Canyonlands National Park

Moab like the National Parks for which it serves as the jumping off point was carved from the surrounding beige plateau by the Colorado River. It is so named because just as it’s namesake in the Middle East its rock is bright red. The area was settled originally by Mormons. To reach Canyonlands you drive north 10 miles climbing back up to the plateau, then hang a left and drive 22 more miles along a broken winding hilly two-lane to the park entrance. I stopped at the visitors centre to pick up an audio guide and watch their introductory movie. Canyonlands has a history not unlike Palo Duro in Texas however here it was the Island in the Sky Mesa--tablelands--surrounded by 2000 ft cliffs that kept the cattle in on meadowland where grass formerly grew belly-high to a horse. The Mesa is separated from the adjoining plateau by a 40-ft neck which made keeping cattle contained rather easy. A well-maintained roadway leads to various parking areas from which trails lead off in all directions. The easy ones lead to breathtaking vistas; the difficult ones with a 1000-ft change in elevation would take one’s breath away. I’ll add pictures and commentary. 

 Suspended over the edge of a massive cliff Mesa Arch impresses. 

Canyons cut into the valley floor below reveal another strata of rock with snow-capped peaks in the background.

 

The Green River meets the Colorado

Look closely and you'll see people and cars on the 100-mile back-country trail.

For the venturesome there is a 100-mile high-profile all-terrain-vehicle single-lane roadway that snakes through the canyons. One vista shows the larger Green River joining the Colorado. Only one picnic site was too busy for stopping. In all I drove 100 miles this Friday. Alas, I had to drive back down to my campground for the night and drive back up the next day.

My Spring Odyssey 2014

The challenge is to describe a 3500-mile journey of 25 days and not sound boring. After packing the last few items in my RV, though not particularly organized, I locked myself out of the home I’ve occupied for the past 4 months and headed out. The first challenge was to defy my GPS which wanted to go down I-35 instead of up 183 to MOPAC. Then to defy it again as it insisted on trying to take me directly south to I-10 rather than my chosen route out 290 through Johnson City. A check of the map will show you why. Of course since I left at 4:30 there was nothing to see but traffic lights and gas stations along the road. One would prefer not to see deer at that hour.

Two hundred and thirty miles later I stopped in Ozona for some rather over-priced $3.99 gas. The only thing worse would have been running out 100 miles from anywhere. In downtown Ozona, Population 3225 , I stopped at Sonic for a Tex-Mex Breakfast Burrito which I came to regret as I ‘enjoyed’ it for the next few hours. In West Texas I-10 is rated at 80 mph but whatever speed you drive there is little to miss besides steely gray stratified clouds they wish yielded some rain and rolling hills that become rocky mesas as one ascends to nearly 5000 ft above sea level. Fort Davis is another 220 miles from Ozona after taking a left turn along a highway that follows valleys cut by the local arroyos where the only green one sees is that of early budding trees along the ravines. The one thing one doesn’t want to see at 70 to 80 MPH is a Texas Long Horn. Much of West Texas is open range grazing land.

Information on the Prude Ranch being difficult to find I decided to camp south of town. MacMillan in the HIghlands may have come out of receivership but it still hasn’t entered the 20th Century--the functionary I met demanded cash for my two-day stay. At least the Wi-Fi and Hydro were contemporary. I’d come here to see the stars at the MacDonald Observatory up in the mountains North-West of Town. Alas the weatherman had other ideas and socked the sky in with clouds. The astronomers may have the co-operation of the County in preventing extraneous light but they have no control over weather. I’d  walked or biked every street in town and toured the National Park previously so I relaxed in camp. 

El Paso, 200 miles west, is a long narrow stretch north of the Mexican border and south of a mountain range to the North. In many ways it is a frontier town and the Roadrunner RV Park is not in the best part. Didn’t find anyone to sign me in until the next morning. The Albertsons I shopped at before parking was the worst dump I’ve ever shopped at. Obviously slated for closure everything I looked at was days or weeks past its best before date and the selection was pitiful. When I did find someone in the office discovered their on site garage did not have the supplies to fix my sewage hose. Took another rest day before heading out. As the metal plaque beside the office reads:

On this site in 1897

Nothing happened

Set out early Tuesday morning March 25th for Albuquerque, New Mexico 300 miles distant. The trip North West along I-25 involves a 2000 ft gain in elevation. Getting out of El Paso in the dark is no mean feat as I-10 wanders hither and yon. Just into New Mexico one passes through the Border Control Shed. They didn’t seem interested in this canuck. I started out early to beat the cross-winds and succeeded mainly. The American RV Park in Albuquerque is a class act owned by a chain. Unfortunately the new gal at the desk placed me at the far end of the park rather than opposite the washroom for no good reason I could see. No pop corn either as the machine is bust. But they still offer complimentary breakfast with waffles Wednesday Morning. Hmm Good. Some wicked cloud formations, a few spatterings of rain and a minor twister or two but the landscape is still dangerously drought ridden. I got some cooking done. 

Drove into town to shop at Smiths and get gas early Thursday Morning and was not impressed with the rowdy Latinos in the parking lot of the mall. At 6:45 decided I wasn’t waiting around for breakfast and began driving West on I-40 which follows old Route 66. Shook my head at the Left-Lane Hog driving a U-haul truck and trailer with no car in sight for 100 miles in front or behind him. Stopped east of Gallop for breakfast just after crossing the continental divide and staring at the snow on either side of the highway. At this point the way turned north on 491 at first a 4 lane and then a two-lane highway. The route passes through Cortez where I stayed when I visited Mesa Verde. I dodged snow and hale most of the day. Stopped in Monticello for gas and then took Utah 191 North 50 miles to Moab. Stopped at the info centre there. A month later than my last visit here there was actually someone in the office when I arrived at my campground. Having driven all day I elected to walk down to find a campsite. The gal at the desk thought it a large 300-site park and recommended driving, she obviously hasn’t seen the 5000 sites at Whistlers Park in Jasper.

Red slickrock looms high across the road from the campground. Opted to stay over an entire day and see Canyonlands and since there was nothing playing in town went to bed early.

End of Week One.

The Attack on Labour

Industry and by that I mean large mutli-national corporations have used recent downturns in the economy and near bankruptcies of economic sectors too big to fail to roll back advances labour unions have fought for over the past half century and even wage an attack on the unions’ very existence. While quick to ask for concessions restoring wages and benefits to their former levels when prosperity returns is quite another matter. They will, however, spend years paying no taxes as they write off past losses while you and I pick up the tab. Large conglomerates have gleefully snapped up smaller business, laid off workers, shut down factories, and put thousands out of work. Recent recessions have provided them with a golden opportunity roll back benefits and reduce workforces. Businesses that once argued they be allowed to raid bloated pension funds are now crying poor because those same funds lack sufficient premiums coming in to sustain their outlays.

The number of government jobs lost in the past few years is staggering. In the private sector industry has outsourced production to Third World Countries with lower wages, lower labour standards, few to no environmental controls, and appalling working conditions. Retail operations have made Made in the USA or Canada labels an almost extinct commodity. Only recently is it dawning on these entrepreneurs that if no one locally has a job no one will have an income to buy their merchandise. Fires and building collapses in off-shore sweat shops, online videos of working conditions and child labour, product recalls due to unsafe chemicals, and inferior products have all contributed to bad publicity and shamed CEO’s. The divide between salaries paid those CEO’s and the laborers who work for them is widening exponentially.

In their headlong pursuit of dividends for their corporate shareholders companies have forgotten that their most valuable resource is a loyal workforce. At the same time their employees increasingly look at their work as a means of paying their bills, not a career. Getting through the day, collecting a paycheque, and getting home safely have replaced pride in workmanship. Too many employers are like those recently caught replacing local workers with cheaper foreign labour; it was the bad publicity it generated and the possible effects on their corporate profits that concerned them. Too many are like the mine owner in the town of Frank; he was not concerned about the destruction of most of the town or the loss of 700 lives but how many days of production he would lose from the mine. Analyzed in psychiatric terms most big corporations are morally psychotic. The governments whose war chests they support through their donations are little better.

War and Peace

No, not Tolstoy though I have read that tome. First an aside. What was it with the military and flat feet? With wet feet I leave no sign of an instep with my perfectly flat feet but I managed to walk 72,000 miles with a thirty-five pound mailbag with nary a twinge.

Second a reveal. From lifelong I have been a pacifist opposed to war in any form and the military establishment in general. As a flat-footed allergic asthmatic about to become a full-fledged senior I am in no danger of being recruited. Furthermore I am appalled at the distortion of the second amendment rights in the US Constitution to bear arms and the gun culture it fosters. I do not understand how having a lethal weapon around whose only purpose is the taking of human life can add to anyone’s sense of security.

That said I feel America pays an awful price for training so many of its citizens to be experts in the taking of human life and so arming them. But I also say that having so trained them and deployed them it owes them the even higher cost of rehabilitation and re-integration into society when they return. The cost of such care typically is triple the cost of any war ever waged. Politicians and Generals too often do not budget for these expenses. Did you know there is still an open file left over from the American Civil War?

Military training is aimed at creating killing machines who follow orders without thinking. Is it really wise to train so many to ignore the moral imperative against the taking of human life? Having taken impressionable boys on the cusp of manhood and so inculcated them they are sent off to experience inhuman conditions, be subjected to violent heart-stopping stress, where human life is little valued, they witness scenes of depravity, and the death and maiming of their mates. Having been subjected to these conditions for a year or longer they are sent back home and suddenly expected to adjust to North American Society.

Should we be surprised that victims of Post Traumatic Stress act out? Who is qualified to deal with their emotional distress even did they wish to relive it? Do we do them or society any favours in training them to be strong and tough it out? Are we failing them in teaching them that to seek help is a sign of weakness and failure?

I'm Back

It's not that I haven't made blog entries in the past six months, just not in this section of Blogger. I've kept busy in  Austin this past Winter but there has been a sameness about events that just didn't bear boring repetition here. Now that I'm back home in Oakville with time on my hands expect the expression of some moral outrage and an overdue

account of my journey back home. Just give it time.

Week One in Austin Texas 2013

Hotter than I’d remembered but I arrived later in the season in previous years and it is warmer. Good to have air conditioning and ceiling fans. It’s the first time I’ve ever slept with a ceiling fan running.

Backing up I left Palo Duro near Canyon, Texas and drove down to Abilene through Lubbock known as being Buddy Holly’s birthplace. Aside from wind farms and pump-jacks cotton is king here though this year the plants are so short one wonders how the equipment will manage once harvest begins. Abilene KOA was a disappointment. The drought made pecans not worth the effort and the Wi-Fi was pitiful. Left before dawn next morning, Friday October 25th, taking I-20 East to Texas 183 which led me south the 200 miles to Austin. The clear sky turned pink in the East before the sun rose in my driver’s window. Driving at 70 on a two-lane takes some getting used to. Fortunately I had the road almost entirely to myself. A few slower zones for small towns and stop signs but most traffic goes East to I-35 it would seem. Eventually the road becomes a four-lane divided highway though not limited access. I saw no traffic until I was 25 miles from Austin.

I stopped for a few necessities in Lampasas and had the line-up been shorter would have gotten gasoline at the HEB there at $2.85/gallon. Skipped the 183 tollway and drove through Leander and the other suburbs until I reached Austin. Made it by 10:30. The driveway was clear and the house airing. Hooked up with George to go for BBQ. Later a shower felt very good and a bed that doesn’t rock when one turns over or the wind blows even better. Alas no coyotes yipping and howling as in Palo Duro two nights earlier and certainly a lot noisier.

Worship Sunday at 8:15. I do live across from the church. For once got to listen to the choir from a pew. Went home to read the comix. Spent the afternoon at the Cap City Comedy Club where the Austin Traditional Jazz Society had their 3 hour concert. Good Jazz but a seat in a crowded venue gets hard after 3 hours. Joined Wes and Flo for that trip. Again not much time to move in.

Monday finally got a chance to join George at the church office and catch up online. Uploaded pictures I’ll insert here later. Went for gasoline and dishwasher soap in the afternoon and dropped down to Pecan Grove RV Park to renew acquaintances. Rob and Carol are retiring after 20 years as managers there.

Tuesday online early then off to Mann’s Smokehouse for BBQ. Finally a chance to move a few things into the house where I’m living. Finished reading a book.

Wednesday more time online after helping prepare 500 church newsletters for mailing, then home for lunch and back to church for cookies and coffee. Wednesday Connections begins with Dinner at 5:30 then Spanish Class. Eucharist followed by choir. A Thunderstorm came up while we were in the church balcony. It continued to rumble and flash all night dropping up to a foot of rain in some areas. Two people are known to have drowned in flooding in South-East Austin but the Lake Travis reservoir rose 20 feet in the run-off. It’s still 40 ft below optimum level. Thursday morning low water crossings were flooded, schools closed, and traffic chaotic.

Thursday finally got an opportunity to do some serious moving in after Chef’s Salad at Pok-E-Joes with George. Read a paper copy of the Austin Chronicle and got out to walk the neighbourhood. Collecting litter is part of the gigue.

Friday finally got down to the Hancock Centre 5 miles from here and shopped at the HEB there. Things have been moved around somewhat though I dread the renovation I learned is coming in January. With some help found everything I needed. Coffee has been moved to the Deli section and one gets to weigh and price one’s own beans. Managed to get there without my GPS but navigating Austin Roads is still a pain. Went to Mann’s for BBQ and ice cream after unpacking. Set up my bird feeders adding a new one for Niger Seed; then swept the floor inside my house. Got online to pay my bills mid-afternoon. Cleaned 2 dozen votive candles for lighting during All Saints observance Sunday. Cooked Quinoa in a rice cooker; made pea soup in the slow cooker earlier in the week.

I’m still getting awakened at 2:00 AM by the fleet departure from SAIA Warehouse and Trucking next door. I saw one of their trucks in Ohio. Hence I’m here writing this at 5:00 on a Saturday morning.

Playing Snowbird in 2013

I started a rant back in August and never did get around to posting it. I did manage to read over 30 books that month and posted reviews of most of them on my sister blog.

After much preparation set out the day after Canadian Thanksgiving for Southern Climes. Away from Lake Ontario the trip has not necessarily been warmer than it’s been back in Oakville but it has been drier.

I set out at 4:00 AM Tuesday Morning with no second thoughts about the items I”d forgotten, well maybe my sanity. :-( I no longer enjoy night driving but they were familiar roads. Tuned into Toronto Classical Stations on my RV radio. The US Customs Agent I encountered at Fort Erie/Buffalo had not taken the public relations course our own are apparently being sent on but after a few insults and poking his flashlight in my side door he sent me on my way. I made it out of Buffalo before rush hour and discovered that South of Lake Erie the leaves have turned and some trees were bare. The New York Turnpike on I-90 cost me $5.95. Gasoline along the highway was $3.59--I was glad I didn’t need any.

Pulled into Erie Pennsylvania just after dawn and decided to go explore Presques Isle State Park, the reason for my stop there. The drive out on a four lane roadway is 13 miles return with some thirty parking lots marking the various beach locations along the sand spit. The peninsula is stabilized by 100 offshore rock-filled barriers sequentially numbered. The one remaining lighthouse is surrounded by trees that block its view of the lake; the lighthouse keeper’s home occupied by a park warden. Once accessible only by boat the location is not the lonely isolation post it once was. The Nature Interpretive Centre marked on the park map and prominently signed I discovered closed permanently in 2007!

After 9:00 AM dropped by Sara’s Campground and got a site parked on the beach with my rear window facing the water the sound of the waves lapping in my ears. The adjoining amusement park’s roller coaster overshadows the campground but mercifully it closed Labour Day Weekend. Across the road in season Sara operates several fast food restaurants and amusements adjoining a second campground. A Mennonite Group had 9 tents pitched 10 ft from the water on the sand. One of the seasonal campers made a bond-fire on the beach that night. I walked the beach noting neighbours out searching for polished glass. Enjoyed talking with the locals.

Since it rained on Wednesday I didn’t hang around. Filled up for $3.09 in Erie and set off for Cleveland and then headed South to Delaware, Ohio. Cross Creek Campground was all dollied up for their annual Hallowe’en Celebration already past and about to become Santa’s Workshop for the local Christmas Lights Trail. Although it drizzled off and on all day I did get in a walk on the park’s ‘nature’ trail and collected a couple Osage Orange Hedge Apples. Spent a layover day catching up with my reading.

When I set out Friday Morning the inside of my windshield was totally coated in moisture that took ages to dry off. This made driving narrow backroads in the dark even more troublesome. Droplets remained hours later when I reached St Louis. I got past Columbus, Ohio before rush hour and spent the day with the sun at my back dodging truck traffic. I crossed the middle of Indianapolis without incident. The one moment of terror all day occurred when a suicidal individual stepped backward and stood in the middle of my lane. I’d have pulled over into the inside lane but for the left lane hogs who prevented my doing so. At 75 mph it happened so fast I didn’t have time to get an Adrenalin rush as I missed him by inches.

St Louis Drivers are aggressive and slow to react at intown traffic lights. If you give them quarter to enter a lane they will not take it as they assume you’ll behave as they do. The road system is confusing and made more cumbersome by unco-operative drivers who will not let you in to make your exit. Being a National Park the St Louis Gateway Arch was closed by the government shut down. Until reading a book recently I had no idea there were viewing ports inside the Arch.

Belleville RV Park in Fenton south of St Louis is a residential community with a few free spots for overnight campers. The Office Sign is missing in action but I finally found someone to take $60 in cash for two night’s stay supplying a written receipt and the Wi-Fi Code. The power worked when I finally found the remotely located circuit breaker. The St Louis Cardinals clinched their berth in the World Series that night tickets $90-$360. Saturday night Yo Yo Ma played the symphony tickets $100-$150. I decided a visit to the Missouri Botanical Gardens was more my style especially since they accepted my RBG Membership. This gardens made news in 2012 when their Corpse Flower bloomed. A native of the island of Sumatra this three foot flower blossoms at ground level with a four foot phallus shaped pollen body sticking skyward while it perfumes the air with a powerful fetid odour. It bloomed again last Thursday. The flower lasts one day. The female cone appears with no particular schedule at a later date as does the plant a single 10 foot stalk with an umbrel of leaflets up top.

After leaving the Visitors Centre with its restaurant, washrooms, and gift shop one can take the tram ride with its live audio tour or walk the gardens on one’s own. There are various greenhouses and themed gardens on the 700 acre grounds. The two homes of the garden’s founder Henry Shaw are located on the grounds along with a garden director’s residence. By far the largest area is devoted to a Japanese Garden but there is a box hedge exhibit, scented, herb, woodland, rhododendron, rose, shade among other sections and a maze to amuse the children along with a building and garden for children. A home garden section features an on site plant doctor and a geodesic dome holds a tropical greenhouse.

I left St Louis Sunday Morning traffic aside from Sunday drivers not being an issue. I’d filled up the day before at a balky pump for $2.95. Plenty of truck traffic even on a Sunday. I spent the day driving through the Ozark Region of Missouri passing almost 200 miles of ads for Branson. Missouri not being one of the states that bans billboards. Crossing into Oklahoma they at least have the grace to Welcome you before they hit you with the toll booth--another $4.00. The tourist bureau I took a break at served burnt but drinkable complimentary coffee. If I thought Missouri was bad billboards in Oklahoma are egregious.

When I reached Tulsa I was thankful my GPS knew how to negotiate the serpentine route to my campground. I met myself going and coming several times. I also collected my first kamikaze insects that day. Warriors RV Park’s Office is not open Sundays. I found a place to park and an envelope supplying the Wi-Fi Code and hooked up to power. Visited the office next morning where Kobi the white-footed black cat had the run of the place. He rolled contentedly on the welcome mat inside the door on Sunday. Enjoyed a warm shower in their facilities and spent a quiet day beside I-44.

Leaving town Early Tuesday Morning I discovered i-44 wending South-West is a toll highway under construction. Guess we’re paying for the work. At Oklahoma I-40 parallels old Route 66. I stopped in Clinton for fuel where a very tired pump took 30 minutes to pump 30 gallons of fuel at $3.09/gallon. Four miles later I stopped on the Frontage Rd to visit Jigg’s Smokehouse a local phenom I’d read about in a Route 66 Guidebook. Noted for the excessive size of their burgers I decided that’s all they have going for them. Judge for yourself by mousing over the menu items:

https://jiggssmokehouse.com/menu.html

They don’t do vegetables, plates or cutlery. Process cheese, condiments I couldn’t detect and cheap rolls. Potato salad in a small foam coffee cup. Water without ice. Oh well, it was an experience. The daily allowance of salt for a week in one sandwich. I’ve been thirsty ever since.

Sixty miles later I entered the Lone Star State where the Welcome Centre is 100 miles further on in Amarillo. There I discovered it to be on the wrong side of the highway and didn’t bother stopping. Took I-27 South from Amarillo which will eventually take me to Lubbock and Abilene. Hung a left on 217 and balked at driving 75 mph on a two-lane with level intersections and cow pastures on either side. Welcome to Texas. Fourteen miles later reached the Palo Duro State Park Gatehouse. Two forlorn longhorns were gazing over an adjoining pasture fence. The Visitor’s Centre is located on the crest of the cañon affording a magnificet view. The water cooler figured prominently in my visit. Aside from a hikers guide there was little else of interest. Two screens afforded an opportunity to watch feature length movies available in the gift shop but there is no intro to the park movie. The ravine is accessible via switchbacks that drop you 800 ft to the valley floor where 5 Water Crossings pass over the Red River. I decided to drive the entire Park Road 5 before settling into my campsite.

Palo Duro is worth it for its scenic beauty and utter peacefulness. The deer wander at will and wild turkeys walk up to your picnic table looking for handouts. Mind you in summer the temperature hits 120 and scorpions, tarantellas, spiders, various snakes and poisonous plants call for caution. Flash floods make Water Crossings hazardous. Once home to the Cherokees and still used for cattle ranching the mile wide cañon is a great place to hike, mountain bike or go horseback riding. Remains of its life as a cattle ranch remain as do the sites used by the CCC Boys who developed the park.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013 for my full day in Palo Duro I hiked 7.24 miles in 90-100º F heat to see Palo Duro’s so-called Lighthouse rock formation. When I finally got in sight I did not feel it necessary to go the extra mile to actually stand under it feeling I’d walked enough already. I was glad to find a water tap at the trail head as at that point I still had over a mile to walk. I took 139 pictures still well short of the 700 I took when I visited Western Brook in Newfoundland. That coffee and ham and tomato sandwich tasted good when I got home. A/C felt very good as well.

What is it about being a bachelor that there is always someone nearby with a loudly whining brat. Thank goodness the people across the way moved out this morning. A young couple from Switzerland with an RV with Swiss plates moved in.  The other truly annoying facet of Hackberry Campground is the fact that it is overrun by flies. It’s nearly impossible to keep them out and they’re on top of everything. Whether they’re endemic to the deer or breed on human garbage the place has swarms of them.

Digital Publishing

The telephone arrived in my home as a black, rotary-dial wall-phone on a ten-party-line that hung in a living room unheated in winter when I was ten. I have never attempted to text on a smart-phone and feel uncomfortable with instant messaging. Since I became acquainted with Kindle on my tablet and BookBub’s free offerings I have become acquainted with a cadre of young authors who grew up texting, skyping, and using instant messaging with aplomb. They also went to school at a time when self-expression was more valued than grammar, syntax, or spelling. Some seem to be barely literate.

When writers sat down with quill and ink, pencil, or ball-point to laboriously double-space up to 20 versions of their books their editors blue-penciled mercilessly and all non-essential text got eliminated. Much the same occurred when the typewriter made things easier if not quieter. It was the arrival of computer word-processors 30 years ago that revolutionized writing forever. Today most copy does not see paper until the day it is printed on newsprint, glossy magazine, or paperback. More recently digital self-publishing has virtually eliminated the middlemen and books go almost directly from the author to the reader’s nook or kindle. Budgetary constraints seem to have almost eliminated proofreading and even the most prestigious outlets print copy with glaring errors.

Since computer word-processors arrived on the scene I have read too many books that would have benefited from being 200 pages shorter. The word-bloat is palpable. More recently the e-books appear on my tablet missing even the simple formatting of page justification. Authors may not be using instant messaging abbreviations and short-cuts but punctuation, capitalization, and formatting seem to have gone out the window. Spelling is a sometime affair and homonym errors, such as to, too, two abound. After a page or more of dialogue it helps if the reader is given some indication of whom said what; especially in the absence of capitals and periods.

Free or not asking the reader to edit your copy is an insult. I don’t hit send on any copy be it E-mail or this blog-post until I have run spell-check and reread the text at least once or more. I wish writers would do the same. Alas I fear too many don’t recognize their own errors. I have read 21 books in the last month and earned my 50-book pledge, perhaps Malthus’ Law of Diminishing Returns is beginning to kick in.

Aborigine Experience

Just finished listening to Joseph Boyden and Richard Wagamese on CBC and it has me thinking about the aborigine experience in Canada. Having attended conferences at Cape Croker I’ve been immersed in the tales of children being wrenched from their homes and forced to attend residential schools where they were forbidden to speak their own languages or observe their native customs and often sexually abused. To an outsider it is hard to understand how soul-destroyingly destructive this was to an entire generation. The objective of Indian Affairs Policy in Canada was the utter obliteration of Native Culture and the people themselves. What was added to my knowledge base was the fact that ‘Indian’ children were seized from reserves and sold to adoption agencies in America.

Thomas King, another aboriginal author has quipped that the indigenous population of Canada had an immigration problem--US. Upon first encounter with European Settlers Native Populations suffered death rates of up to 90% of their peoples as soon as these interlopers got within 200 miles of their tribal lands from the diseases that were brought with them from the old country. The Beothuks of Newfoundland were utterly exterminated. A people who lived communally and had no sense of property rights or ownership of Mother Earth were ill-equipped to negotiate treaties with White Settlers. With no words in their language to conceive of lies or untruth they could not understand deception and connivance.

Land-hungry Europeans sought means to get rid of the Indian Problem and relegate them to the confines of Reserves where they would not get in the way of settlement. In a time when the only good Indian was a dead Indian policies aimed at extermination were the order of the day. Again, as an outsider to this process generations later I would ask how long do we have to apologize for the sins of the past and make reparations for those evils. Land claims settlement negotiations have dragged on for generations with little end in sight. Those on reserves have no ownership of the land on which their homes sit. It is difficult to have pride of place and invest in property you do not possess.

The Indian Affairs Commission should have been abolished long since but this agency pours millions into reserves yearly and the elected band councils who profit from this investment are loath to give up a good thing. Unfortunately these elected officials bypass the cultural traditions of hereditary chiefs in an often matrilineal society creating rifts within these societies. Cronyism and patronage are often rife on band councils and all that money poured into reserves often does little to benefit the average member. Politics is as corrupt and self-serving on band councils as it is in white society. Indian Affairs appears to be a self-perpetuating reality.

The policy of annihilation attempted to spread disease through trading unwashed blankets from tubercular hospitals and a trade in ‘fire water’. Aboriginal peoples seem prone to alcoholism, diabetes, and obesity only adding to the problems of over-crowding, lack of sanitation, and running water on reserves. In many ways government policy came close to succeeding but the human spirit and cultural pride have prevailed and a push to reclaim language and customs before the elders who preserve those memories die out is presently underway.

Among the problems encountered in settling land claims is a perception that an oral tradition is made up to suit the situation at hand. We tend to forget that until the time of David our Bible was an oral tradition and until the invention of the printing press few possessed expensive hand written texts. On the other hand those still on reserves are loath to give up tax-free status and the other perks afforded band members such as free education and support to those who manage to go on to higher education. Indian Affairs is a love-hate relationship.

Of Censorship and Free Speech

Since the advent of word-processors on computer authors are no longer faced with the laborious task of rewriting their texts by hand. This has simplified the process of editing but has also facilitated an epidemic of word bloat in books. In the last ten years I have read many books that would have benefited immensely by being reduced by at least 200 pages. Publishers no longer seem to edit books hence print editions are often rife with typos created in the publishing process and alas, by the author as well. With the arrival of self-publishing and e-Books the lack of grammar, syntax, and spell-checking has reached epidemic proportions and a new cadre of would-be authors raised in an era when self-expression was deemed more important than spelling and grammar have hit the scene. Worse yet, the latest phenomena are young writers who honed their craft typing text messages on smart phones. You may have read about college graduates who are functionally illiterate; well now they think they can write books.

I have written at least 75 book reviews for my own satisfaction in the last few years and recently began publishing them on Amazon. I have discovered the existence of a double-standard in that the behemoth will market books filled with expletives but will not accept reviews that contain those same profanities. Being a consenting adult I don’t usually pay attention to ratings and must confess I had not been aware that Amazon gave books ratings, certainly they place no blocks on anyone downloading any e-Book. I was taken aback when I discovered upon panning a poorly conceived book that authors read their own reviews and even respond. I had not to this point considered Amazon a discussion forum.

So to the concept of censorship. Does giving a book an “R” rating make it acceptable to write about teenage sex and swearing as if it is the norm? Do we want to legitimize such behaviour by making it seem acceptable? I would prefer not to find literary novels laced with expletives and find the idea of childhood profanity puerile and immature, an example of bad parenting. Violence and assault should not be made glamorous in novels, movies or games; it used to be called pornography but those standards seem to be changing rapidly in frightening ways especially on Pay TV and the Internet. This is not to say that there are topics that should not be confronted in writing books. It is not a matter of whether or if but how and why, of kind and degree. Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin served as a catalyst for bringing down slavery in America; Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kamf promoted the Final Solution. Your opinion of these books will differ depending on your status as a card carrying member of the KKK, a Neo-Nazi Cult, a death camp survivor, or former slave. There’s a fine line between freedom of speech, censorship, and tyranny; liberty and the common good.