it was the best of times, it was the worst of times: a tale of one library manager on two consecutive days

This started out as a "things i heard at the library" post, but it got too complicated. Instead, it's a story about my life as the manager of a public library in a high-risk community.

First we heard about Georgie

Headed to a library near you.

Earlier this week, we learned that a regular customer of ours, someone we saw every day without fail, was killed. Murdered. We regularly hear of substance-use-related deaths, and suicides, and deaths from general poor health. But this was the first time in my experience in Port Hardy that we heard about a homicide.

The man who was killed was a sweet, kind, quiet person. He didn't have housing and lived at the local Salvation Army shelter. He was a regular at the community puzzle table. When he first appeared in the branch, he was very withdrawn and sat in a corner by himself. One of our staff took it upon herself to slowly, gradually, quietly bring him into the library community.

The news that he had been killed was truly shocking and heartbreaking. But I can't be heartbroken at work. If I'm heartbroken at work, I can't do my job. So I save my heartbreak for when I'm home, by myself. And in this way, my work unintentionally comes home with me. 

I also realize the same is true for my staff, and it's my job to support them and offer resources if they need them. So also in this way, my work follows me home.

Then we dealt with the retraumatization, and probably toxic drugs

The following day, someone came up to the info desk, spoke a few incoherent words, sat down on the floor, then collapsed. Kneeling beside her, staff first asked another team member to call an outreach worker, then changed her mind and asked her to call 911. While that was going on, two more people entered the branch, both staggering and incoherent. Both sat down, then passed out. Within an hour, four separate ambulances took away a total of seven people.

Things calmed down after that. Later in the day -- right before the start of a program -- another person collapsed, another ambulance called. That brought us to five calls and eight people, breaking the previous record.

We can only assume this was at least partly a response to Georgie's death, which triggered a wave of retraumatization. Adding to that, several area drug dealers are now incarcerated, which means that people are buying from new dealers, a new supply, so they cannot judge the dosage, and there may be fentanyl or other toxic substances in the mix. 

Everyone survived. We are grateful for that.

In between, a program

The program went off as planned: "Good Health Starts at the Supermarket". A registered dietician from the public health office gave a presentation on how to "shop healthy". We had draw prizes of grocery gift cards, and a bag of healthy groceries. Ten people attended, and the prize winners -- low income people themselves -- shared with the others. 

I organized this program, which is part of what I do. Incidentally, and importantly, it was one of the very few programs attended by both Indigenous and non-Indigenous library customers. That was very gratifying.

While the program was going on, I attended (virtually) a Board meeting of the Mt Waddington Family Literacy Society, of which I am now co-chair.

The next day, building community connections to combat racism

The following day, I co-chaired a steering-committee meeting of the Welcoming Communities Coalition of North Vancouver Island. The Coalition is dedicated to reducing and eliminating barriers to newcomers' full participation in our communities, with a focus on antiracism.

Our North Island communities have become the landing place for a large number of newcomers to Canada. These folks, all of whom have arranged employment, are needed and should be welcomed into our towns, but of course that is not always their experience. 

Being a newcomer is not easy, but I cannot imagine how much more difficult it is made by small-town, remote-community life. When the Immigrant Welcome Centre opened an office in this region, I decided to make newcomers an intentional focus of my library branches.

Connecting with the Immigrant Welcome Centre, I also found the Welcoming Communities Coalition, which is part of the IWC, but not involved in direct service provision. One thing led to another, and I became the co-chair of the Welcoming Communities Coalition steering committee on North Vancouver Island. 

Through connections I have made during my work here, I was able to invite others to the table -- people who can greatly help move our work forward. These connections are indeed my greatest contribution to this work.  

At this recent meeting (which I organized), I truly felt the power and potential of forging and cultivating community connections. The people I invited will become the key players at making our efforts successful. I say this not to pat myself on the back or to win praise. I say it with a sense of wonder and much joy that I have come so far, and that I have shaped my work in this way. It is deeply satisfying.

The folks on the steering committee are seasoned, realistic activists and advocates. We know we will not eliminate racism in our communities. However, we will:

- organize events designed to celebrate diversity and promote cultural exchange,

- educate residents about racism and antiracism,

- connect newcomers with resources,

- encourage and facilitate the reporting of hate crimes and racist actions,

- help newcomers understand the specific cultural context of our communities, especially relationships with Indigenous communities, 

- educate people about human rights, and

- take a visible stand against racism and invite everyone in our communities to do so with us.

What else I'm up to

This is a window into my working life. I'm also interviewing and hiring new staff, overseeing and supporting the work of frontline workers, overseeing five facilities, giving presentations to community groups, designing programs, and plowing through a small mountain of paperwork. And hopefully soon, helping my union bargain our next contract. 

"i'm afraid to leave the house, because i'll hear about another death": the ongoing crises and the toll on frontline workers

The branch supervisor of the Port Hardy Library
made these, on her own initiative. We have given
away more than 50 of these "crisis keychains" so far.
Front and back pictured here.

The Port Hardy community has been besieged with a series of untimely deaths, many of young people. This has been going on for several years, but last year it escalated sharply, and this year has been even worse.

In 2023, 21 people died from non-natural causes. This year so far, there have been 13 such deaths. This in a community of about 4,400 people. 

Almost all the victims have been Indigenous people.

These deaths are caused by toxic drug poisoning, by alcohol addiction, by car accidents in which alcohol was involved. There have been a substantial number of suicides. 

Many in the community are trapped in a cycle of trauma. Among people already using substances, in lives riddled with trauma, there is no healthy way to process these fresh wounds. The connections among intergenerational trauma, personal loss and grief, mental health, and substance use are an almost seamless web. 

It is heartbreaking.

This crisis hits frontline workers very hard, and library workers are part of that. Libraries are often the only public space left for the people most impacted by these multiple crises. Many of our customers have died. We have lost people that we used to see every day. Others that we see every day have lost sons, daughters, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts. They bring their grief and trauma to us daily.  

People within the community are intimately connected through extended family and Nation ties. As one of our beloved regulars said, "I'm afraid to leave the house in the morning, because I fear I'll hear about another death."

Two of our regulars, a couple, lost a child in an alcohol-related car accident. Before this, they were working hard at rehab. They were clean and sober for the longest time they had ever managed. Then this. 

One of them is the person I performed CPR on in 2019. He uses our public computers, watching videos of his son and sobbing. Imagine processing your grief in public. 

The other constantly gets into fights, hurling her anger and grief at everyone around her.

The woman whose dog I adopted -- Cookie's first mom -- died a few months ago. I saw her at the library every single day since starting work here five years ago. That was the only funeral I have attended so far. The room was full of elders, burying one young person after the next.

Library staff is constantly exposed to this grief and at the very same moment, must cheerily assist customers with their book searches, their holds, their checkouts, their tech questions. Must give a happy and upbeat storytime. Must simply move on with their day.

For many people, trauma combined with substance use equals aggressive and menacing behaviour, so we're always dealing with that, too. We call the ambulance. We (reluctantly) call the police. We call a mental health outreach worker, but they are overtaxed and can rarely respond. 

We're trained in Naloxone. One day each week, a harm-reduction nurse is available at the library to train anyone in the community. We have drug-testing strips. 

We've had training in crisis prevention and trauma-informed practice. We've had recognition and support from First Nations elders. We've discussed and debriefed and done way too much self-care. 

Some staff respond by going into overdrive, trying to help more. Some can't think straight. Some fold into themselves. Some pretend it doesn't hurt. I'm an expert at compartmentalizing. I'm expected to take care of my staff, but the demands of my job don't allow too much time for that.

This week, staff and I are attending a two-day workshop on suicide prevention: ASIST. It's being offered jointly by Island Health and the First Nations Health Authority. Demand was so great that many people couldn't get in, and a second round is being offered a bit later this year. It's wonderful that so many people are interested. It's devastating that the need is so great.

five years on: reflections on the big life change

The Port Hardy skyline

Since starting this blog in 2004, I've experienced three Big Life Changes. 

The first, of course, was emigrating to Canada. 

The second was becoming a librarian. More than a career change, this was a huge shift in lifestyle and identity. 

The third Big Life Change was moving west, to a small, remote community on Vancouver Island.

So this feels significant: five years ago today, we arrived in Port Hardy.

27 November 2018

We started the day in Delta, took the ferry, then drove north, the final day of our seven-day road trip. We were driving our little Kia, our big boy Diego in the back seat. Behind us, my brother was driving the truck; my sister-in-law had joined us in Calgary. (They travelled from Oregon to do this with us!)

As we left Campbell River, it was dark, and it was raining, and it felt like we were driving forever. Every time we passed a sign showing kilometres to Port Hardy, we cheered. And then: the welcome sign, and some lights. And finally, our rental home, which we thought would be our permanent home for many years, and turned out to be a brief pitstop.

Professionally, a rocky start

Only days later, I drove down to Nanaimo, for two weeks in both Nanaimo, my employer's headquarters, and Campbell River. I always say, "I had a rocky start", but that's a euphemism. My first few days were a disaster. When I finally started working in Port Hardy, my confidence was in shreds.

My job was a newly-created position; I was (am) the only professional librarian in all five of my branches. Early on, I had many good experiences, but for every one of those, there were two or three (or five or ten) uncomfortable or disturbing ones. 

I had never seen such under-resourced libraries. The conditions that were accepted as normal were shocking to me. I had to fight the bureaucracy just to get basic supplies. Most of my tech didn't work. 

Managing people remotely, by phone and email, was a new challenge. Some of my staff were unaccustomed to being supervised. Some were suspicious of outsiders and sought to undermine me whenever possible. Much of my experience didn't translate easily, or at all. I made many wrong turns, hit many dead ends.

In addition, and unbeknownst to me, there was a systemic barrier between the library and the local Indigenous communities, and between the library and the public schools. Both had suffered dismal, disrespectful experiences with our library, and wanted nothing to do with us. 

There was much reason to be hopeful

Luckily for me, sprinkled amid all that frustration, there were lovely exchanges with customers, and some staff who welcomed me and were eager to work together. My professional colleagues, although geographically distant, were incredibly welcoming and supportive, and so engaged with our union -- far more so than I had experienced in Ontario. 

There was also an upside to things being in such bad shape: I was making improvements all the time. There was so much room for growth.

Personally, a magical beginning

While the professional situation was challenging and frustrating, the personal end was simply wonderful. We instantly loved the quiet, simple life. Allan loved working from home, and I loved my five-minute "commute".

There was so much natural beauty all around us. Down the street we could see the bay, fringed by distant snow-capped mountains. Driving anywhere meant winding "country roads" (known here as a highway) through the rainforest. We saw eagles every day. Ten minutes away, we could take the dogs to a magnificent beach, mountains on the horizon, eagles overhead.

Diego needed surgery, and was near the end of his life. That was as horrible as we knew it would be, but we very quickly found a whole new pack. Then we did something completely unexpected, another massive change: we bought our home. About ten minutes later, housing prices skyrocketed. Timing is everything!

Five years on

Fully understanding my new library role and the organization I work for took longer than I expected. It's been extremely rewarding. It's never boring -- which is fortunate, since I intend to stay in this job until I retire.

Becoming part of the community of service providers took much longer. When I share this observation with other professionals in our town, everyone remembers the same experience. Working in the North Island region is often a career stepping-stone; people come for two or three years, then move on. Because of this, whether consciously or no, locals are reluctant to invest. People are waiting to see if you mean business. It took the better part of three years to get past this. 

It's wonderful to feel at home, both personally and professionally.

Of course there are limitations and annoyances of living in a remote region, but everything's a trade-off. There are plenty of annoyances about living in New York City, but I wouldn't have traded my years there for the world. It's great to feel that way again.

_________

My moving to BC post are here. Allan was sharing his reflections and observations in comments on those posts -- now lost.

national truth and reconciliation day 2023: blankets, and an apology

National Day for Truth and Reconciliation in Port Hardy was especially meaningful this year. Not quite as many people joined the walk as in the previous two years, but there was still a good-sized crowd of both Indigenous and non-Indigenous people.

Totem pole at Port Hardy Secondary School

In Port Hardy, NDTR begins with a gathering at the high school, where this a magnificent totem pole, and a drum and song blessing. Then everyone walks (elders ride) to Carrot Park, on the bay, for a ceremony. In the park, folding chairs have been set up, and food is being prepared under a huge tent.  

Elders sit in the front row, and most non-Indigenous people wait to be invited to sit if they choose. The emcee always encourages everyone to sit; clearly they know that the settlers present don't want to presume. There are many families there, both First Nations and settler -- although not as many non-Indigenous children as I think should be there (as in, everyone). 

After the ceremonies, elders are served lunch in their seats, and everyone is invited to partake. I've never stayed for food; it just feels wrong to me. I'm here to witness this catastrophic trauma in your community, now please feed me? I'm sure our Indigenous hosts would insist that I eat -- I've never been to a First Nations event that didn't include food -- but I don't feel right, so I don't. I also don't bring a camera or use my phone for photos or videos. 

NDTR 2023

This year's ceremony included two pieces that were especially meaningful.

The emcee invited two people to the mic, people who are employed by Island Health, our health authority. I know them to be the director and manager of mental health and addiction services in our region.

The spokesperson from Island Health acknowledged the historic and systemic racism that caused Indigenous people to go without appropriate care, and the actions disguised as care that actively caused harm. They called all Island Health workers who were present (many of whom I recognized from my community connections) to come up. 

As all stood facing the assembled crowd, the speaker apologized for these past wrongs, and pledged to move forward as partners with the Nations in timely, appropriate, and culturally safe care. They announced the opening of a new local health resource. It was a huge piece to witness.

Naturally, the emcee and the local chiefs talked about the residential "schools," and the impacts of intergenerational trauma. The speaker asked survivors of the schools to stand. Members of the Nation came out with brightly coloured blankets and wrapped each of them in a blanket, standing and holding these elders in a tight, blanketed embrace. It was deeply moving. 

I recognized several regulars from our library. I knew they had been affected by residential school trauma, but did not know they themselves were survivors. I'm glad to know this about them.

Never assume

We left shortly after, stopping at a food truck for something to eat. There, I saw a lovely library customer I know, and her husband. She told me that he is Métis, and a residential school survivor himself. She told me she is also mostly First Nations, but her family somehow escaped this fate. 

I didn't know this about her or her husband, and never could have guessed based on their appearance. This conversation was a perfect example of something I frequently encounter. You never know. You never know someone's background or their experience. You cannot make assumptions.

A few days later, at the library, I received an invitation that read, in part:

We invite you to celebrate with us and witness the cedar blessing of the opening of the Port Hardy Primary Care Centre's A’ekaḵila’as Room One—a welcoming, culturally-safe space for our Indigenous Community Partners, our patients and their families. We invite you to share with us how you see the space evolving over time. It is a meeting space, a place for care and a sacred space that we hope you will call your own.

This must be the health resource mentioned in the ceremony. There's an open house that I look forward to attending.

When I think about what Canada and the Church did to Indigenous people, I wonder how there can ever be justice, and I despair. And when I witness the spirit and resiliency of the Nations and their peoples, and I connect with all the non-Indigenous people who want to help the healing, I have hope.

maya'xala: things i heard in the library, an occasional series # 40

In my ongoing efforts to make the Port Hardy Library a safer workplace, and a more comfortable space for customers, I was invited to a elders' luncheon at the Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Nations. 

Addressing the elders, I tried to convey how we have worked hard to make our library a welcoming space to everyone in the community, no matter what their status or condition. But while I was concerned with the elders understanding their community is welcome at our library, the elders told me that our staff was too welcoming, too "soft," and we needed stricter boundaries. They expressed genuine concern for the safety of our staff.

I learned that people cannot access services on the reserve when they are intoxicated or otherwise under the influence. They are not allowed in the administrative offices or health care offices. There are many treatment options available, but there's a zero-tolerance policy on intoxicated people wandering into offices or meeting spaces. 

* * * *

This lovely luncheon experience led to a visit to the library by two local elders. 

They expressed similar concerns that we are too soft. They were concerned for our safety and the safety of all our customers -- as they put it, grandmas with their grandbabies. They advised us to stop people at the door, and if they're intoxicated, tell them to turn around and leave. 

The elders also advised us to pay no attention when intoxicated people accuse us of racism. When we ask an intoxicated and disruptive person to leave the library, we are called racists. The same person, when sober, knows full well that's not why they're being asked to leave. It's just something to say -- a way to get a rise out of us. I'm always reminding staff to let it roll right off them. The affirmation from the elders was extremely useful! 

The elders asked for our permission to pray for us. We held hands in a circle and bent our heads while the more senior person prayed. While this was happening, an intoxicated person interrupted, trying to ask a question. The elder in prayer held up her hand in front of his face and prayed harder. The man apologized and shrank away.

Now, I couldn't tell them that what works for them will not necessarily work for us. We cannot refuse admission to the library based on the appearance of intoxication or our judgement of someone's condition. I can't put staff in a position of assessing customers' fitness for entry. We can only ask customers to leave based on their behaviour. There's a difference. 

In addition, an elder can address community members in a way we cannot. If our staff spoke spoke that way, they would be escalating -- and putting themselves at risk. The person who brought me to the luncheon put it this way: The elders can put a person in their place, because no one's going to punch them. 

* * * *

During this visit, my staff and I received a beautiful affirmation. The elders knew that our library was a welcoming place for members of their Nation, knew that we have created a space of caring and respect. Their concern for our safety meant so much to us. 

The elders gave us a word: a Kwak'wala word to use in the library. Receiving a word is not a simple translation. It's a gift. The elders were saying that we are connected to their community. 

The word is maya'xala. Here is Pewi Alfred of the 'Namgis nation in Alert Bay demonstrating the pronunciation.

The Alfreds are a well-known Alert Bay family who are deeply involved in cultural preservation. I recently learned that someone in our library community is Pewi Alfred's granddaughter, something she revealed to me with great pride.

* * * *

On a personal note, at the luncheon, I tasted t'lina. T'lina (pronounced gleet-na) in oil harvested from eulachon. This oil has great cultural significance, which I have learned about at the U'mista Cultural Centre. The process of rendering oil from these tiny fish takes many weeks and is a painstaking, meticulous process. T'lina is also tremendously healthy, with many healing properties. 

A short film by the late Barb Cranmer, 'Namgis knowledge-keeper and filmmaker who passed away in 2019, is available to National Film Board of Canada subscribers, and on DVD from the U'mista Centre: The Rendering of Wealth. Even if you can't watch the movie, the blurb is worth reading. 

T'lina is the fishiest food I have ever tasted. We were eating a simple halibut soup -- big chunks of halibut, along with potatoes and other vegetables, in broth -- and the cooks came around with a pitcher and ladle, asking if we wanted oil in the soup. Several people laughingly waved them away. The cook asked me if I wanted to try it, and I would never say no. In addition to possibly being insulting, I always say yes to trying new things. Wow! Fishy!

Before the soup, we were served herring roe on pieces of kelp. This was tasty, although rubbery. It would have been great fried (called kazunoko in Japanese cuisine). One of the elders sitting nearby, when offered some, joked, "Get away with that, I don't eat rubber!" I ate a bit of everything, and the cooks insisted I take leftovers with me.

I am always so humbled by the graciousness of First Nations hosts. 

* * * *

This experience was also personally gratifying for me, as it affirmed my connections in the community, and the trust I have earned. 

After a week where we called 911 fifteen times in five days, including five times in one single day, I reached out to the manager of Foundry Port Hardy. They in turned reached out to many other people, including a nurse who works in mental health and addiction services. They in turn reached out to several more people, and invited me to the elders' luncheon. The nurse worked on the reserve for many years, and has deep connections in the community, and I attended as their guest. 

These connections took much longer to form that I thought they would. When I moved to Port Hardy, I imagined a transition period of six or eight months. It took three years. 

This town is plagued by a lack of continuity. Many professionals move here as a stepping stone in their career, and move on after a year or two. I think, whether consciously or no, people were waiting to see if I proved myself by remaining in the community. Finally, in my fifth year here, I feel I've passed the test.

visiting hōkūle'a in port hardy

Last week, I blogged about the upcoming visit of the Polynesian voyaging canoe Hōkūle'a. I was concerned that I might miss their Port Hardy stop, but as it turned out, they were due here much sooner than I realized. Hōkūle'a landed in Port Hardy on July 30, and on July 31 the crew hosted an open house and meet-and-greet. There was a lot of local excitement about this event. 

Allan and I spent about an hour on the boat, listening to crew members talk about their journey, the boat, and Polynesian voyaging. It was an amazing opportunity and a wonderful experience.

We were disappointed not to see the sails unfurled. The boat was leaving the following day, but going only to Alert Bay, a very short trip from Port Hardy, so they didn't have to leave very early in the morning. We returned the day of their departure -- twice -- hoping to see the sails unfurled, but no joy. This image of the boat in full sail is from the Polynesian Voyaging Society. The rest of the photos are ours, courtesy of Allan.

As we walked down Port Hardy's Seagate Pier, the first thing we noticed is how tiny the boat is! Standing on the boat, you could feel it was very solid. It didn't move around under your feet the way an ordinary canoe or a tiny sailboat does. At the same time, it was mind-boggling to think that folks have sailed on the open ocean in this craft. 

The majority of the Moananuiākea Journey is coastal, but in 1976 Polynesian voyagers sailed from Hawai'i to Tahiti on Hōkūle'a. The Hōkūle'a has also travelled to Rapa Nui (also known as Easter Island), one of the most remote places on Earth. In doing so, the PVS disproved "drift theory," one of many anthropology ideas that viewed Indigenous people as helpless objects of the environment, rather than civilizations that constructed their worlds, as all civilizations do. (See also: aliens building the Pyramids and the Nasca Lines.) Part of the Moananuiākea journey will also be in open ocean.

The Hōkūle'a was constructed without nails or metal of any kind. It was built entirely by lashing ropes. Different ancient Polynesian peoples used different styles of lashing; the lashing on Hōkūle'a is a combination of different styles. More information about Hōkūle'a can be found here, and there's a diagram showing all of its parts here.

The boat was built with Sitka Spruce from Alaska. In Hawai'i there is a lack of trees that are large enough and sturdy enough to be used for a sea-voyaging canoe, the scarcity caused by deforestation, soil erosion, and other factors, mostly human-caused. There is also a legend about Sitka Spruce from Alaska floating down to Hawai'i, so building with wood from Alaska was also culturally appropriate.

The boat's kitchen consists of two burners, that hide or pop out as needed. The crew eats mainly canned and dried food -- their chef performing magic to produce taste, variety and nutrition. The crew also fishes, and sometimes can purchase fresh fruit or eggs in a port. There is no refrigeration on board, so if they catch a lot of fish, it can be an issue! They oil eggs to make them stay fresher longer.

How does the crew go to the bathroom? Everyone wants to know! They strap themselves into a harness and hang off the side of the boat. And they use a buddy system for safety. As our guide said, "If you go overboard, you're like a coconut bobbing in the ocean."

The crew sleeps in shifts, in little hidey-holes.

Visitors took turns moving the huge rudder.

I was surprised to learn that the crew changes out every few weeks. Folks fly back to Hawai'i from wherever they are, and fresh crew members fly in to join the voyage. The navigators, with their more specialized knowledge, change much less frequently.

The Hōkūle'a is piloted almost entirely by traditional methods -- celestial navigation (i.e., using stars, especially the Sun), currents, types of waves, the colour of the water, bird sightings, and other ancient methods. An escort boat with GPS travels with them. There's great info about Polynesian wayfinding here on Hōkūle'a website. 

When PVS was preparing for the 1976 Hawai'i-to-Tahiti expedition, celestial navigation had almost completely died out. There was only one person in the world who still possessed this knowledge, a Micronesian man named Mau Piailug. From Wikipedia:

Mau's Carolinian navigation system, which relies on navigational clues using the Sun and stars, winds and clouds, seas and swells, and birds and fish, was acquired through rote learning passed down through teachings in the oral tradition. He earned the title of master navigator (palu) by the age of eighteen, around the time the first American missionaries arrived in Satawal.

As he neared middle age, Mau grew concerned that the practice of navigation in Satawal would disappear as his people became acculturated to Western values. In the hope that the navigational tradition would be preserved for future generations, Mau shared his knowledge with the Polynesian Voyaging Society (PVS). With Mau's help, PVS used experimental archaeology to recreate and test lost Hawaiian navigational techniques on the Hōkūleʻa, a modern reconstruction of a double-hulled Hawaiian voyaging canoe.

Mau Pilau taught Polynesian wayfinding to Nainoa Thompson, now the long-time president of PVS. Thompson has navigated both the Hōkūleʻa and its sister canoe, the Hawaiʻiloa, from Hawaiʻi to other Polynesian island nations without using western instruments. He voyaged from Hawai'i to Tahiti solo in 1980.

More about Mau Pilau from Wikipedia.

The successful, non-instrument sailing of Hōkūleʻa to Tahiti in 1976 proved the efficacy of Mau's navigational system to the world. To academia, Mau's achievement provided evidence for intentional two-way voyaging throughout Oceania, supporting a hypothesis that explained the Asiatic origin of Polynesians.

The success of the Micronesian-Polynesian cultural exchange, symbolized by Hōkūleʻa, had an impact throughout the Pacific. It contributed to the emergence of the second Hawaiian cultural renaissance and to a revival of Polynesian navigation and canoe building in Hawaii, New Zealand, Rarotonga and Tahiti. It also sparked interest in traditional wayfinding on Mau's home island of Satawal. Later in life, Mau was respectfully known as a grandmaster navigator, and he was called "Papa Mau" by his friends with great reverence and affection. He received an honorary degree from the University of Hawaii, and he was honored by the Smithsonian Institution and the Bishop Museum for his contributions to maritime history. Mau's life and work was explored in several books and documentary films, and his legacy continues to be remembered and celebrated by the indigenous peoples of Oceania.

The principal mission of the Polynesian Voyaging Society is education, keeping the skills and their people's history alive.

This short video, featuring Nainoa Thompson, has some beautiful footage of Hōkūle'a on the sea.

This video, from local news in Hawai'i, talks about Polynesian Wayfinding.

This slightly longer video won't allow embeds, but is a fascinating 10 minutes on the ancient Polynesian voyagers, the greatest navigators of the ancient world: The Art of Tautai.

For more information, my best search was "polynesian voyaging society hawaii tv". Tons of great stuff.

On Hōkūle'a, the Hawaiian crew were in a bit of shock at the cool, wet weather of coastal BC.  They said that some days they'd be wearing full rain gear as if expecting a hurricane, and their local hosts would show up in t-shirts, barely registering that it was raining. 

They were also taken aback by how cold the water is. In Hawai'i, they said, they can swim or surf in the ocean any time of day, even at night, and can stay in the water for hours without a wetsuit. They were also unaccustomed to navigating in fog and relied on their escort boat for safety. 

Members of the crew were identifiable by their purple tees. They were so friendly and welcoming. It was an honour to connect with them.

If you enjoy this, Hōkūle'a's website has a great capsule history of the boat's journeys, including the story of a sailor who paddled off on his surfboard during a storm, saving the ship's crew, and losing his life in the process. There are also beautiful old photographs of the navigators who rediscovered this ancient art.

moananuiākea: historic voyage for earth: coming to port hardy

An astounding event is taking place, and it seems to be happening under the mainstream radar. If I didn't live in a Pacific coastal community, and if I weren't actively following local Indigenous news, I doubt I would be aware of it either.

Indigenous people from Hawai‘i are traveling around the Pacific Ocean by canoe. 

If this seems impossible -- it certainly did to me -- your mental image of the word canoe may need an update. This is a deep-sea voyaging canoe.

hokulea.com

Members of the Polynesian Voyaging Society (PVS) are traveling in a deep-sea voyaging canoe called Hōkūleʻa, built in the tradition of ancient Hawaiian double-hulled voyaging ships. Hōkūleʻa, built in Hawai'i and launched in 1975, has already sailed 140,000 miles around the Pacific during its lifetime.

Now, this 62-foot long, 20-foot wide sailing ship, along with a sister ship named Hikianalia, is on a 47-month journey, circumnavigating the ocean. In this 43,000-mile odyssey called Moananuiākea, the PVS will visit 36 countries and archipelagoes -- 345 ports in almost 100 Indigenous territories. 

The PVS has shared these objectives of Moananuiākea.

Voyaging Tradition: Perpetuating our voyaging heritage to ensure it is never lost again.

Global Navigators: Activating millions of “planetary navigators” who will pursue critical and inspiring “voyages” to ensure a better future for the earth.

Wa‘a Honua: Bringing millions of learners of all ages with us through our third canoe, to create change and move us toward a healthier ocean and planet.

Our Ocean, Our Home: Exploring and sharing the magnificence of the world’s largest ocean, which breathes life into all of earth’s systems, and amplifying the movement to care for it, because life on earth will not be healthy without a healthy ocean.

I became aware of Moananuiākea when the Hōkūleʻa landed in Haida Gwaii. Our library system has four branches in Haida Gwaii, and one of my co-workers grew up there. But only when I explored the Hōkūle'a website did I learn that Port Hardy is a stop on the journey!

I encourage you to explore the Hōkūle'a website. You can read about voyaging canoes, Polynesian wayfinding techniques, and so many other fascinating threads of this event. And of course, you can follow the journey. 

Hōkūleʻa first traveled by container ship to Washington State, then by barge to Juneau, Alaska. From Juneau, Moananuiākea was launched, sailing first to Yakutat, Alaska, then several ports along the southeastern Alaskan coast.

This is a rough schematic of the planned route. 

You can just make out Haida Gwaii (top circle) and Vancouver Island (bottom circle).

From CBC: The border is not our border: Tribal canoe trip to B.C. navigates tradition and history.

On a purely selfish note, I will be away for part of September, and I'm hoping hoping hoping that Moananuiākea will touch down in Port Hardy before I leave. There's no way to know exactly when the expedition will land in any port, as weather, crew health, activities at each stop, and other factors will all figure in. 

From what I can tell, they should be in Port Hardy in August or early September, but there's no way to really know. If at all possible, I will attend their touchdown and any public ceremonies that are announced, camera in hand.

planned obsolescence, future landfill, and premium-priced durability: in which we buy an expensive new washer

One of the things I hate most about our current world is planned obsolescence. 

There's a "wmtc's greatest hits" long piece unpacking planned obsolescence, as it relates to capitalism and our deteriorating environment: "we work to buy things that are built to die so that we must work to buy more things that will break". (This post sparked an interesting long discussion, now lost to the ether.) 

When we look at the cost of basic living now, compared with our parents' or grandparents' generations -- home internet, computers, mobile phones, etc. -- we need to include this. We buy and re-buy, over and over, items that our parents may have replaced once in their lifetimes, if at all.

And the life cycle of products continue to shrink. Things we bought when we first moved to Canada in 2005 lasted longer than the same items purchased in 2015. We once bought a can opener that was literally single-use. A coffee grinder that I used five times before it broke. And on and on.

Wmtc readers had another good discussion about this after I bought an extremely expensive office chair. Talk about privilege! I was embarrassed to spend almost $1,000 on a chair. The alternative, however, was spending $200-300 for a chair that would fall apart in less than two years. My expensive chair, purchased in 2009, is still like new in 2022.

This kind of buying is a privilege, only feasible for those with discretionary income or credit. Folks with less income end up buying crap because it's all they can afford -- another form of the cost of poverty. 

Planned obsolescence preys on bargain hunters. The quest to wring maximum use from every dollar actually means spending more in the long run.

Planned obsolescence keeps people in debt, or in poverty, or prevents them from living a better life with greater comforts and supports.

Planned obsolescence is killing our planet. The Earth is filling up with phones, and computers, and appliances, and plastic toys, everything else that we buy, and re-buy, and re-buy.

* * * *

I think about this all the time, but most recently it's on my mind because our washing machine broke. 

The Whirlpool washer that was in our home when we bought it suddenly stopped spinning. The one appliance repair person in our little town is away for an extended period of time. Through some intense sleuthing, I found a repair person in the next town, about 45 minutes away -- but he doesn't make service calls.*

We disconnected the washer, loaded it into the car, and drove to Port McNeill. The following day, Repair Person called: it can't be fixed. The part that broke isn't available, as the breakdown of this part signals the end of the machine. By tracing the serial number, he learned that the washer was manufactured seven years ago -- and that is the full lifespan of the machine. 

Seven years? For a washer?? That is ludicrous.

Now we had to drive back to Port McNeill, pick up the faulty washer, and re-install it. We would use a lot of electricity drying sopping wet clothes, but at least we'd have something in the interim. Envisioning our hydro bills would be a great incentive to buy a new washer, pronto.

As I started to research, I saw that almost every washer had only a one-year warranty. Hmmm.

Repair Person recommended we look into Huebsch, sold in the US as Speed Queen. They manufacture washers for laundromats and hotels, and also they have a few consumer models, which are built to the same specs as the commercial machines. Repair Person doesn't sell appliances or earn commissions. He said, "If you can afford it, it will last the rest of your life."

I investigated. Huebsch washers and dryers cost about twice as much as standard consumer models from Whirlpool, LG, Samsung, and most other household brands. They are supposed to last decades, rather than years. There are only two authorized Huebsch dealers in the province, and amazingly, one is in Port McNeill! 

I'm not thrilled at the expense, but to us this is a no-brainer. What's the point of spending $600 or $800 on a washer that will last less than 10 years? 

My only hesitation was that the capacity of these washers is much smaller than those of the popular brands: 3.2 cubic feet, compared with 5 cubic feet or higher. Here's what I've learned. The other companies have competed to offer more and more capacity -- without improving the internal works. The motors of these large-capacity machines can't handle the loads, so the machines are destined to break down quickly. Huebsch has avoided this by sticking with the old-fashioned 3.2 capacity.

I wasn't completely sure that the Huebsch could accommodate our largest item, which would be a queen-sized comforter. I read online that 3.2 cubic feet was enough for a queen comforter -- but I couldn't take a chance. There's no drycleaner in our area, so if I couldn't wash a blanket -- including old blankets that certain dogs like to snuggle in -- I'd be out of luck. So just to be sure, we brought a (fur-free) blanket with us to try. It fit. End of story.

This is how we ended up spending $1,750 -- tax and delivery putting us at about $2,200 -- on a washer. According to everyone, it will run smoothly for at least 25 years.**

I'm fortunate, I'm privileged, we can handle this. But it is so wrong.

------

* Repair Person is disabled, and I'm guessing that only working out of his shop eliminates accessibility concerns. I didn't know this until we met him. It was great to see a wheelchair-user running his own business -- and he's quite senior, too. He sells mobility scooters and repairs computers, too. And in the summer lives on his boat. In my old writing life, this guy would make a great story.

** Next year, we are probably going to buy the matching dryer, to reduce our electricity use with a more efficient machine. 

community meetings: what we heard about the library

As I mentioned some weeks ago, our library system is in the midst of the strategic planning process, crafting a roadmap for the next five years. Part of the process is community engagement -- hearing directly from library users and local partners about the library's mission, its place in the community, and what kind of library services they want.

Through quirks of geography and staffing models, I ended up doing the most engagement sessions of any librarian in the system, as a team with one of my staff. We facilitated five public meetings, one in each of the communities we serve, plus we conducted one in-depth interview, and I co-facilitated a focus group on literacy.

All the materials were provided to us, and there was extensive training in the process. And thank dog for that, because even with all the support, it was a huge amount of work. 

In these sessions, we presented a set of guided questions and activities, intended to elicit input on the library's values, mission, and direction. 

In each community, between five and ten people spent an evening with us. This turnout seemed reasonable to us, given the size of our communities -- until we learned that even in much larger branches, participation was usually fewer than ten people. Seen as a percentage of population, participation was actually higher in our towns than in larger, more populous areas. This reflects what I already know: small communities love and cherish their libraries.

*  *  *  * 

In the past few years, open hours and staffing has greatly expanded at two of the five branches that I manage. One was the result of a new branch for a tiny (population under 200), isolated community -- promised for many years, and finally delivered at the end of 2019. The other is in Port Hardy, the largest community I serve (2021 population approximately 4,000). That, I am proud to say, is the result of my advocacy. These changes have had a huge impact on the communities.

That leaves three other communities in our region still stuck with very limited staffing and open hours, and in two of those, also grossly inadequate physical space. I have a proposal for how to remedy this -- a simple and affordable plan, and a bargain in light of the impact it would have on these communities. I believe this will happen eventually; the question is how long communities will have to wait.

When it comes to providing service to rural and remote communities, the approach of most library systems is backwards. It's thought that these little towns don't need many open hours; after all, there aren't many people. But in remote communities, there is such a dearth of resources, so few options, that people depend heavily on the library -- more so than people do in populous areas where there are more options. 

Thus, in our community engagement sessions, it was no surprise that the two things we heard the most was more hours and more space. Our staff works very hard, and partnerships with local agencies extend our reach, but despite heroic efforts, the towns are under-served.

* * * *

This feedback was not at all surprising; it was what I expected. What I didn't expect was the outpouring of ideas. 

The upcoming strategic plan will have four pillars: Reconciliation (relationships with Indigenous communities), accessibility, services to communities without a physical library, and increased access to technology and tech learning. Meeting participants were interested in all four, and offered a wealth of ideas. 

And every idea was built on one idea: the library as community hub. On a list of phrases for a new mission statement, the phrases that resonated the most were the heart of the community, lifelong learning, knowledge sharing, and sparking curiosity and imagination. 

north island book tour and community meetings: what i'm up to at the library

Inside the Port Hardy Library

September and October have been a whirlwind for me at the library. 

In September, we hosted a locally famous author. Yvonne Maximchuk lives on a remote island in the Broughton Archipelago, and writes about the people who live in these tiny coastal communities. She has friends all over the North Island, and there's a lot of local interest in her work. 

I needed a special event for Port Hardy (my largest branch) in September, and at the same time was planning Customer Appreciation Days at two smaller branches -- and the whole thing just came together. 

I ended up organizing a five-community book tour. In two of those stops, Maximchuk was the featured guest at a big party. For the kids, there was face-paining, balloon animals, music, and games. For the adults, there was food from local bakers, and many prize draws -- an autographed copy of the book, original art by local artists, gift cards for local businesses.

Our smallest branches rarely host special programs like this -- and of course there was no in-person programming for a long time, because of covid -- so both the staff and the communities were thrilled. The author also had a wonderful experience, and she was a joy to work with. Attendance at the parties exceeded all our expectations.

Here's a story about one event from a local newspaper.

In October, I'm facilitating public meetings in each of the five communities my branches serve. 

Our library system is currently creating a new strategic plan for the next five years. Part of that process is gathering ideas and priorities from the community. In addition to the in-person community meetings, there are interviews, surveys, online meetings, and focus groups. 

So far we've hosted two meetings, with three more planned. We had special training in the facilitation process, and it's an interesting challenge. We're there to capture what is said, but not to discuss or debate -- or even agree or disagree. We also have to adhere to a fairly strict format and timeline. One staff member is working with me for all five meetings. We're enjoying the process, and we'll be glad when it's over.

the north island report: where to eat in port hardy and port mcneill, updated for 2022

It seems like everything in our lives will be divided by covid -- pre and post. The lockdown, the  case counts, the death counts. Quarantining our groceries. Masks. Vaccines. Hand sanitizer. The anti-maskers. 

Back in 2019, the beforetime, I listed all the decent restaurants in our town and the nearest neighbouring town (40 minutes away). Now the whole restaurant landscape has changed.

Update: For some additional context, I'm adding this, copied and edited from comments.

The population of the two towns: Port Hardy 4200, Port McNeill 2100. This list covers restaurants in both towns.

Port Hardy is a regional hub. The next population centre is in Campbell River, a 2.5-hour drive away, or 2 hours from McNeill. All the other communities in the region are tiny (less than 500 people) and have no restaurants at all.

Hardy is also a hub for campers, hikers, boaters, and nature-lover tourism.

Breakfast/lunch places are plentiful because many people drive and boat long distances to work. Contractors, loggers, fishers, mine work, all picking up breakfast and/or lunch before they head "into the bush".

So tourism + regional hub + workers traveling great distances = a few more restaurants and cafes in the two towns than might be available in other towns of similar sizes.

Sad changes

Fire Chefs, the most amazing fish and chips place, also home to a truly great grilled halibut burger: gone. 

The (mediocre) restaurant that replaced them: gone.

Ha'me, the dining room at the Kwa'lilas Hotel -- the best year-round food in town -- never reopened post-covid. If you ask, staff still says they are closed for renovations, but it appears to be permanent. This is another big loss.

Most disappointing of all, the late, great Cluxewe Waterfront Bistro is no more. This was the only place in the North Island with truly outstanding food and very good wine. It was also in a beautiful secluded location, right on the water. I used to say, only on the North Island do you drive down a dirt road to a four-star restaurant. 

Our first summer, 2019, we went there a handful of times. In 2020, they were the first restaurant to re-open, and we went as often as possible, usually every-other week. And thank goodness we did, because that autumn, they lost their lease and left the area. Such a loss.

Now, the current list, updated after summer 2022

This is not a list of the best restaurants in Port Hardy and Port McNeill: it's a list of all of them. Fortunately they are all at least decent.

Port Hardy

Glen Lyon Inn

This place has a huge and strangely eclectic menu. Some of the food is quite good -- crab cakes that are fresh and not full of breading, nachos with seriously good toppings, excellent burgers and grilled chicken sandwiches. Other items are good enough -- lasagna, fresh salads, steaks, ribs. Nothing is awful. 

What is awful, for me, is the atmosphere -- despite its beautiful location right on the water. Everything is dingy and run-down. I know renovations are expensive, but how much would it cost to sand and re-paint the wooden chairs? Allan thinks I exaggerate, but I just find the atmosphere depressing. I prefer this food for take-out. 

Interesting note: I've heard that diners have seen whales in the inlet right outside the restaurant. I'm skeptical but folks swear it's true.

Nax'id

At the beautiful Kwa'lilas Hotel, the dining room, Ha'me, never re-opened after covid, so now the pub/lounge Nax'id is their only dining option. The food is consistently good. Everything is made with fresh ingredients and care, and the wait staff is always friendly and helpful. 

The menu is annoyingly inconsistent, probably a function of high turnover in the kitchen. Sometimes there are delicious specials available. Other times, not. So although the food is good, many of my favourite things on their old menu are gone.

Another plus: Kwal'lilas and Nax'id are Indigenous-owned, and have a hiring arrangement with North Island College's hospitality program.

Seto's Wok and Grill

Our local Chinese restaurant continues to have consistently good food, although with a frustratingly limited menu. The food is especially good eaten in their dining room, as opposed to takeout. 

This was the last restaurant to return to eat-in dining, and the community is very happy they're back. They are open Wednesday through Saturday -- which is weird, and annoying.

Sporty Bar and Grill

Here's a happy story: a place that improved post-covid! Sporty updated its menu and added weekly specials, giving us many more choices. The food is consistently good. 

Sporty is close Sunday and Monday, even when there are festivals or a market in the park across the street. Also annoying!

Karai Sushi

The Japanese restaurant moved from its odd location at an airport hotel to the town's main drag (in the spot where Fire Chefs used to be). All the food here is good, and business seems to be off-the-charts busy since they moved into town. I am so grateful there is sushi in Port Hardy!

Macy's Place

This is a fish-and-chips food truck. It doesn't match the quality of the late, great Fire Chefs, but the fish, burgers, fish tacos, and fries are quite good.

They're closed in the winter, and everyone's very happy when they reopen.

The same family owns a seafood store that sells freshly caught-and-canned tuna, salmon, and halibut. I haven't tried this yet, as I fear it would be deliciously addictive, and it's super expensive.

Other food in Port Hardy, not open for dinner

Café Guido has great coffee, baked goods, and simple lunch choices. It's also home to a small book- and gift shop, and a co-op selling the work of local artists and artisans. It's unique on the North Island, and it's mobbed during the summer.

Copper & Kelp is Café Guido's newer store. In the local lingo, it is "at the beach," as opposed to "in town". Besides sandwiches, coffee, and baked goods, they sell local artisan products of all types, plus dinners to go. We were really surprised that Guido's opened a second place in this location, and our fingers are crossed that it will succeed.

Taif's Kitchen is an exciting new option. A family of Syrian refugees opened a food truck! The food is really good and it's a popular choice.

Market Street Cafe has really good -- and ridiculously inexpensive -- breakfasts. They are the only place in town that bakes their own bread and muffins. 

Mo's is a pizza, fried chicken, and gyros joint. The food is not bad. 

U Cafe sells Chinese takeout with a limited menu in the mall. (Don't think suburban mall with dozens of stores and a food court. It's a one-story, T-shaped building with the town's only supermarket, a pharmacy, and a fast-food joint.) U Cafe's food is fair, and it extends our Chinese-food options. The big drawback is that it's cash only.

Port Hardy also has a Subway and an A&W. 

Port McNeill

Devil's Bath Brewery

This is the most exciting new opening in our area: a spacious, hip-looking restaurant specializing in thin-crust pizza and their own microbrews. They serve a variety of interesting pizzas and pastas, plus a few nightly specials, in a lovely relaxing space. Big thumbs up. 

Archipelago's Bistro

Despite its name, this is actually a diner. The food is consistently good food and there are some interesting options on the menu: along with the usual burgers and sandwiches, there are a variety of pastas, risottos, and poutines. They make a salad with figs, roasted pear, and gorgonzola cheese that I cannot resist. 

Sportsman Steak and Pizza House

This place renovated and revamped post-covid, and has a steak, seafood, and pizza menu. The food is good, the atmosphere is very nice, and it's in a nice setting directly across from the marina. 

Gus's Pub

Gus's serves sports-bar standards in a semi- sports bar atmosphere. We've never had bad food here, but I'm bored with these menus. 

Good food, but not dinner

Tia's Cafe has great coffee, breakfasts, and slightly Mexican-themed lunches. This is my top choice if I need to meet someone in Port McNeill for work.

Mugz 2.0 is a cafe serving freshly baked pastries, muffins, and bread. They use fresh, local ingredients and they know what they're doing. Mugz was closed for years, pre-covid, and we're all rooting for it to survive.

Port McNeill also has a Subway. There is also a Chinese takeout place with an ancient, greasy storefront that does not inspire confidence.

in which i observe education, job creation, and community building in progress

For the last couple of weeks, it's been my privilege to witness some exciting progress for our community, plus have a really interesting experience.

Literacy first

As a librarian and library manager in a remote region, I work closely with the local literacy society, and I sit on its board of directors. Before becoming a libarian, I didn't know anything about literacy societies or what they do. 

Our local literacy society provides some services that, to my mind, the library should provide, such as storytimes -- but cannot, because we lack adequate resources. But it also provides services that are beyond our scope, like in-school tutoring, adult computer training, book giveaways, family literacy days, and other important literacy-focused programs.

LLS is a small but mighty collection of dedicated, focused, community-minded activists who know how to get things done. Recently the LLS coordinator asked board members to help interview candidates for a post-secondary educational opportunity. The same call went out last year, but I was too busy to participate. This year the ask came at the perfect time, and I jumped on the opportunity. 

Grant wizards

What drives the success of our LLS -- and many other excellent local organizations -- is people who are always alert for opportunities, and know how to respond quickly and effectively. In this case, they applied for and received funding for ten students to attend the local college for a one-year course to become an educational assistant (EA) or community support worker (CSW). [For US readers, a college is a post-secondary institution distinct from a university.] 

EAs work one-on-one with students with special needs, helping them succeed in school. CSWs play a similar role with adults in the community, helping them live independently. Those are both important community jobs, but this diploma goes much further. It opens a huge array of employment possibilities, and can also be used as a building block towards other degrees in education or social work. 

Education + jobs + support workers = win-win-win

The purpose of the interviews was to find ten applicants who would be most likely to succeed in the program. Of the ten grant recipients from last year, eight are working full-time, and two went on for further education: an unqualified success.

In our small, remote communities, resources are scarce, and jobs are practically nonexistent. Most available jobs are precarious -- casual, on-call, very limited. Many folks juggle several jobs in order to survive. Of course, small towns aren't the only place this happens. But here, this is (almost) all that's available.

Most of the people in the program are already working as EAs or CSWs, but without a diploma, they earn less and are only eligible for casual and on-call work. The diploma course leads directly to permanent employment and an opportunity to advance through a salary grid. 

As it creates jobs in the community, it also creates more trained workers to assist children and adults who need support. The value of this cannot be overstated.

In keeping with the college's and province's mandates, the course has a special focus on the needs of Indigenous children and adults in care. Also hugely important for our community.

+10

Over the course of three days, we listened to candidates' stories -- why they wanted to be part of the program, their career goals, how the program would advance their goals. Each applicant was a caring, dedicated public worker who wants to serve their community. And each was hard-working, striving person, juggling work, family, and their own education.

The funding (a combination of federal and provincial money) will pay for tuition and textbooks for the EA/CSW degree, and includes some supports to eliminate other obstacles, such as tech, transportation, or work attire. I've heard so many stories of students who received tuition assistance, yet were still unable to attend school because they couldn't afford textbooks or other expenses. This program is designed to work.

if you're going to live in a small town, it's good to find one with an airport

I'm grateful this tiny airport exists!

Today begins my solo trip to visit family in Oregon and California. I'm super excited! Traveling from Port Hardy, here's what it entails:

• Fly from Port Hardy to Vancouver. The plane is tiny and the view is spectacular.

• Stay overnight in an aiport hotel in Vancouver.

• Fly from Vancouver to San Francisco, and San Francisco to Medford, Oregon.

Travel is very different when you don't live near a major airport! And I'm also traveling to a town without a major airport. The way home is less complicated, because I'm flying from San Francisco -- SF to Vancouver, Vancouver to Port Hardy, in the same day, without staying over in Vancouver.

I'm not complaining! I love travel and I'm always happy to be going anywhere. Unlike many people, I don't even hate air travel. Travel = good.

I'm very happy there's a small airport in town. Otherwise it would take an entire day of travel to get to Vancouver: drive for five hours, arrive at ferry at least an hour in advance, then a two-hour ferry. Then a bus or cab to the airport. 

This is a strictly family-visit trip, in keeping with my intention to only travel to visit friends and family for some years.

in which i accommodate another quirk of small-town life: how to hand-wash a pea jacket

About a year ago, I blogged about some quirks of living in a remote region. It's always amusing, baffling, and occasionally annoying to cope with what is and is not available in our town.

There are two hardware stores and two pharmacies, but to buy dog food, we have to drive to the next town, 40 minutes away. There's a self-serve dog wash, but no laundromat.

The absence of a laundromat is significant: there are many people in our community who don't live in nice homes with their own washers and dryers, plus a sizeable number of hikers, fishers, and sailors, who come into town to re-stock. It appears that there was once a laundromat -- one of the many empty and abandoned storefronts -- but it hasn't been in business for at least 15 years. 

There is also no drycleaner in the entire North Island. Now that my work attire is even more casual than it was in a suburban library, and Allan works from home, we seldom need a drycleaner anymore. And now I'm careful not to buy any clothes that can't be washed at home. Drycleaning is expensive and bad for the environment, so this is a nice thing to give up.

But then there is my pea jacket. I love my pea jacket. It's a quality garment, in great condition, and could last a very long time. I only need a winter-weight jacket two or three weeks out of the year now. (My big warm parka gets even less use!) So I have no need to replace the pea jacket any time soon.

I would normally have the jacket drycleaned once a year. But that's no longer an option. So the jacket had been looking less and less fresh. Then it went from not fresh to dirty.  And dirtier. It really needed a refresh, and I didn't know what to do.

The internet told me it was possible to hand-wash a pea jacket. I was nervous! Would it shrink? Would it get horribly wrinkled? Would it take a month to dry? And would it really get clean? 

I'm pleased to say the answers were: no, no, no, and yes. Here are the steps I followed.

1. First I had to find a container big enough to hold a jacket without smushing it, and to allow good flow of water. I used the bathtub.

2. Then I used a lint roller on the jacket and pulled off random dog hair.

3. I put on rubber gloves. 

4. I stoppered the drain, and ran cold water into the tub, adding a handwash soap powder. I have Soak, which is awesome (thank you SFYS!), but I didn't think it would be strong enough. I also have some Forever New, and decided to use that. I'm not one to measure things like that, I just poured in some amount and swished it around in the cold water.

5. When the tub was about half full, I submerged the coat in the water. I laid it flat on the bottom of the tub, unbuttoned, with the sleeves on the sides.

6. I set a timer for 15 minutes. Most instructions for handwashing clothes suggest soaking for 15 minutes, so I went with that.

7. When the timer rang, I opened the drain, periodically running the water to let the suds drain.

8. Then, keeping the jacket lying flat, I ran cold water into the tub, and also used a flexible shower attachment to rinse the jacket. I was very pleased to see that the water was very dirty!

9. I rinsed the whole tub repeatedly, each time letting the water re-fill so the jacket was a bit submerged, then letting it drain. The water was less dirty with every rinse.

10. After five rinses, the water was clear -- not dirty, not sudsy.

11. I put a few towels on the bathroom floor, lifted the jack from under the sides -- cradling it so no part was hanging -- and laid it on the towels. This is very important! If you handwash anything made of wool, and hang it while it's wet, the entire garment will stretch out -- and it will never go back into shape. I learned this the hard way with a beautiful sweater my mother made me, in ancient times, pre-internet.

12. After laying the jacket flat on the towel-covered floor, I used dry towels to squeeze out some water, doing one sleeve or one panel at a time. I also carefully turned over the jacket and pressed a dry towel into the fabric on the back. Then I left the jacket on the floor with the bathroom window open. 

13. When it became inconvenient to have the bathroom floor covered by a wet pea jacket, I cradled the jacket again and put it on top of a clothes drying rack, careful to place the sleeves flat on the body of the jacket, not hanging down.

14. I left the jacket there for several days, turning it over, turning it inside-out, opening it, and so forth, as it dried. In a few days it was completely dry. 

The result: it looks great! The jacket looks fresh and clean. All the dirt and stains are gone, and it's not wrinkled at all. 

The only minor negative is the jacket now smells slightly like Forever New. I am very scent-sensitive, and normally use only fragrance-free products. I didn't realize Forever New has a mild scent; for bras and other small hand-washables, it's never been a problem. I might put the jacket back in the tub for another rinse or two, to reduce the smell.

All in all, this was not difficult, and the results were excellent. Thank you, internet!