July 9, 2005
Greetings from
London,
This has been a
bizarre week for me, me and everyone else in this city. First thing's first though; when I left
for the UK back in May it was meant to be a three and a half month excursion,
but in one corner of my mind I held out the possibility of breaking it up with
a surprise trip home. Monday was
my father's 60th Birthday, and I managed to clear a week of my schedule and get
a semi-affordable charter flight to make it back for the party. So that was my way of relaxing after
the workshop marathon of the previous weeks. I flew back to Vancouver last Wednesday, surprising my dad
and many other friends and family members, and spent a somewhat relaxing and
somewhat hectic five days at home.
For those of you
who don't know my dad, he's a remarkable person and deserves to be
celebrated. Those of you who know
him probably know why I'm so proud of him. He is the founder of a company, which on it's own is no
great feat (I should know), but this company has been central in the founding
of an entire culture, which is the phenomenon of Canadian treeplanting. The company, Brinkman & Associates
Reforestation, was founded in 1970 and celebrated it's 650 millionth tree
planted a few years ago, and is well on the way to a billion. Brinkman has also employed thousands of
people along the way, including myself and my brother and sister and many
cousins and friends. This job and
lifestyle has been the catalyst for so many great things over the years, the
forging of relationships and the transforming of lives and landscapes, as well
as providing inspiration for great artists (Yan Martell who wrote "Life of
Pi" used to plant for Brinkman).
This can all be traced back to a small group of bearded anti-establishment
types who took to the woods back in the late sixties with nothing but ideals
and ingenuity. On the plane on the
way over I started writing the rap version of this remarkable story, so that I
could perform it at the party. I
invite you all to give it a read by clicking here.
Then on Tuesday I
flew back to London, from the mountains and rain of the Pacific Northwest one
evening to an open mike night in a pub converted from a forge built in 1635 the
next. I had planned the five day
trip to make it back for my next school performance in London Thursday morning,
but I got an email from Cambridge just before heading for the airport - the
show was cancelled. So the next
morning I stayed in to relax and catch up on some computer work and was typing
away oblivious as terrorists set off coordinated bombs on the underground and
London came under attack. I caught
most of the action on the BBC news, trying to get through to friends on the
non-functional mobile phone network and generally reeling. One of the biggest rescue efforts was
at King's Cross Station, just a few miles from the flat I am staying at. This was hardly a near miss, and like
99.99999% of the population of London I am fine, but I don't know where I would
have been if the school hadn't cancelled, maybe on the wrong tube train. This is the sobering part of it; there
was no discriminating the victims.
I took a walk
down to the station in the early evening to see if things had returned to
normal and saw deserted streets behind police lines cordoning off the areas
hit, dozens of busy emergency workers, and thousands of people milling around
stranded, since all public transportation was down throughout the city. Then I went grocery shopping, an
instinct apparently shared by many since the local Sainsbury's was totally
mobbed. Today things seem to have
return to relative normal around here as the mess is sorted by forensics
experts and people get back to their lives. The mood seems to be one of shaken defiance and
life-affirmation, and it has definitely been a constant inspiration spending
this time with Londoners and witnessing their resilience. Life was lost wantonly yesterday, which
is always terrible, but it is also an opportunity for the living to look with new
eyes on our blessings, and this is what I have been seeing in London since
Thursday morning. Good things to
you all,
baba