Crazy Clown in a Bowl of Hero Soup: a perspective

December 2, 2021

Crazy Clown, in a bowl of Hero soup: a perspective. Robbie Newton.

Yes it’s time for me to focus on my Hero’s, a celebration of some of the pleasures that Denman has offered me in the times that I’ve spent here.

So now for an easy Hero, Esther Muirhead, whose determination to save the trees of the Fairy Creek area is now‘legend’ for us on Denman. Her reporting of what she has seen and been involved with has promoted many others to join in that campaign.

Personally my disgust is at a new high for those who identify with that once respectable NDP label. And Teal-Jones. the logging company who say they are providing for a market of ‘cedar shakes’; a product that is easily available from any cedar tree; suggests an unhealthy lust for power, in a society which already overindulges in that same lust.

One of my might have been Heroes was Andrew Scruton. I’d watch him tangle in the DIRA ‘arena’ that I still like to call “Ratepayers”, where the ‘possessive’ natures of residents still stir strong emotions. He did well there, taking criticism and rising above it; and thoughts about running for the Trust became public. However an admiring Bill Engleson attached himself to that goal; which stirred up the satirical pen of Ron Sakolsky; and Engle/Scruton, linking their names together becoming the butt of this lively piece of writing. Bill was outraged but sensibly Andrew added nothing of his own; and Andrew wasn’t elected; so as an “unadorned Hero” he remains.

My heroes, yes, but who are yours? I’m just one observer, there are so many more of you.

Think of who you would choose, and why; there’s too much negativity, it surrounds us: make your own positive notions known; free yourself and feel the relief.

Phoenix Riting! – December 2nd, 2021

December 2, 2021

I am sensing a disturbance in the Force. Since my last column on the subject, I’ve heard disturbing stories. Something is deeply wrong. The problem is that here on Hornby Island, vaccine passport requirements diverge significantly from official public health orders, and that is creating an unsustainable, potentially volatile situation.

The official public health guidelines can be seen at https://www2.gov.bc.ca/gov/content/covid-19/vaccine/proof . In brief, gatherings, weddings, classes and organized events of all kinds in public spaces require vaccine passports for groups of fifty or more. But for some reason, our local venues have all implemented a zero-tolerance policy. Here on Hornby, all groups, classes and gatherings of any size require passports. No public discussion has taken place about this decision, which is unfortunate.

Now bands, for example, cannot practice in their accustomed venues if one or more members are unvaccinated. The same goes for dance groups, emotional support groups, board meetings, groups or classes of any sort or size. Our community is made up of such groups, some of which have been meeting for years. Groups may simply stop meeting, or struggle to find alternatives which don’t exist. As for those groups which choose to leave out their unvaccinated members, what rifts and emotional wounds are created? Feelings matter.

When people feel treated unfairly, hurts fester and that generates toxicity. A community of our size cannot afford to treat so many members as if they are disposable. I hear whispers of “they deserve it” and “people who don’t comply should be forced” and I shudder. This is not my Hornby. Our island culture has always tended towards tolerance and inclusion. How many of us moved to these islands in the first place for a more free-flowing way of life? When people feel pressured, they resist.

Resentments are building, and the worst of it is, such feelings are justified, because the public health orders are clear. It’s one thing to suffer lockdown along with everyone else by government order. It’s quite another to be unnecessarily locked out of the active life of the community. If the official order requiring passports for groups of fifty or more seems too frighteningly large for our small island, then let us set the limit at twenty, or even fifteen. Just, please, anything but zero.

The unvaccinated are not ciphers; they are friends and neighbours, essential to the life of our community. They volunteer, they contribute, they deserve to be treated like they matter. Beliefs aside, personal choices aside, whatever the rest of the world chooses to do, we need to remember who we are and what we value. We are a community, we are in this together. A healthy community seeks inclusive solutions and minimizes harms.

I am sure the decision to go above and beyond the public health order was made from care and concern, but now that a little time has passed, consequences are showing. I do understand the need to abide by the rules, but I fear we are strangling ourselves on them. Is this what we collectively want?

What do you think? I want to hear from you! Please send feedback, questions and suggestions to phoenixonhornby@gmail.com.

A Final Report on the Recent Internet Referendum

December 2, 2021

Here’s a final report on the internet referendum.

The referendum passed by a landslide vote – 1,192 voting “Yes” and 81 voting “No”.

There were 547 voters at the Denman polls, 439 at the Hornby polls
There were 287 ballots cast by mail-in vote or at the advance poll in Courtenay.

The indications are that the “Yes” vote was 96% on Denman, 90% on Hornby.

Thank you to everyone for voting.

We look forward to hearing when CityWest will install fibre-optic service along our roads, and when the capacity of the Connected Coast undersea cable project will reach our islands. Our communities eagerly await the benefits of high-speed internet, as well as a 300-channel television option and a hard-wired telephone service, all at more reasonable prices than our present providers offer.

Every household on our islands should know one vital bit of information before CityWest begins its installation. CityWest will install a connection from the road to the wall of our house (a “Drop”) without charge if the property owner has signed a “Drop Approval form”. In cases where the property has a long or otherwise difficult driveway, the owner must advise CityWest of the situation and the two will work out an installation arrangement. Signing a Drop Approval is not committing to subscribe to CItyWest services – it is just bringing the capacity to your house. Drop Approval forms are available at the Denman Store, Abraxas, the Hornby Co-op store, or online at https://www.citywest.ca/dropping-in.

If a property has not provided a signed Drop Approval before fibre is installed along its frontage, CItyWest will not install a Drop to that property. If, later on, that property decides that it does want to obtain service, a Drop will have a substantial cost (perhaps in the $000s) and there may be a delay of many months before installation can be arranged.

This is critical information that every household should know. It is estimated that about one-third of Denman properties have not signed Drop Approvals. If you know of someone, a neighbour, a friend, who you think has not signed a Drop Approval, please help to ensure that they understand the significance of not signing one of these forms.

People who don’t understand today may be very sorry later.

Hornby/Denman Internet Committee.

Green Wizardries, The Gift of Winter Holidays

December 2, 2021

Green Wizardries, The Gift of Winter Holidays, by Maxine Rogers

I love the month of December because it contains some of my favourite holidays. I know the Christians have one of their most important holidays in December where they celebrate the birth of their God. I am all for that as I believe in religious freedom. As a Druid, I feel free to celebrate other holidays and I leave Christmas to the Christians.

One of the celebrations I want to tell you about is my all-time favourite holiday: Saturnalia. This is a Roman holiday and it is devoted to the God, Saturn. It was Saturn who taught humans the arts of farming and presided over a Golden Age of equality in ancient Italy.

Saturnalia was also a celebration of returning light and the traditional present was candles. So it was a fun and inexpensive holiday but of course some people went wild and spent too much money on presents.

Saturnalia may not be familiar to a lot of you but it was enthusiastically celebrated in my neighbourhood until Covid 19 put a stop to indoor gatherings. We decorated the living room with candles and turned off the electric lights. Our neighbours would come over on the evening of December 17, which is the first day of Saturnalia, and each guest would be greeted with shouts of Io Saturnalia! This is pronounced Ee-oh Saturnalia. When all the guests had arrived, I would pronounce the words, “Today, all men are free and all men are equal.” Men in this instance simply means people.

Saturnalia was a celebration of equality that started in the city of Rome itself and then spread out over the Empire. It typically lasted from 17 to 21 or even 23 December. All the slaves should have had those days off but in practice, only the religious households celebrated the festival properly. The slaves would also be given presents of money to buy candy, wine, gamble or whatever they wanted. The master, the Dominus of the house and the Domina, the mistress, would put on a festival dinner for the slaves and wait on them at the table.

Lacking slaves in our household, we put on a big, many-course meal for our eager neighbours. Every formal Roman meal began with eggs and ended with fruit. They had a saying, “From eggs to apples,” which meant to do something properly. So, we began by serving a tray of devilled eggs. We also served spiced and honeyed wine called Conditum Paradoxum, or Surprise Wine.

The Romans loved honey and so do I. So, here is the recipe for Conditum Paradoxum. 1 bottle white wine or red if that is what you have. 1 cup honey, 1 date, 1 Tsp nutmeg (There is a little controversy here because the word is translated as pepper but they also put this on honey flan so I think it really refers to nutmeg. Try both and see which one you like best.) 1/2 Tsp fennel seed, 2 bay leaves and a pinch of saffron. To the honey add 75 ml of the wine and heat it in a pan until the honey melts. Lower the heat and add the rest of the wine and the spices. The Romans served this wine chilled but you can serve it as hot-mulled wine if you like.

After the eggs, come a variety of little dishes served one at a time. We like to serve all the things we make on the farm so sheep milk cheeses, pickles, pate, home-made bread, pastries and Roman cheesecake made from sheep-milk ricotta, honey and eggs topped by some sort of fruit sauce.

The feast should end with some fruit but everyone used to bring cakes and desserts so we usually had as many sweet dishes as savory and the men would groan as each new sweet was served but then they would throw themselves into the feast with the sort of true courage the Romans would have approved of.

The evening was delightful because it was all about conversation and making merry with people we cared about. It was also a good time to lasso the neighbours before they were all too busy with Christmas preparations.

The next holiday we love to celebrate is the Winter Solstice which, in case you didn’t know, occurs on December 21. That is the shortest day and the longest night. After that, each day becomes a little bit longer until the birds return from the south, bearing summer under their wings.

On the night of December 21, somewhere in the forest of the world, midsummer is born as a tiny, frozen jewel and is guarded by the Lord Cernunos, the Stag God. Each day, the glittering midsummer grows a little larger and casts its light and warmth a little farther until it waxes full mighty and the world become warm and full of colour and life again. So an event to celebrate indeed!

The Winter Solstice is celebrated by a variety of religions but even rational materialists can celebrate this holiday as it is an astronomical event. As a Druid, I perform a Grove Opening and welcome the turning of the year wheel. Religious duties done, I used to have a small dinner party for some friends because it is not a feast unless you have guests and share your happiness. Is it even legal now to have a supper party?

When everyone is assembled, all the lights go off and we sit in silence and the dark for a couple of minutes. Then, one candle is lit, I would say a few words about the Winter Solstice and then we would each light a candle, think about the year to come and get slightly drunk and very full.

Small presents can be exchanged at this festival but it is a nature festival so we give presents from our farm. Dried fruit and home-made sweets being the usual products. No one feels less happy for not having to shop for presents. No one needs more plastic junk. No one has money to spare for presents that will be a disappointment in any case.

The last holiday we celebrate in December is the festival of Sol Invictus, the Unconquered Sun. This festival takes place on December 25 and that and Saturnalia set the tone for the new festival of Christmas. Indeed, Saturnalia was celebrated until the fifth century AD much to the annoyance of the Christian clerics.

On the morning of the 25^th, my husband brings a tray of coffee into the bedroom first thing in the morning and with it, a couple of outsized stockings filled with candy, fruit, nuts and tiny presents. He was raised a Protestant and is still tapering off. This too is a fun festival and by the time all three festivals have come and gone, I feel sure we have welcomed in the new year properly and we are not broke!

An Unpainted Portrait, ‘Beneficial’ Exercise

December 2, 2021

‘Beneficial’ Exercise

Following our humiliating marching experiences, a short break was scheduled. The timetable allowed five minutes for us to get into running gear and meet Tendril on the volleyball court. Our break was therefore spent in a huge rush to fetch our gear from vehicles and transferred to our new residences. I naïvely threw my uniform onto the bright yellow bed, inserted myself at lightning speed into my sports gear and emerged breathlessly onto the landing at approximately the same time as the rest of the gang. Following a very brief debate on the matter, we abandoned the elevator and hurtled down the lethal concrete stairwell to the ground floor.

Once we arrived upon the parade square we were examined for cleanliness and suitability for public consumption. Tendril had, without any warning whatsoever, appeared in a white singlet and very tiny 1980s shorts. They may have been purpose-made, but since I’ve always considered recreational long-distance running to be a socialized form of masochism, it was a shock. Completing his ensemble were garish, fluorescent, proper running shoes. This, I deduced, did not bode well. Running shoes are, I have since learned, never a good thing to see on the feet of someone in a position of authority. Such people have a distressing tendency to assume – erroneously – that running for extended periods upon hard surfaces is both beneficial and fun. They seem unable to understand any other perspective; for example, that running on concrete is, in principle, a very silly idea.

The most striking aspect of Tendril’s appearance was the alarming exposure of the man’s skin. From the neck up – in uniform at least – his skin tone, although suspiciously orangey, had not seemed so noticeable, but now with much more of him exposed to the atmosphere, it was evident that he had at some time in the not-too-distant past been deep-fried. Not only that; he had been left in the hot oil for way too long. A disturbing Trumpy-orange all over, his skin had the texture of an over-cooked Christmas turkey (without the bacon strips, and let’s not even think about the whole stuffing thing) fresh from the oven. The effect was enhanced by thin, stringy arms which looked exactly like shrivelled chicken wings.

With little further warning, we were then introduced to the delights of one of Tendril’s favourite pastimes. No, I do not mean rubbing himself against his glossy boots in an unholy way. This was far more indecent: the cross-country run. Since the grim expanse of Crumpton is almost exactly in the middle of beautiful, rural Crumbleshire, finding some ‘country’ to run ‘across’ in an island of industrialisation presented a slight problem. Green space in this thoroughly dodgy landscape consisted mainly of school football pitches or municipal parks, both of which, it would turn out, were liberally covered in broken glass or ripped-up porn magazine pages and an enormous variety (size, consistency, colour) of dog crap. On reflection, this was probably the most colourful thing about the place.

In order to reach any genuine countryside, we were obliged to find our way – by a ridiculously complicated route – through scruffy residential and industrial streets and out of town on unyielding paved footpaths. The footpaths also presented an obstacle course of canine waste, broken glass and worst of all, grumpy, unmoving Crumptonians. Most of them were utterly absorbed in the town’s favourite pastime of standing still and hating everything. After what seemed like a ridiculous distance/length of time, a relatively healthy-looking tree hove into view. This was slowly followed by a farmer’s field – identified by being a large, mostly green and flat space with no obvious buildings or abandoned cars and dotted with unhappy-looking sheep. It felt as if a curtain had been pulled aside to allow us to see the real world once again. It was inspiring and depressing at the same time.

Already desperate for oxygen by this point, I was appalled when the distant head of the column promptly turned around and ran away from England’s green fields and past me in the opposite direction. We were, then, only halfway through the torture. At least, I thought as I dragged my carcass back through those miserable streets past the same immobile, hateful Crumptonians, we were breathing more noxious traffic fumes than was humanly possible, and my suffering would therefore soon be at an end. Two things were clear: firstly, I wasn’t nearly as fit as I had thought I was. Secondly, the deep-fried Tendril was extremely fit. I initially wondered how he did it at his advanced age – and almost worked myself into respecting him for it – but with the passage of only a few days, it would become apparent that apart from the first few days with us, he had very little else to occupy his time except to keep himself fit. It was, I thought, a nice job if you could get it.

Mark and I brought up the rear of the group, just about keeping Alan in sight just to avoid getting lost. I was at that time reasonably well-conditioned (I thought) but it was extremely uncomfortable to run on hard pavement, and as a result, I was suffering from a lot of pain in my lower back. There may have been a little bit of feeble whimpering, folks. Mark also hated running on the streets and was suffering his own woes. Despite his denials, I was sure that his main problem was the drag from his outstanding ears. Such was the effect of the huge amounts of air colliding with his flappers, the poor lad was forced to resort to running bent at almost ninety degrees to present a more aerodynamically efficient profile to the atmosphere. He balanced this with the very real danger of taking off, hang glider-style. If I’d had the breath to make fun of him, I would have.

All I wanted to do was stop. I needed, as a matter of urgency, some relief from the pain in my kidney area, but a combination of pride, fear of the consequences and a total lack of knowledge about where I was, prevented me from doing so. It would, after all, have been a little embarrassing, as a prospective police officer, to have to ask for directions back to the FTC. There was also the prospect – slender but enough to frighten me – of being kidnapped and having my DNA harvested should I end up wandering those mirthless streets alone…All they would have found of me was an empty skin. In addition, being male also meant that to admit to being lost would go against millennia of genetic encoding which prevented me from ever acknowledging that I had even slightly lost my sense of direction. The immediate choice facing me, therefore, was to keep going, or else die a lonely death filled with shame. I preferred the former option.

After approximately half a lifetime of keeping one another moving and a rather desperate and disturbingly ugly version of a sprint finish when I made a poorly judged bid to not finish last, Mark and I arrived back at the front doors of the training centre in a tangle of limbs and a state of near collapse. There, our instructor stood, barely out of breath and with our colleagues in varying degrees of respiratory distress alongside him. Recognising our supreme effort and sacrifice, the kindly Tendril granted us a whole fifteen-minute break to shower and dress in our new uniforms, thence to reappear in class once again. Arse.

Covid-19: Digital Peasants and the Ignorant Rich

December 2, 2021

30 November 2021

Covid-19: Digital Peasants and the Ignorant Rich

By Gwynne Dyer

The new Omicron variant of the Covid-19 virus was discovered last week by scientists in South Africa and Botswana, the only countries in southern Africa that have the skills and resources to detect a new variant.

So what did the rich countries of the world do? Like the drunk looking for his lost car keys under a street-light – “Where did you drop them?” “Over there.” “Then why are you looking for them here?” “The light’s better here.” – they banned travel from southern African countries.

On 23 November, scientists in Botswana uploaded 99 Sars-CoV-2 genome sequences to the Wellcome Sanger Institute in the United Kingdom, which has operated as a clearing house for more than a million such sequences from dozens of countries since March 2020. They noted that three of the genomes seemed different from the usual Delta variant.

On the same day a separate team in South Africa uploaded the genomes of seven Covid samples with the same suspicious mutations in the spike protein that the virus uses to infect human cells. Within hours scientists everywhere could study those genomes on the web, and in 72 hours the World Health Organisation declared that we have a fifth ‘variant of concern’ on our hands.

Whereupon the rich countries of the global north instantly slammed their gates shut against travelers from South Africa and nine other countries in the same region. It’s not even clear that this is where the variant first emerged, but never mind all that.

Prof. Tulio de Oliveira, the Durban-based scientist leading the effort to understand the new variant, pointed out that South Africa has been “very transparent with scientific information… The world should provide support to South Africa and Africa and not discriminate or isolate it.” Fat chance.

By Sunday South Africa’s President Cyril Ramaphosa was warning that the travel ban “is not informed by science, nor will it be effective in preventing the spread of this variant. The only thing the prohibition on travel will do is to further damage the economies of the affected countries and undermine their ability to respond to and recover from the pandemic.”

Where to start? Perhaps with the fact that there is no country called ‘Africa’. For example, there is actually no shortage of vaccines in South Africa, a semi-developed country where the main problem is vaccine reluctance. Internet access is high and mistrust of authority is even higher, so only 27% of South Africans are fully vaccinated.

This is what you might call the ‘digital peasant’ problem, and it is shared by some fully developed countries like Russia (only 43% of the population double-vaccinated) and Germany (68%), as well as by Trump supporters in the United States (ca. 50%).

Cynics might say that this is a self-solving problem. As Germany’s outgoing health minister Jens Spahn put it, “probably by the end of this winter, pretty much everyone in Germany will be vaccinated, recovered or dead.” But this is not just a local problem.

The risk of new variants emerging still exists even in rich countries where the Covid virus continues to circulate widely. In most African countries, and in the poorest Asian countries as well, the risk is very high and will remain so, because they just can’t get enough vaccines. A year after the first vaccines became available, only 6% of Africans are fully vaccinated.

Twelve billion vaccine doses will have been produced in the world by the end of this month (December), which is more than enough for every human being over 18 years old. But the rationing is mainly done by price, so school-children are being vaccinated and adults are getting a third jab in the wealthy countries, while several billion adults have not yet had their first jab in the global south.

In effect, the rich are maintaining a long-term reservoir of potentially devastating new variants in the poorer countries in order to make themselves a little bit more secure in the short term. Everybody knows that being rich tends to make people greedy and careless about the welfare of others; it’s less well known that it also makes them stupid.

And in the meantime, they are also punishing the economies of the poor by imposing knee-jerk travel bans on an entire region of Africa on suspicion of harbouring the Omicron virus – even though we all know that it has already been confirmed in Europe and Asia, and is doubtless present (although not yet detected) in the Americas too.

The right move, even at this late date, is to focus all the world’s energies on getting vaccines into the poorest countries: ‘nobody is safe until everybody is safe’. Omicron looks like it may be a big problem, and there could be even bigger ones behind it.

Local Civil Wars

December 2, 2021

Local civil wars: Eartha Muirhead

This November, the RCMP have been violently removing Wet’suwet’en Indigenous land defenders from their territory, in order to allow Coastal GasLink’s (CGL) fracked gas pipeline to be buried beneath the raging Morice River. This week, two planes full of RCMP officers, armed with snipers, canine units, and other military-grade

equipment, raided and arrested more than a dozen people, including elders, Indigenous land defenders, journalists, and legal observers. While B.C. is in the midst of a climate emergency, the RCMP is raiding sovereign Indigenous territory to ram through a fossil fuel pipeline which will only worsen the climate crisis. In 2019 and 2020, RCMP have spent approximately 13 million dollars, and up until March 2021, 5.8 million dollars on colonial violence in Wedzin Kwa, also known as, the Morice River area.

The Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs are the proper title holders on their unceded territory, which the Supreme Court of Canada recognized in a landmark case. The Hereditary Chiefs have governance rights that precede the elected band councils enacted under the colonial Indian Act and all five Hereditary Chiefs have refused to give their consent to Coastal Gaslink. This isn’t the first time the RCMP has invaded Wet’suwet’en territory. Land defenders have controlled access to the Morice Forest Service Road to stop Coastal GasLink from drilling under Wedzin Kwa, after the Wet’suwet’en served Coastal GasLink with an eviction notice two years ago. This week, Wet’suwet’en Hereditary Chiefs gave an eviction notice to Nathan Cullen, MLA, calling on him to step down because he is not demanding CGL’s immediate halt to all pipeline construction. Please visit the Gidimt’en Yintah Access Point website here: https://www.yintahaccess.com/take-action-1. If you are able to, please donate to the the Land Defenders legal fund: https://go.rallyup.com/wetsuwetenstrong/ Campaign/Details

And on Sunday, November 29, at Fairy Creek, two Indigenous wimmin were ambushed by RCMP officers and dragged away to a Duncan jail. There remains still a deafening silence from the BC Court of Appeals; but injunction or not, the cops are enforcing the rule of colonial law. Ancient Mother Trees and their children are being slaughtered while the corporate warlords continue their ecocidal crimes; all subsidized by colonial banks, colonial governments and social atrophy.

To learn more about the Fairy Creek blockade, please visit www.laststandforforests.com. To donate to Fairy Creek legal defense fund, go to

<LSFFdonate@protonmail.com> and put the word “legal” in the subject heading. “A possible life is one that wills the impossible.” Mahmoud Darwish

December Daphne Days!

December 2, 2021

December Daphne Days!

Submitted by Erika Bland for Denman Conservancy Association

In the past few years, I’ve noticed that invasive Daphne (daphne laureola) a.k.a Spurge-Laurel is becoming a real problem across Denman Island. I’m seeing it in new places nearly every time I go out for a walk. This month, we hope you will join Denman Conservancy in our first ever December Daphne Days! For the month of December, let’s learn about Daphne, and get out and remove it!

Daphne Info Webinar: To kick off Daphne Days, Heidi Grant from Coastal Invasive Species Committee will be giving an online talk on the biology of Daphne, and how we can use this information to control its presence on the island. As well, learn more about how Coastal ISC can help you with other invasive plants on your property. The talk will be conducted via Zoom on December 8th at 6PM. Link to it here:

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/81568848117?pwd=MXBzTFhCL1AzbXU1bVlJbTY3THBBZz09

A Bit About Daphne: Popular as an ornamental in gardens and for florists, due to its glossy, rhododendron-like leaves and fragrant flowers, Daphne is tolerant of both sun and shade but rapidly takes over native vegetation by forming dense thickets in a range of ecosystems. Its deep black berries are loved by birds, who spread its seeds. It occupies similar niches as native species like Salal and Oregon Grape, which provide important shelter, forage and nectaring opportunities for many wildlife species. When the plants are small, they can easily be mistaken for another leathery species that grows in similar forested environments: ‘Prince’s Pine’ – Chimaphila umbellata. However, this native species has serrated leaf edges, grows in creeping clusters of plants and is much smaller, not growing larger than about 30 cm tall. (See photos for comparison.)

Daphne Cluster Prince’s Pine Cluster

December ‘One-A-Day’ Daphne Removal Campaign: December is a great time to control Daphne, as it is present year-round and is easier to access with the dieback of native vegetation. Tackling it now while it is flowering means preventing further spread of this plant since berries have usually not yet formed or matured. Rains at this time of year moisten the soil so that pulling out smaller plants is easier than when soils are dry.

We challenge you to get out and remove just one plant (or one small patch of Daphne plants) each day this month where you live. Take a photo and keep track of your numbers. Watch our Facebook page for updates and send your photos and removal updates to dcalandmanager@gmail.com. The person who removes the most Daphne plants this month will win a $25 gift certificate to Abraxas books!

How to Manually Control Daphne: When removing Daphne, use gloves and pull small plants by hand, especially when the ground is moist. Remove larger plants (more than 30 cm) by cutting the stem just below ground level, with as little disturbance to the soil as possible, even though this means leaving part of the root system behind. Mind the Sap! The bark, sap and berries of Daphne can cause skin irritation (and in rare cases nausea or vomiting). So, make sure to wear gloves when handling it. Daphne won’t re-root from cut pieces, so it’s ok to ‘chop and drop’ it, as long as it’s not somewhere where children or pets might get into it, due to the toxicity factor. If you’re worried about that, plants can also be collected and buried, or bagged and brought to landfill. Daphne should never be burned due to its toxic compounds.

If you have Daphne in your garden, consider replacing it with an alternative that will not threaten local native ecosystems. BC Invasive Species Council suggests the following plants as alternatives for Daphne in gardens: Evergreen Huckleberry (vaccinium ovatum); Japanese Azalea (rhododendron kiusianum hybrids); Oregon Grape (berberis nervosa); Tall Oregon Grape (berberis aquifolium); Winter Daphne (daphne odora).

This December (and anytime), if you see Daphne where you live, or on trails where you spend time, please consider taking a few minutes to pull it out or cut it and help keep island biodiversity thriving!

Official Results Show That Hornby and Denman Islands High-Speed Internet Project Moving Forward

December 2, 2021

Official Results Show That Hornby and Denman Islands High-Speed Internet Project Moving Forward

November 29, 2021

On November 27, 2021 a referendum for the proposed Hornby and Denman Islands high-speed internet initiative was held. The official results have been tallied and the community has voted in favor of moving forward with the project. 94% of voters were in favour of establishment of the service, authorizing the necessary borrowing and entering into an agreement with CityWest, the telecommunications service provider. Voter turnout was 55% of the estimated eligible electors.

Advance Voting Opportunity:

Wednesday November 17, 2021 from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm at the CVRD Office

Special Voting Opportunity:

Wednesday November 24, 2021 from 9:00 am to 12:00 pm at the Denman Island Senior’s Centre

Special Voting Opportunity:

Wednesday November 24, 2021 from 2:00 pm to 5:00 pm at the Hornby Island Community Hall

Mail Ballot Voting General Voting Day:

Saturday November 27, 2021 from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm at the Denman Island Senior’s Centre

General Voting Day:

Saturday November 27, 2021 from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm at the New Horizons Seniors Hall

TOTAL NUMBER OF VALID VOTES CAST

“I am thrilled to see the community voted in favor. The new service will bring high speed internet to both Hornby and Denman Islands, and will provide both homes and businesses top-notch connectivity.” explains Comox Valley Regional District Electoral Area A Director Daniel Arbour. “Seeing projects like this come to fruition after years of research and community interest is so amazing. Thank you to the Hornby/Denman

Internet Committee for bringing this issue to light and helping find a community solution with CityWest.”

Total project costs are estimated at approximately $7.6 million with 90 per cent being covered by grants. A community contribution of 10 per cent or $760,000 is required as part of the grant funding criteria.

On December 7, the CVRD Board will consider adoption of the bylaws upon which next steps for the project can be developed.

To learn more about the project and referendum results visit www.comoxvalleyrd.ca/islandsinternet

(http://www.comoxvalleyrd.ca/islandsinternet)

The Comox Valley Regional District is a federation of three electoral areas and three municipalities providing sustainable services for residents and visitors to the area. The members of the regional district work collaboratively on services for the benefit of the diverse urban and rural areas of the Comox Valley.

– 30 –

Media Contact:

Jake Martens, General Manager of Corporate Services and Chief Election Officer 250-334-6029

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, First Spring

December 2, 2021

Introduction

Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux

Bill Engleson

For a few years, I kept a diary of my inauguration into the Denman Community. This column, recently renamed Memoir of a Rural Sisyphus-Redux, will extract a few of my observations from a dozen or so years ago and share them. This particular extract was carefully and artfully prepared for the 2006 Audio Arts CD, Musical Chairs. It was significantly enhanced on the CD the musically artistry of Randy Duncan. Hopefully, it will have some modern times currency.

First Spring

March 2, 2004

It is near the end of our first full winter on Denman Island. Hibernation time is about to lapse. More’s the pity as it has been play up to now. Rural conjuring, a pretend sort of experience, at least on my part. My love has always had a more realistic bent. And a more complex work ethic to boot.

Today, sun beaming down and warming the 10-degree earth, we chance out into the yard. She shows me the work options. I am exhausted just contemplating any one of the tasks. I pluck a few broom plants, recycle some bottles, gather blow down and add them to a future bonfire. I seem the complete fidgeter, jumping from chore to chore like a giant hummingbird. I attempt to ignite the pile of accumulated forest refuse but all I generate is a flit of smoke. I pull some broom and contemplate cleaning out the gutters.

“Help me get rid of this big rock,” my love beckons. She is digging in the garden and is about eight inches down. A large rock impedes her way. I am of a mind to let it lay there, like some sleeping dog. Surely, we can grow vegetables around it. My arguments are obviously weak and betray a slacker’s inclination. We extract the stone, like the old molar it is. My love is delighted. We have one more sacrifice for her rock retaining wall. She is drawn to rock walls, to the methodical layering, one on another, rock on rock, boulder on boulder, not like Frost’s neighbour in Mending Walls, to mark property and keep land orderly, but for the sheer beauty of erecting an immaculate wall of stone. I expect that this hunk of granite is the first of hundreds I’ll be called on to remove. I see no reprieve from her master plan. I pity the souls of these stones; they only want to be left alone, left where time has placed them; either that or to be swept up in one mother landslide, some magnificent avalanche, the true calling of rocks.

Nonetheless, what a glorious day? A few clouds hover back of the Beaufort Hills but other wise the sky is as blue as sea.

Later, my ignition attempts improve. The bonfire is much more inflammatory. Well, perhaps not quite the right word but it catches fire well and burns most of the afternoon. Three properties over, a neighbour is burning one of his fifty feet tall piles but reports it isn’t catching. I have never aspired to skyscraper sized burning mounds. Small fires engender manageable pleasures.

I pull out of storage one of two original green plastic Adirondack style lawn chairs, crack a beer open and settle back to soak up the faint sun and sight of smoke. I daydream of rock walls built at a slow and meandering pace. Off in the distance, the sound of circling birds too early for the herring run. Down on the sea, a small launch inches along the sound. The fire crackles. I keep a watchful eye. The occasional plane scoots across the open sky. The sun starts to set, the evening chill sweeps up the hill from the sea, the fire’s smoke dances in front of my eyes and chases me down.I cannot escape it. In time, the fire falters, gasping for fuel. It has run its course.

I take a turn in the hot tub. And what a joy that is. The air is crisp, and the slight breeze gently slaps my face with a chilled hand as the trunk of my body is warmed by the heated water. The eucalyptus tree on the side yard was horribly misshapen by the weight of winter snow. It is bent at 90 degrees and hangs over the roof of the house like some cliff overhang, menacing in its deformity.

As I lollygag about in the hot tub, I am aware that I have let much of another sunny day slip away.

At night, my love and I speculate on beach bonfires, coolers of beer, sparkling spring night skies, full moons, endless walls of stone and mad cats.