotions in modern society. It is particularly difficult, especially for men, it seems, to let go of their egos, which get in the way of the truth by insisting on fitting everything into preconceived boxes so they can be controlled and manipulated. The opposite effect of opening our minds, being more fully in the moment, more conscious, more alive, can be achieved in varying degrees through meditation or yoga, in fact from any deep-breathing physical exertion in fresh air, especially when accompanied by the fear-induced “rush” of the “natural high” with which I was already so familiar.
“Just like riding a big wave or carving a perfect turn in the deep powder, you mean?”
EXACTLY. WE BECOME ONE WITH the wave or the mountain and they tell our body/minds how to perform.
“Like being in the Zone, you mean?” a young skier chipped in with engaged enthusiasm.
YES, PRECISELY.
Ultimately it was the experience of spending so much time directly engaged with the energy fields of the wild natural environment on the island that awakened our minds and bodies to previously hidden connectivity and synchronicities of the life all around and within us. It was the shared sensation of oneness with the “good vibrations” of the land that we cherished so much that instilled a sense of community and substantiated our faith in love and
peace.
This is why it is so important to preserve our remaining wilderness. It tells us how to survive and prosper if we can but open our body/minds to hearing and feeling its message.
“What happened to the back to the land community?”
UNFORTUNATELY, IT ALSO HAS TO be said that, being in the moment, conscious and in tune with the environment are much easier said than done, especially over a long period of time. When, for any of an infinite numbers of reasons, we succumb to the powerful myths of fear and separation, remain trapped in our subconscious control dramas and fail to be in tune with our surroundings, bad things such as accidents, illnesses, arguments and even wars are more likely to happen. Our back to the land community suffered its fair share of these challenges to sustainable cohesion and synergy.
Even though we managed to stay true to the basic agreement of sharing the enjoyment of the land and love for all the children, like other alternative communities of the period we were to find out the hard way, as T.S. Eliot said, that “between the idea and the reality … falls the shadow.” The practicality of sharing tools and equipment wore thin, and huge personality conflicts severely tested our idealistic expectations of each other and communal living in general. We all abhorred formality and bureaucracy, but it turned out that the strongest advocates of informality were in practice habitual dictators. If things were not to be done their way they would exercise a veto and prevent them being done at all. The result was that any attempts to function collectively or even democratically were miserable failures. Eventually we all learned that the best way to get along was by backing off on lofty communal projects and expectations, leaving each other alone and doing our own thing.