One of my first very early memories of Deadwater Creek is being in the barnyard at the house where Paul Hamilton and his mother used to live and watching birds.Bluejays,as I recall,sitting on a fencepost.Paul Hamilton had sheep on his farm and big piles of stones in the pasture.Because he chopped trees and drove them to the mill,I always thought of hiom as Paul Bunyon.He seemed like a very large,strong man,though years later,when I last saw him he hardly seemed bigger than average.His mother,whose name I can never remember was a small frail looking old woman with a bit of a hunched back.She reminded me of Granny in the Sylvester and Tweety cartoons,perhaps because my first memory of her was watching the bluejays.I was very young then and I'm thinking that my parents and grandparents must have been attending a wedding or a funeral at the time.It was very unusual for me to have been left alone with the Hamiltons.

Across the field from the Hamiltons was the Smith farm.My grandmother was a Smith.As long as I can recall the Smith farm was abandoned.Some of the Smiths lived in Ontario,some in Fredricton and some in Portland,Maine where they operated a restaurant called Smith Farm.We would always go pick strawberries on the Smith land and once I was stung by a bee there.You needed to watch for old wells when walking around there too.

All the farms near my grandfathers were abandoned by the mid sixties.Uncle Clifford had moved to Fredricton and worked for the University Of New Brunswick.Fred and Anna English had moved into the town of Canterbury and I can never recall visiting them in Dead Creek.Anna English had tuberculosis and we would visit her at the sanatorium near Moncton for a while.I can recall visiting my uncle Ernies place across the road from my grandparents farm.Ernie Derrick was married to my mothers sister Ruby,and they moved into Canterbury too around this time where they operated a store and gas station at the top of the hill going out of town toward Skiff Lake.They had a bunch of children,most of whom moved to Ontario for a while.Their youngest was my cousin Carolyn,maybe five years older than me.The only reason that I can ever remember visiting the Derricks at the farm is that I remember Carolyn had a toy dump truck,an orange one that she used to play with and allowed me to play with too.Carolyn was very much like her farher,one of the kindest and gentlest souls I've ever met.

In later years we would pick apples on the Derrick farm.Apples were plentiful there but were often wormy and covered with warts.

Often we would drive out to Skiff Lake and come back through Upper Skiff Lake,past Mud Lake which was overgrown and said to be full of suckers and eels.When my grandmother lived on the farm,she would eat eels and they must have got them from Mud Lake.Occasionally she would speak fondly of eating eels,and I thought her a crazy old woman when she did.There wasn't much reason to go back to Canterbury via the old road as there were very few people living there.The only people I can recall visiting were the Wylies who lived on my grandfathers old farm.Pauline Wylie was a short but emense woman and people said she was so big because there was something wrong with her glands.Once we got a kitten from the Wylies and it hads a conniption in the car when we tried to take it home.It took to running laps across the cars dashboard and around the doors and back window deck.While we were away to swimming lessons in Moncton,that cat was struck and killed by a car.

The reason I'm writing all this about Dead Creek is that it is an ancient part of me,even though I didn't live there.The Smiths,Grahams,Englishes and Derricks were all my mothers people and so I am who I am because of the people who lived in and did the things they did in Dead Creek.Someday I hope to research more of the regions history,so that I might know myself better.The fire,in particular fascinates me.

Dead Creek brought forth my mother.She lived there,went to school and church there and in Canterbury and moved away like most of the others.She was a very bright girl by all accounts and ended up working for a number of people as a secretary,including the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and The Canadian Imperial Bank Of Commerce.She was dedicated to her family until she went to be with the Lord in 2006.She rests now,just a few miles from Dead Creek,in the cemetary at Canterbury,with her parents,brother and Husband.

Dead creek is a mystery to me.There is so much to know that I don't know now.Maybe someday I will be able to write more about it,when I know more.But,whatever,I am deeply connected to that place.

Now before I go on here,it seems as good a place as any to give some thought to this dream.

Many writers I know keep a dream journal or notebook by their bed.I've never became anything nearly as obsessive about writing as to do that.Neither am I anywhere near as obsessive about dreams.I could be very wrong about this,but I don't view dreams as having special meaning,at least most of the time.But dreams in the Bible certainly had meaning,which is what leads me to say I may be wrong.The only trouble is,you can go to a book of dream interpretations and find as many different ideas as there are authors,so I have no idea which ones to believe.The best theory I can come up with on my own as to what dreams mean is that they have their meaning largely in whatever connotative meaning the dreamer assigns to their various symbols.And I admit,that is a completely unscientific theory.As for science I'm not convinced that it can interpret dreams,though it may well be able to suggest what the purpose of dreams are.But in terms of the ultimate meaning of a particular dream,I believe that is beyond science.

So what is this dream of the Deadwater Creek about?I don't want to dismiss it so quickly as I might be tempted to do.Why does it recur,though infrequently?First it is connected to a place I know,a place that in some sense is me,a part of my deep history,most of which predates my actual life.Secondly,it shows me that place in a way that is surreal,not at all grounded in what the place is really like.another mystery.I ve come to think of as the way my mind reveals ancient and deep reality to me,though in a way I can't understand intellectually.

The dream:I am walking in the creekbed of that place I know of as Dead Creek.Only it is not the same place as the real Dead Creek.Sometimes I am walking upstream and sometimes downstream.I've always believed the moon to be full though I never see the moon.The night is always bright though.There is never another person in the dream.Sometimes there are foxes and owls.The creek is full of fish.I am looking for my grandfathers old house,or sometimes the place where the creel enters into Eel River Lake.But I never get there before waking up.

The interpretation:Dead Creek is familiar but in so many ways a mystery.So is the dream.The creek is a sort of cleaned up version of the real one with clear water and banks that are not overgrown.Traveling either in it or beside it is not difficult.Rivers I tend to associate with journeys,and water with sustenance or life.That it is well lit is surprising to me,but the moon is all about light.It's not the light of day though.But the light is sufficient to see me through the journey,but doesn't always provide as much light as I might like.Owls are a night sound,though I'm not sure what they could symbolize.Wisdom perhaps,though they could also be interpreted as a predator.They swoop down silently and kill effectively.Though this dream never causes me fear at all,so I tend to see the owl as being a benevolent figure,almost paternal,in a transcendent sense of the word.Foxes are another creature I don't understand in terms of the dream.Foxes in the real world I tend to associate with pleasure,in the sense of  their being a pleasure to encounter and observe.They,in reality, often appear in unexpected places including most of the large cities I've lived in.They belong to the night.Many think them to be quite shy,though in fact they are very inquisitive and will approach very closely.It takes some time to get to know them and you never seem to get to know them completely,which seems to be consistent with the way the dream ends.I should note that of the few recurring dreams I've had,foxes occur in at least two of the others as well.So I suppose I could ask if this has some function to unite or harmonize two or more dreams.

So what does it all mean?I really don't know.Only the idea of looking for my grandfathers house makes much sense to me.In my waking life I've often thought that it might be interesting to do a sort of an archeological expedition of the site,should I ever be able to find it.In fact I've no idea if his house could be found or not.Only that,in the dream it never is,and perhaps that is the whole point.

I only know that from time to time I dream of the Deadwater creek.I'll likely stay fairly contented to not understand this dream in any deep sort of way.I can wonder about it without any real need to know.And maybe someone will read it and be able to gain some insight into what was going on in the dreamers mind.

Memoir-Backstory

For years I've kept journals,so,if you ever get a chance to view them,none of this will seem all that new to you.Keep in  mind that I first wrote this story down in one form or another some twenty years ago,so I'm not sure why I'm putting it inside a computer.Safe keeping perhaps as I've already managed to lose at least one copy of it.Remember too that the details of this story are likely to have changed somewhat since my first telling of it.I'm not intentionally telling lies,but my memory has changed over the years and I make no apology for it as I am working primarily from memory.I don't use my past writing as reference when relating todays recall.That's just the way it is.Others may recall certain things in a different light and thats fine too.For the most part they are not lying either.For the most part.But my history is mine and the only defense I have against it being told wrongly is to write it myself.So here it is.

My mother was Elva Mae Graham-Davis,though she never hyphenated it.Her parents were Thomas and Alta Graham,from Dead Creek New Brunswick.And of the people before them I have very little idea,though I suppose it is very unlikely that they were much different from my grandparents.

My father was Walter Bruce Davis.He was born and raised in Springhill, Nova Scotia,a rather hard scrabble coal mining town in the county of Cumberland,near the New Brunswick border.His parents were William Davis and Rose Davis,formerly a Ryan.Before william came Samuel Davis and Robert Davis,though again,those are no more than names to me.I'm told that they landed in Cumberland county at a place called Blue Sac road.You still pass that road today on the drive from Parrsboro to Truro and my father would always point it out and say "thats where your people come from"every time we passed.And we passed many times over the years.

Let me start by explaining,such as I understand it what Dead Creek was like.I'm sure there are many who have a better understanding of life there than I ever will,but most of those people don't have much to say about it.That makes me most curious.In deciding to write all this down I've come to realize just how much I don't know about the place,as my moters people were not really story tellers.

My memories go back to the early 1960's when my grandparents still lived on the farm,before they moved into the nearby town of Canterbury.The earliest reference I have to myself in that place is a picture my mother took of my grandfather holding me up next to a large bay horse.I appear to be just an infant so I'm guessing it was sometime in the warmer months of 1961.

In my mind I don't imagine Dead Creek to have changed much since my mothers time.The cars certainly have changed.When I was a child most of the cars were 1950s models,almost exclusivly North American made.There were a lot of rusting automobiles sitting in the yards of abandoned farms and old farm implements as well.By the time I was born many people had began to leave their farms,if only to move into town.Some people moved to Toronto or Fredricton,but most people moved somewhere.

Dead creek burned out in a wildfire in the year my mother was born.Her house was burned when she was about two months old.Maybe about the same age I was when the picture of me with the horse was taken.The countryside must have grown back so it would have had just short of thirty years to have changed before my first memories of it.It was rough country.Of my grandfathers home itself,it was sitting on the side of a hill that some people called a mountain.In some of my memories of it there was a big cistern by the road-a big wooden container of some sort.But in some of my memories it's not there,so really,I don't know if it was there or not.The country around was a place of a lot of trees and hay and wildflowers.I recall daisies and dandelions and black eyed susans most of all.There were kittens and cows and chickens too and horses of course.I can't ever remember a dog being there.When you entered the barn through the front you were at ground level.If you took the stairs into the hayloft you were still at ground level at the back,and how such things could be mystified my young mind.

Dead creek is not far from the Maine border.On a clear day you can look west and see Mt.Katahadin.How you would ever know if you stepped across that border,I have no idea.Maine and New Brunswick were pretty much alike.

Of course Dead Creek had a creek called the Deadwater Creek on some maps.It crossed the road up the way from my grandfathers farm,then turned and flowed in behind the hill on which his house had been built.I've never been down to that part of the creek.In dreams that recur occasionally I'm walking the whole of Deadwater from one end to the other,in the creekbed at night,always by the light of a bright moon.I can't say how that dream ends.

Book Review.

I've never written a book review before.Maybe this isn't so much a review as it is just some thoughts on one of the books I've read recently and that appears in my reading list at the bottom of this blog.Expect to see that from time to time.

The book"Death Of The Liberal Class"by Chris Hedges is very self explanatory in terms of its title.Hedges notes that Classical Liberalism arose as a product of the Enlightenment and is characterized by the ideas of Egalitarianism,individualism,human rights and the idea that the human condition can be continually improved by the application of reason.He notes that Liberal society,through its institutions of organized labour,liberal churches,universities and the press has been largely successful in holding off the excesses of unrestrained Capitalism until the first world war.However,Liberalism since that time has been under constant and ever increasing attack as "permanent war"identifies threats from without about which we need to be on guard:Communism,terrorism,the list continues to expand.The result is more and more surrender of freedom to the state,which he characterizes as being commodity driven and uncaring towards persons and the environment.Ultimately,Hedges sees this as being unsustainable.Liberals have played a well orchestrated part in their own downfall by allowing themselves to become corrupted by the economic forces they were intended to do battle against  to the betterment of humankind.In Hedges view,the future is bleak because the Liberal cause is dead and cannot be revived.

While a world as described by Hedges is indeed a bleak place,I don't see an absence of hope because,while Hedges is informative and raises a number of issues which we all need to give a lot of thought to,he really does not make the case for the Liberal cause being dead.That's not to say that his observations are substantially false.His argument is a kind of political/social "salt and light"argument:if the Liberal Class is indistinguishable from the other forces around it,especially capitalism,globalization and tyranny,then it ceases to be a viable force and optimism for the continued improvement of mankind and we decend into a new dark age.As much as it's a well articulated opinion,all of that is a big if.

Hedges proves his point regarding the corruption of Liberal principles to a greater or lesser degree with respect to each of the Liberal institutions.But he has not recognized that each of these entities is affected by politics unique to it's own situation.So,while the press may be greatly corrupted by virtue of it's growth into big business,universities would appear to be less so( most graduates I know tend to be more liberal in their outlook with greater degrees of education).Hedges also seems to miss a central point with regard to Liberal religious institutions.That is that there are a number of movements within religion that are unique to religion that tend sway believers toward the right politically.Briefly those issues tend to be concerned with eschatology and manifest as support for Israel in the form of Christian Zionism or Dominion theology(the belief that we should pursue political policies which will hasten the establishment gods coming Kingdom).So,if the religious communities are occupied with coming kingdoms,can we really expect them to take up the Liberal crusades as in the past?

One other thing seems to receive only passing note in Hedges book.That being that morals in general have seen a notable decline that more or less corresponds with Hedges perceived decline of Liberal society.At the beginning of the Enlightenment people were morally engaged-all people,not just liberals.But we have seen the rise of moral systems of thought such as Utilitarianism,Humanism,Subjective morality,morality of pure convenience or even nihilism.Briefly,it would seem that people are not nearly so morally involved as they once were in being their brothers keepers and in safeguarding democracy for the benefit of all.Moral discourse has declined in quality because each of these moral systems are poor replacements for belief in God and the moral accountability that belief implied.

Capitalism,power and tyranny tend to be what morality comes to be defined as when there is poor moral discourse.Survival and enhancement of the already advantaged.So at the very time we need to defend liberal ideals the most we tend to have the least ammunition with which to do this.Liberals have tended to be seen as an "anything goes"movement by its detractors and so becomes  at risk of being seen as the enemy.But,far from being the authors of declining moral values,Liberal values still exist in classical form and are articulated by some of history's best political and philosophical minds.Those values are about freeing individuals to respond morally to the world without fear of reprisal from powers that be.And those values are far from dead,though they may need to be re articulated.Liberals need to  get back to first principles and to let the world know that they are doing just that.And despite the corruption of some,they are fully capable of doing so

So,while I encourage you to read "Death Of The Liberal Class" and to consider its premises at length and in detail,I must respectfully disagree with it's conclusions.

Memoir Writers Homework.Installment 3.

Here is the third of the memoir writers homework series,based on the topic "mountains"from the session opn Monday,May 7.

I live on a continent that has mountains on both sides and I have been fortunate to see both of these wonderful mountain ranges,both very different from one another.In part it was the desire to see the Rockies that led me to the west,and they have never disappointed me.They inspire awe every time I see or pass through them.The first time I ventured into the Rocky Mountains would have been in a frightfully hot August of 1979,near Jasper Alberta.The road,the main highway that is was impassable for the many heards of mountain goats.I thought I would have to walk far into the backcountry to see them,but they venture right out on the road and show no fear of humans or cars.Later that evening I made camp on the west side of the Rockies near Blue River ,British Columbia.The rain came quickly at sunset and I was forced to abandon the idea of sleeping in my tent and lay out across the front seat of my car.There I got to see the most violent thunder storm I'd ever seen light up those majestic peaks as I drifted off to sleep.In the morning the world was fresh and clean and very cold as mountain mornings can be even in summer.Sunshine returned and burned off the fog as I drove onward into the mountains of the interior of British Columbia.Those mountains turned from cool and wet to very dry in the Okanogan Valley to wet and thick with trees at the Pacific coast.A couple of years later I visited Mount Ranier in Washington state.It was and remains the single largest thing I've ever seen and to be truthfull,it filled me with awe and made me realize how very small I was.

The other side of North America has smaller mountains.People out west would call them hills,not mountains.But really,I think of them as my favorite mountains,a place I would like to live in the way of people from long ago.Back in the hills where there are no Homedepots or Walmarts.Just the sounds and sights of the Applachians.They may not be as big as western mountains,but they are more embracing,more like home.

Part of the problem with all the traveling I've been doing these last few years is that I haven't been able to keep many books of my own.that of course doesn't mean that I've been reading any less,it just means that I've been buying less at the bookstore.I made extensive use of a world class library system when I lived in Toronto and it was a truly amazing resource.But it's just not the same as owning my own books,because,you see,I like to mark up my own books a lot by putting extensive notes in the margins,side columns and even between the lines.And to so that,you must own the book.Until last weekend I hadn't written in a book in over three years so its nice to be getting back a sense of normalcy that way.When I was small,adults used to say never to write in a book,but I've learned to do so apologetically.You see,I bought the book and it's mine.Part of what I intended in buying it was being able to interact with it's author and I don't know how to do that without keeping my own notes.Moreover,someday those books will be passed along to someone else and having those notes will help that person understand how my mind was interacting with the books author.That is providing,of course that books survive as a distinct form of media.Perish the very thought that they might not.

Speaking of books,if you are reading this blog on a regular basis,you will notice that I keep a list of what I am reading.From time to time I expect to be making comments on some of those books as well.You will likely find that my reading interests are quite varied.But I hope you will take some time to check out some those books that I've listed.If I especially like one,or find that a certain book makes an important point,you can look forward to seeing a review of sorts of it,though I'm really not a book reviewer.In fact,I've got just such an undertaking planned for a bit later this week.So keep checking my updated list.

Crotchety,A%*@ Retentive Old Man

I used to have a certain view of older people when I was twenty something.By older,I meant anyone over forty.They were all stodgy,conservative old men and women with perpetual frowns,set in their ways who would wear any colour suit to church-so long as it was black.

But somewhere along the line,after I passed fifty,I seem to have turned into a crotchety,retentive old man.When I ssay "retentive",I'll leave it to my readers to figure out the word that goes with it to make a complete phrase.

The twenty somethings I've had to deal with over the past couple of days are beginning to make me fear I'm turning into Walter Matheau or Jack Lemon.I never thought it would happen,but I don't seem to understand young kids.

We've  spent the last couple of days out building a golf course in South Calgary and the days have been very hot and dusty.Rather unpleasant work for everyone.But after only four hours,two of our staff simply left without bothering to finish out the day.In truth,I think we were better off without them.As an older person I don't know why someone would bother coming to the work site if they didn't intend to put in a whole day.Don't like the work,then don't come back tomorrow-believe me not many of us are going to miss you.The one kid looked to be just short of twenty and was complaining all morning-"the works too hard,its too hot,when do we get a break,I'm not getting paid enough"etc.Guess what kid.We are all hot and breathing dust and I have sore knees and didn't get enough sleep and I have gout too-you'll get that when you get older,if selling cell phones in the mall doesn't break your back first.The second of the two?He was hot and dusty too.But it was really the supervisor trying to explain to him that,no matter how hot you are,you really can't take off your shirt in the middle off a golf course surrounded by high end family homes.And,guess what-you can't urinate anyplace you want either.Kids and their values,these days.Well,I'm not going to miss him much either,brilliant conversationist that he was.Can't seem to say a seven word sentence without using at least three  F bombs.Maybe next time I see him I will expand his linguistic horizons by bringing up the subject of fire trucks.That way he can actually learn to rhyme without having to waste his intellect on learning another letter of the alphabet.One weants to make certain they've mastered F before going on to G.But the thing that got me most was watching this...whatever, take out his lunch,filled up with a nice green salad and a fine cheese and ham sandwich on fresh brown bread and saying"My,F-bomb,b word put the wrong kind of F-bomb mustard on my F-bomb sandwich.Maybe it's just me,but when someone cared enough for me to make me a lunch like that,it was a great thing and I appreciated it.But at least as I was standing there working for the rest of the day I didn't have to be burdened by that sort of attitude from a co-worker.After all,the attitudes packed it in early.Praise the Lord for small blessings.But I seem to be becoming what I hoped I never would.The thing is though,it seems to fit me better than I thought it would years ago.Just as long as I can keep wearing that bright orange tie to church...or no tie at all if that suits me on any given Sunday.

Good night from hot,dusty,attitude infested Calgary Alberta,Canada.