FOLKLIFE Volume 5 by folklifemag

$19.99 US/CAN - £13 UK FOLKLIFEMAG.CA

THE SALT VOLUME.

LIFE. CLOSE TO THE EARTH, WITH INTENTION AND CREATIVITY.

Every individual matters. Every individual has a role to play. Every individual makes a difference. —Jane Goodall

PHOTO BY STASIA GARRAWAY

VOLUME 05 – SALT info@folklifemag.ca FOLKLIFEMAG.CA Alina Cerminara Creator + Publisher Patrick Belanger Co-Creator + Art Director Charles Hart Editor Claire Majors Editor Mary Ann Richards Editor Lena McKenzie Editorial Assistant Amanda Lemay Distribution Contributing Editors

Allie Picketts, Rory Holland

Contributing Writers

Katlyn Anderson, Riley Bauman, Alison Bell-Irving, Lexa Bergen, Anna Bethune, Carlie Blume, Kristen Bounds, Carmen Bowler, Laura Busheikin, Alina Cerminara, Alison Colwell, Lindsay Davidson, Angela Dione, Kelsi Dunne, Matthew Ens, Aileen Fearman, Danielle Foulk, Katie Glaze, Chris Hall, Rose Hunter, Hayley Hurl, Adrian Huysman, Julia Janicki, Kim June Johnson, Gerda Lattey, Brittany Lowe, Claire Majors, Marti MacKenzie, Jaime Maclean, Lena McKenzie, Kira Neumann, Taryn Pickard, Allie Quelch, Tristan Ray-Wilks, Deborah Robertson, Chistine Shepherd, Murray Siple, Julianna Slomka, Jennifer Speers, Chris Straw, Anna Uhlick, Kristan Vanden Hoek, Eric Veale, Sydney Wahl, Kai Watkins, Mairi Welman, Sarah Welsby, Jessica Wilson, Mary Wilson. All unnamed features prepared by FOLKLIFE.

Contributing Photographers

Financials Special thanks to:

Publishing Postmaster

DL Acken, Carlie Blume, Alina Cerminara, Alison Dawn, Priscilla Du Preez, Stasia Garraway, Nadie Gelata, Kumiko Hawkes, Drew Hays, Hysazu Photography, Lina Jokubaityte, Shannon Kay, Kris Krug, Kimberly Kufass, Sergey Litvinenko, Julie Mackinnon, Tanya Malrechauffe, Zuzana Marchandise, Steve Mushero, Alexandra Pagonis, Taryn Pickard, Dylan Phillips, Michelle Proctor, Katrina Rain, Danielle Reynolds, Saman Rezapour, Michael Rider, Filipp Romanovski, Pauline Sadler, John Mark Smith, Hannah Spray, Krysta White, Jessica Wilson, Billie Woods, Syd Woodward, Ahmed Wayan. Office Pro - Joan Harrison Charles Hart, Lena McKenzie, Monica Maile, Mary Ann Richards, Syd Woodward, Joan Harrison, Kiana Serr, Patrick Belanger, Amanda Lemay, Gary Holmes, Allie Picketts, Tate Maile, Blossom Maile, Rory Holland, Matt Ens, Claire Majors, Shannon Kay, Lina Jokubaityte, Bridget Montgomery, Jeneece Place, Willow Mae Ens. FOLKLIFE (ISSN # 2563-0808 Print, 2563-0814 Digital) is published semi-annually. Subscriptions are $38/year. Please send address changes to: FOLKLIFE PO Box 294 Ganges Salt Spring Island, BC Canada V8K 2V9 Published by FOLKLIFE Magazine on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia, Canada. Printed in Canada from forests that are responsibly managed, socially beneficial, environmentally conscious, and economically viable. Distributed by Disticor Magazines, MMS, and Small Changes.

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PHOTO BY SAMAN REZAPOUR

COVER PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO FEATURING ANGELA DIONE

Readers respond

FOLKLIFE CONNECT

Just came home and began reading FOLKLIFE. I am spellbound. Riveted. Breathless reading this issue. The intimacy enveloped me. I just read the introduction, Karen’s letter, and “Shifting From Mom to Dad.” I am so deeply, deeply in awe! For me, mothering has been my greatest source of pride and my most rewarding and important experience in life. This issue of FOLKLIFE is a masterpiece. Bravo to you! BRIDGET MONTGOMERY, GABRIOLA ISLAND, CANADA

Your magazine is one of the most beautifully presented that I have ever read—in Europe or here in Canada. It somehow has a calming effect in these difficult times. DOMINIQUE PERRON, WEST KOOTENAYS, CANADA

I’m not a mother-type person, so the mother theme had me wondering if [Volume 04] was going to be my cuppa tea, and I have to say . . . I loved every page. My mum and I are best friends and enjoy living together as she moves into old age and I move into middle age. I find that now I’m older we mother each other in equal measure and not in an unhealthy power struggle kind of way. It’s more a mutual nurturing that helps us each get through our days. I’m grateful for my mum and grateful for your beautiful magazine. ALISSA DEMERS, VICTORIA, CANADA

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY @EYE_PICTURE_YOU

As someone who grew up on Vancouver Island, frequently visiting Hornby and Denman islands, who now lives in the semi-arid desert of the interior of BC, your magazine has given me that bit of West Coast I’ve been craving in my life. Truly, touching the pages of the work of art that is your magazine makes my heart ache for that lifestyle, for those surroundings. That incredible sea and those towering trees. The ferns and moss. The smell of damp earth on trails.

[Volume 04] is a wonder from the cover to the end page. I love the articles (“The Incomprehensible Mother,” “The Roommate,” “Shifting From Mom to Dad,” “A Year of ‘Lovin’ Off The Land’,” “Saying Thanks Never Gets Old”). I look forward to reading the remaining pieces, the photographs, and the layout. Everything exudes care, imagination, and love. Blessings and gratitude. LORRAINE GANE, SALT SPRING ISLAND, CANADA

CHELSEA BALMER, KAMLOOPS, CANADA

The character of the people portrayed in it and the magazine itself will go a long way toward helping save our imperilled world or at least our corner of it. Our children, your generation and mine, will stand a chance with inspiration like this.

Let the truth be known: I treat this magazine like chocolate! It is meant to be taken slow and savoured, for its messages deserve the time to melt in. Feeling blessed I know the people and brilliance behind this work of art. JEN REED-LEWIS, GABRIOLA ISLAND, CANADA

BOB CHURCH, GABRIOLA ISLAND, CANADA

Love your magazine! I’m a Vancouver expat, and your magazine makes me feel like I’m home. SARAH MATTSON SPENCER, CHICAGO, USA

Hello from the Lower Mainland of BC! I just have to say, we ADORE FOLKLIFE! It is so exciting to look forward to. Thank you for your time and for all you pour into the magazine and the personalized note . . . it gets us EVERY TIME. NIKKI ATSMA, ABBOTSFORD, CANADA

I’m so moved by FOLKLIFE. I’m always excited to get lost in your magazine, but opening [Volume 04], savouring the first couple of pages—ads yes, but, just the same, I gently touch each page and take in the images with such admiration for what you do. Then I read your note from the publisher beside the note you left for me inside. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. I want to close it and start all over just so I can feel that tremendous wave of love again. Wow—thank you. JULIE RADDYSH, NANAIMO, CANADA

PHOTO BY ZUZANA MARCHANDISE

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

folklifemag.ca FOLKLIFE is a semi-annual print publication inspired by those who live close to the earth, with intention, and creativity. Evoking fine craftership with its minimalist design, matte aesthetic, poetic editorial, and vibrant photography, FOLKLIFE honours the art and agriculture, business and creativity, food and farming, and the dwellings and nature of those who live on the Gulf Islands throughout the Salish Sea. Each issue offers engaging interviews, stories, photographs, recipes, and artwork. Celebrating life crafted as an art form, FOLKLIFE seeks to introduce and connect those who live simply and sustainably. The Salish Sea and the islands it encompasses are the traditional, unceded territory of the Coast Salish Peoples of Cowichan, Penelakut, Hwlitsum, BOKEĆEN, Halalt, Homalco, K’ómoks, Klahoose, Lyackson, MÁLEXEt, Qualicum, Snuneymuxw, Stz’uminus, Tsawout, CUAN of the WSANEC People, TEKTEKSEN, STA,UTW, SKEUWEWC, and Tla’amin since time immemorial.

Subscribe at folklifemag.ca $38 a year

PHOTO BY SAMAN REZAPOUR

NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

FOR THE

LOVE OF SALT

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY @EYE_PICTURE_YOU

NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER /

When I was little, I had this big, old book of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. I don’t remember much from my life, and especially from my childhood, but that book’s purple cover remains crystal clear to me. I loved those fairy tales for their gruesomeness. One of the stories featured a king, as usual, and his three daughters. Now I don’t remember the specifics, but it goes something like this: the king asked each of his daughters to give him a gift to prove who loved him most. Two of the daughters brought him grandiose gifts, which he loved very much. The third gave him a little container of salt. “I love you as much as salt,” she said. The king was outraged at such a trifling gift and practically banished her. Off to the kitchen she went to help make the food along with the maids. In all the dishes she prepared, she neglected to add salt. Day after day, the king’s food was as bland as boiled cabbage, and again, he was enraged (as kings tend to get). As the tasteless meals kept coming, eventually he realized his life was nothing without salt. I love you as much as salt now meant something.

When I look out the window at the salty world

My parents dwell right by the sea, and I revel in the

around me, I think of that story. But so, too, do I think

salty air when I return to visit, especially when it’s

about the amount of salt with which some people

extra putrid from days of the ocean’s seaweedy guts

slather their food, raising their blood pressure to

washing up ashore. Much like the nostalgic smell of

dangerous levels. And of the SOS diet I adhered to

manure that I love so much—harkening back to my

years back (no salt, no oil, no sugar). I think about

childhood farm life—this dank salty smell speaks to

how this substance pervades the world in so many

me deeply of home.

ways that I have little or no idea about, and how salt has its gruesome sides. In looking up salty things, I

Perhaps salt seems a rather trivial thing for a volume

learned about the brutal salt wars in India, in which

theme—one to set aside, even banish. But here,

Britain prohibited Indians from collecting or selling

from our small palms, we present you with this

salt for almost 50 years. In 1930, Gandhi led a 241-

humble gift of salt—a mineral you can easily harvest

mile march to the town of Dandi on the Arabian sea,

from the seas around us—in the hope that one day

where many thousands were arrested for harvesting

soon you’ll discover all the richness and flavour and

salt illegally—an act of resistance to British rule that

fortitude these wondrous grains have to offer.

ultimately led to India’s sovereignty. We love you, our readers, as much as salt. Salt is one of the earliest substances of commerce in civilization, needed to preserve food, and essential

Happy reading,

to human survival. Researching its history is as addictive as reaching into a bag of potato chips. In light of salt’s ubiquitous yet understated presence and influence, we chose to devote Volume 05 of FOLKLIFE to this mighty mineral. Salt for buoyancy,

ALINA CERMINARA, FOLKLIFE CREATOR & PUBLISHER

for health, for preservation, and for the recollections and tastes of childhood—a feature of this land we tend to overlook as fundamental to survival. There’s the whole etymology of the word and its use in everyday phrases such as salt of the earth, take it with a grain of salt, or calling someone a tad salty, to name a few. Even the island where I currently reside is nicknamed Salty.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

SALTSPRING KITCHEN CO.

Uniquely curated. Exceptionally preserved. Since 2012 SaltSpring Kitchen has proudly made preserves and sauces by hand on the artisan-rich Gulf Island of Salt Spring. Melanie and her small crew of passionate jam lovers bring their innovative best to ensure every jar is pure perfection, elevating classic recipes with spicy, savoury twists. The result? Unique flavours that continue to surprise and delight. “That's our jam, and we wouldn't have it any other way.”

saltspringkitchen.com

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In this issue Back to the Land

Artistic Endeavours

FORAGING FOR FOOD AND STORIES: KEEPING TRADITIONAL KNOWLEDGE ALIVE

GROUNDED BY CLAY WITH JULIE MACKINNON

BY ALISON COLWELL

Salt

SEAWEED SARAH BY SARAH WELSBY

FOR THE LOVE OF SALT

HEALING WITH HERBS

Letter From the Publisher

BY CLAIRE MAJORS

BY ALINA CERMINARA

104 WEED’S BUDDING POSSIBILITIES BY LENA MCKENZIE

26 A COMMUNION OF SALT BY ANGELA DIONE

A PRISM OF SALTY STUFF: LITTLE WHITE LIES, INSPIRATION, AND IRRITATION

50 THE FLUKE OF FLEUR DE SEL BY LENA MCKENZIE

Outlook

32 A MARINER’S TALE BY LENA MCKENZIE

56 RAGING GRANNIES KICK UP A STORM BY KRISTEN BOUNDS

104 14

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY MICHAEL RIDER

Insight

Enterprise

A MORNING ON THE WATER

INSIDE THE CIDERIES: A Q&A WITH FOSSIL BEACH FARM, WILD CIDER, AND GABBIE’S CIDER

BY TARYN PICKARD

110

AUNT MIRIAM’S BOSOM

PRODUCTS WE LOVE

BY KIM JUNE JOHNSON

22 I MISS THE QUIET WORLD BY KIM JUNE JOHNSON

76 WHALE CHASER: DRAWN TO THE CALL OF THE GRACEFUL GIANTS

BY CHRIS STRAW

102 POEM FOR THE DAY

Edibles

BY KIM JUNE JOHNSON

118 WHEN NEIGHBOURS FIGHT

BY LAURA BUSHEIKIN

ANGELA’S GUIDE TO MAKING SALT BY ANGELA DIONE

124 ADRIFT ON THE SALT FLATS

BY ALINA CERMINARA

PICKLED KELP RECIPE BY ALISON COLWELL

112 THE ‘POWWA’ OF PANCAKE MEMORIES BY CHRISTINE SHEPHERD

115 POWER PANCAKES RECIPE BY CHRISTINE SHEPHERD

117 GREEN SMOOTHIE RECIPE BY CHRISTINE SHEPHERD

PHOTO BY ALISON DAWN (TOP), @EYE_PICTURE_YOU (BOTTOM)

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

WATER A MORNING ON THE

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY TARYN PICKARD

Light filters through the windows. Gently, it begins to stir me from what has been a very calm night. Despite the ebb and flow of the water, last night was peaceful. As the ocean turned to glass, I nearly forgot that we were afloat.

I rise and move to peer out the companionway—the front door on our sailboat home. We have been anchored in the same place for the past four days, but every morning the view is different. Each day brings a fresh angle as we swing on our anchor chain. Each new view is a sign of the tides and currents shifting, their rhythms forever rising and falling. Things inside our floating home may remain the same, but the seascape around us is constantly changing. I light the propane stove and place a kettle on the burner before turning to look out the window once again, this time noticing a seal poking its head up directly beside the boat, as it, too, pauses for a moment to take in the day. These moments of pure tranquility are precisely why we chose to move from a house onto a sailboat. As my mug of tea sits steaming in the sunlight, the sun’s rippling reflection dances on the ceiling. The only sound I hear is the singing of birds on the island nearby, and I can’t think of anywhere in the world I would rather be.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

AUNT MIRIAM’S BOSOM BY KIM JUNE JOHNSON

At a large family reunion held at a cousin’s house, everyone was milling about—arranging chairs, putting out plates, dishing up food—when someone needed a pen.

“Anyone have a pen?” a helpful uncle hollered

Miriam had bought the five-and-a-half-acre

across the potato salad.

property back in 1971 and paid it off in three

Over by the window in a recliner, Aunt

years on her elementary school teacher’s

Miriam sat up. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got one

salary. The property grew wild around the

here,” she said. And then she reached into

house—spear grass and wild roses, red

the space between her ample bosom. But

currants, and marsh grass so tall you had to

what she pulled out was a toothbrush.

push your way through.

“Nope,” she said, reaching in again. This time, out came a pair of sewing scissors.

The house resembled a curiosity shop.

The third try produced metal tweezers. The

Musty trunks full of shawls and dresses.

ballpoint pen was found on the fourth try.

Hats and silk scarves hanging from every

The room roared. Someone applauded.

hook and doorknob. Trinkets and teacups and tiny coloured-glass bottles on each window ledge. Rows of books, stacks of craft

As a child, I loved visiting Aunt Miriam. She

magazines and how-to manuals. Cupboards

lived down a meandering country road

crammed with fine china and paint brushes

in a log cabin. The house was nestled in

and packets of harvested seeds.

the curve of a valley, and Little White Lake spread out below, its swampy edge home to bulrushes, cattails, dragonflies, and redwinged blackbirds. PHOTO BY JOHN MARK SMITH, KRYSTA WHITE (RIGHT)

AUNT MIRIAM’S BOSOM /

There

were

bundles

dandelion

and

chickweed and mint hanging upside down in the kitchen. There were boxes of apples and plums on the porch. The well water was too full of minerals to make a decent cup of tea, so Aunt Miriam collected rainwater in a barrel, and we scooped it out with a metal coffee mug. The kettle was always boiling, there were always scones with butter, and Aunt Miriam was always bashing out a hymn on her out-of-tune piano. Aunt Miriam had been married briefly and had a daughter, Melanie. She and I were born only a few months apart, and we adored each other. Sometimes I would take the Greyhound bus to spend the weekend with her.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

Melanie’s bedroom was up the rounded staircase, with slanted ceilings and a wide window that looked out over the lake. She was used to the early morning noise of woodpeckers and loons, but I was not, and they always woke me at first light. I would get up and stand at the window. A thick layer of mist hung over the lake, and the sun turned the water the colour of hot coals and pink lemonade, with shreds of violet and gold. The scene was otherworldly, and I stood there for a long time, watching the colours shift and the mist settle. Melanie wished she didn’t have to live in the country. She was a city girl, she said, and believed she was missing out by not having easy access to a mall or a movie theatre. When she visited me in the city, we rode the bus to matinees and bought fashion magazines and five-cent candies at the 7-11—things that were ordinary to me. So when I visited, Aunt Miriam took great delight in my appreciation of country things. We picked apples and plums while standing on a slender ladder. We kept snails and tree frogs in ice-cream buckets before setting them free at the end of the day. In the spring, we took long, slow walks along the road above

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY STEVE MUSHERO (LEFT)

AUNT MIRIAM’S BOSOM /

Sunday afternoons came too soon. Often, I’d find my seat on the bus with tears brimming in my eyes. I could never put my finger on why I was crying. I would miss Melanie, but it wasn’t just that. I didn’t want to leave the glimmering lake, the big, round moon, the morning call of the loons on the pinktinged water. One of my parents would pick me up from the Greyhound station, and once back home, someone always commented that I was

I didn’t want to leave the glimmering lake, the big, round moon, the morning call of the loons on the pink-tinged water.

out of sorts. I didn’t know how to say that coming home to the beige walls and carpeted floors of our suburban house made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.

“Life pales in comparison” was not an expression I was familiar with yet, but if I had been, it might have helped me explain myself. her house, stopping to rescue baby painted turtles from the passing cars. Sometimes she

Storing useful objects between her breasts was

led us down through the tall grass and the

not the only odd thing Aunt Miriam did. Once,

reeds to the sinking wharf and we shoved off

at Christmas dinner, I watched her lift her fork

into the glassy water in her rickety canoe.

to scratch an itchy spot on her scalp, then scoop mashed potatoes into her mouth.

When the weather was warm, we slept out in the greenhouse overlooking the lake. The

Most autumns, she slept outside in her Commer

air smelled of tomatoes and geraniums and

van for a few weeks. The bears liked getting into her

garden soil, but I didn’t mind. Lying on our

grapes, so she kept an ear cocked and frightened

mattresses, we sang before we slept—“Happy

the bears away by hitting a wooden spoon against a

Days are Here Again” or barbershop quartet

metal pie plate.

songs I had to learn the words to. A few times, a full moon rose over the water, so big

Also, Aunt Miriam always spoke bluntly and often

and bright we had to shade our eyes. Those

humorously about her own mortality. She is the

nights, we fell asleep to the white noise of the

second oldest of six children, and when her oldest

frogs and crickets.

sibling, Jim, died, she announced, “Well, I guess that makes me next in line!”

PHOTO BY TANIA MALRECHAUFFE

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

AUNT MIRIAM’S BOSOM /

Somewhere around that time, she built herself a coffin, one of those DIYs that double as a bookshelf. “See?” she demonstrated at Thanksgiving, waving her hand in front of the bookshelf

When she was in her mid-seventies, some family

that held her gardening books. “After I’ve

members tried to talk her into putting the property

kicked the bucket, you just take out the

up for sale. The maintenance would become too

books, remove the shelves, and slide me in.”

much, they insisted. Organic farming is popular,

She made a curving motion with her hand, as

better to sell now.

if explaining how to put a loaf of bread in the oven.

She put it on the market a few times, then took it off again. She booked a showing, then called the realtor

Aunt Miriam is 86 now and has been living

to cancel. I was relieved every time the house didn’t

alone in her house for 28 years. Until recently,

sell. I couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving. Where

she ploughed her own driveway, pruned her

would she go? A beige condo in town? A retirement

own trees, and hauled her own rainwater.

community closer to her daughter but far from the

Now she hires people to do the hard jobs.

landscape she loved? Who would she be without the apple trees and grapevines, the bulrushes and the sun rising over the water? One day when I was about eight, I was walking with Aunt Miriam from the wharf to the house. Melanie had gone back to the house early, and Aunt Miriam and I had hauled the canoe up onto the wharf. On our way up the path, we stopped to pick some wildflowers. They were soft purple and pale yellow. “Do you want to know how I know God loves women?” she asked me. “No, how?” “Because God made flowers,” she said, tucking a long bloom behind her ear. I don’t see what this has to do with women specifically—I know plenty of men who love flowers. But I took note of it, and it still feeds into my sense of a generous universe. Two autumns ago, my daughters and I visited Aunt Miriam out at White Lake. We waded through the marsh grass to the old wharf, picked bulrushes and apples, and even found a tiny tree frog on the porch.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY AHMED ZAYAN

I hope to foster in my daughters the same love of the natural world that Aunt Miriam fostered in me.

My family lives near the sea now, after years spent living in cities. I have a vegetable garden in the backyard, and the stars are bright on clear nights. We’re renters. Gone are the days of paying off

And—am I allowed to say this?—when I picture

five-and-a-half acres with three years’ wages. But

them readying her body to be placed in her

sometimes, if I head down early enough, I get

bookshelf coffin, I find myself wondering

to see the sun rising over the ocean and the big,

what they’ll find tucked there in her bosom.

bright moon is never far away. I hope to foster in my daughters the same love of the natural world that Aunt Miriam fostered in me. In the kitchen, over tea, Aunt Miriam announced that she decided she is not going to sell. She’s going to live out the rest of her days there, “for better or for worse.” “She’ll probably die with a shovel in her hands,” Melanie told me. She seemed relieved, too. This, I can picture. She’s out in her garden, the fruit trees and the meadow lit with light behind her. Below, the lake glimmers. Wildflowers are coming up in the wild grasses. She squints against the blare of the cerulean sky and the gentle earth rises up to take her.

PHOTO BY PAULINE SADLER

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

I MISS THE QUIET WORLD   By Kim June Johnson

PHOTO BY @NADBRAD.DESIGNS

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

MARCHLIGHT STUDIO

Transforming salvaged wood into hand-turned vessels with wood-burned drawings. Watercolour prints. Small sculptures. Greeting cards. Creating beauty and magic out of the unexpected, artists Mark Huisman and Claire Frances Muir are the dynamic team behind Marchlight Studio on Gabriola Island, BC. Mark cuts, shapes, and turns the plates, bowls, and boards. Claire finishes the works of art with freehand wood-burned drawings. Discover the creative magic inspired by Canada’s West Coast.

marchlight.com

MOSAIC ARTS & CULTURE FESTIVAL

Cultivating a creative community Ptarmigan Arts presents the third annual Mosaic Arts & Culture Festival this summer on the rocky shores of Hope Bay, Pender Island, BC. Join us July 29-31, 2022 for a celebration of the diversity of the land we live on and the people who inhabit it, with live performances, art workshops, activities for all ages, and more.

themosaicfestival.com

SALT A COMMUNION OF

BY ANGELA DIONE PHOTOS BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

I have often taken for granted the things that are most valuable: a warm touch, clean water, salt. For years, I went through life in constant movement, distracting myself from connecting deeply and concealing what is important. But still, I always felt the importance of searching for home, and in this physical roaming, I have discovered a simple truth. My home exists in small moments of connection and I can nurture these wherever I am. I can hold my home in my hands. I can feel at home in my spirit. Now I live on Salt Spring Island, where connections come naturally. Here, the tall cedars call to me with their burnt orange sprigs, imploring me to listen, and I speak to the water with the dipping of my toes. Sometimes I dive into the waters, too, allowing their coolness to wash away the heat on my skin and the pressure behind my eyes. I walk bare into the Salish Sea with the salted water of my body mixing with the salted water of this island. A communion. The waters hold a universe of wisdom, yet they come to me like children in play. They rise and recede, leaving connections in their wake—the purple girth of sea star rays, sand dollars feeding, a pebble for my pocket. An offering of salt.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

A COMMUNION OF SALT /

I first made salt from the waters of Göteborgs

that leads from me to my ancestors. With this salt

Skärgård on the North Sea of Sweden. From a

in my lungs, I see them in my mind: wild, barefoot

handmade sailboat and an afternoon in friendship,

women harvesting seaweed on the Celtic shores

I harvested salt so I could remember that day. One

of the Aigéan Atlantach. This island is not of my

small handful for me, one small handful for him

mother’s water and I am a guest here—may I tread

before I moved away.

lightly.

When I arrived on Salt Spring Island, I began

Boiling the saltwater in our home fills the air with

harvesting salt from these waters, too. With our

stories of the sea, and as I place the pot on our wood

daughter in a red canoe, we paddle out into the

stove to dry, I touch the salt to feel its dampness,

waves, filling up mason jars that roll along the

lightly with my fingers, connecting me to place and

bottom of the boat on our way back to shore. Her

a feeling of gratitude. This is the language of nature’s

papa and I balancing our strokes.

offerings—lessons without words.

On the shore, I breathe in the salted air, the smell of

A sprinkling of salt.

life clinging to every breath, opening up a pathway

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

FOLKLIFE RECIPE /

Boiling the saltwater in our home fills the air with stories of the sea.

Angela’s guide to making salt Begin by gathering seawater in whatever container you may have. Let the water rest overnight, as the tiny little sediments naked to the eye settle at the bottom. Pour slowly to leave them undisturbed, and filter the water to keep out any further sediment. In a pot, bring the salty seawater to a rolling boil and keep it at this boil until most of the water has evaporated. There should be about 2” of water left and it will appear thicker. Lower the temperature and evaporate the rest of the water slowly. It will become the consistency of very wet sand. At this point, remove it from direct heat. Do not overcook it—if it evaporates too much at high heat, it will form into a solid and not become crystals. The sun or woodstove can dry it out more, or you can keep it on very low heat as it continues to dry. Hold the salt as a reminder of connection, gift it to someone, or sprinkle it on food, in gratitude to the sea.

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

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PHOTO CREDIT: HANNAH SPRAY PHOTOGRAPHY

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A MARINER’S TALE

THE CEASELESS QUEST FOR SELF-RELIANCE BY LENA MCKENZIE PHOTOS BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

Sailing out of Ganges Harbour, watching the surface of the sea unravel before him, Captain Dave Cardew stands at the helm of his 34ft sailboat. The air is calm, but he assures me that a gust is headed our way. He begins a countdown: “Five, four, three . . .” And just as he whispers “one,” a puff of wind fills the sails and propels us forward. His prediction is so precise that I wonder how he’s conjured it. He is a mariner, not a magician, but I can’t help but be enchanted.

A seasoned mariner deciphers the mystery of

“The first time I crossed the Atlantic on a

the ocean, watching for currents, tides, and

sailboat, I was six months old,” Captain Dave

swells while navigating vast expanses of sea.

says. “We had a Rafiki 37ft single hull sailboat named Camelot VII, which is a tank of a boat.

“My second-grade teacher said I’d never get

My parents bought it in Seattle and sailed it

a job looking out the window, yet here I am,”

down the coast through the Panama Canal,

Captain Dave grins. He looks out across the deep blue, where the water is peppered with signs—ripples, waves, shadows,

The first time I crossed the Atlantic on a sailboat, I was six months old.

and hues. Each tiny change in the environment paints a map of the greater

up the east coast to Bermuda, and then

world around him. It is these changes that he

across the Atlantic. I joined the world, and the

strives to understand.

boat, when she was in Bermuda.”

Changes

salt

affect

water

density,

and changes in density create movement, which shapes currents. Currents influence temperature and weather, and they all affect how a vessel sails. And while mastering the endless minutiae of ocean behaviour remains a mortal impossibility, every day at sea brings the captain one step closer to conquering Poseidon’s kingdom.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

Around every corner there are uncertainties—don’t stress about them, just deal with them. In the early days, Captain Dave and his family

trailing, they cut across waves that towered

“had no fridge, limited power, no GPS, and lots

over them, the boat racing down at speeds

of ultra-pasteurized milk.” He speaks of these

they couldn’t control, going “twelve knots

times with fondness. Captain Dave came from

on a boat that was designed to go six.” But

a family of doctors, not seafarers, but together

the towed tired did its job. Face-to-face with

they honed their skills for observing the

Mother Nature’s fury, it was nautical ingenuity

environment around them.

that kept them from plunging into the depths.

“My mom was the navigation officer,” training

“My mom, my brother, and myself sat down

herself to track their position relying on the

below and went through the entire Guinness

stars, the sun, and a simple sextant. “She had

Book of World Records, page by page, to

a lot of stress with the navigation of the vessel

distract us.” They emerged only after 12 hours

because there’d be days wherein we’d have

of unrelenting storm swell, yet Captain Dave

overcast conditions and no idea other than

cannot recall ever being scared. “One of the

dead reckoning where we were going.”

biggest things that growing up on a sailboat teaches you is that there is always a solution.

He recalls being caught in a storm between Turkey and Malta and sailing through a sea of 40ft waves. They lowered the sails and tied a tire to the end of a 200ft line. With the tire

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

Because there has to be.”

A MARINER’S TALE /

At the core of sailing, and any kind of adventuring, is the commitment to selfreliance, and that commitment was bred into

Captain Dave is now a licensed master mariner.

this captain at an early age. “When we broke

This means he is certified to command any

the spinnaker pole over my brother’s head, my

kind of vessel of any size anywhere in the

parents had to stitch his head up at sea and

world, yet he remains committed to learning

fix the spinnaker pole with a wooden oar and

more about the world at his feet. He has spent

rivets. We almost had the mast fall down on

the past few months studying engine repair,

us mid-Atlantic and would have had to limp

and soon he’ll be onto something else. Sailing

the rest of the way across. We had the engine

remains a ceaseless quest for self-reliance.

blow up outside of Turkey. We ended up pulling it apart and replacing it. Whatever it

was, we just had to fix it.”

countenance is serene and unperturbed as

stand

beside

him

the

helm.

His

he points to the disturbances in the waters He talks about the changing environments

around him. He seems to observe a million

that afflict us on a global scale and a world

things at once, ever attuned to the shifting

that also needs fixing. The Gulf Stream is

hues, the oncoming vessels, and the swirling

threatening collapse (in part because of

gusts of a world that refuses to lie still. He

rapidly changing water salinity) and we no

seems to have found happiness amid the

longer have to be at sea to feel that we are

mysteries of the sea, in the endless motion

in the eye of a storm. Scientists and mariners

whirling around him.

alike are starting to feel queasy from the onslaught of changes that they anticipate to

When I ask him what he likes about being out

occur, across the very ocean that Captain Dave

here, he looks at me with a glimmer in his eye.

once traversed as a young lad. The Gulf Stream

“Well, isn’t it lovely? We live in one of the best

is an expansive ocean current responsible for

sailing destinations in the world. It’s time to

moderating the climate of vast swaths of land.

enjoy it.”

Its influence is immense. But even at the precipice of climate chaos, the captain exudes an air of calm. Perhaps the same air of calm that was tucked inside that 1986 edition of the Guinness Book of World Records. “Around every corner there are uncertainties—don’t stress about them, just deal with them,” he says with reassuring ease. There’s a solution because there has to be. And if the solution isn’t immediately evident, Captain Dave is determined to continue searching until it is.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FOLKLIFE FORUM

A PRISM OF SALTY STUFF

LITTLE WHITE LIES, INSPIRATIONS, AND IRRITATIONS Gulf Island children spend their summers submerged in the ocean, surfacing only when their grumbling bellies pull them back to shore. Racing to their mothers’ picnic baskets, they fill their mouths with the delights of the day—veggies, crackers, bread—each bite bursting with flavour. The food is seasoned with the same tiny minerals now drying on their skin: salt.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

the

Bodies of water must also be in balance.

preserver. Salt the mover, salt the provider.

Salinity levels in the ocean affect saltwater

Salt—essential for life and, for some on

density, which in turn affects the movement

these islands, a way of life.

of convection currents, the backbone of

Salt

the

nourisher,

the

cleanser,

Earth’s weather systems. When it comes to salt, balance is key. Many of us were raised on the notion that “too

Salt has a power and a history rivalled only

much salt is bad,” but the reverse is equally

by the greatest of kings, sparking wars

valid. Too little can be harmful, too. We

between ancient empires. But its inherent

need salt, for our neural system, for muscle

power is peaceful, a power of harmony.

function, for fluid balance. Once mastered, salt’s use is akin to a This delicate balance is a concept commonly

magic trick, elevating the most banal of

spoken of in the culinary world. Too much

dishes into a symphony, changing weather

salt can overpower food, but just enough of

patterns, giving life, taking life, and, above

this ancient mineral enhances the unique

all, maintaining life. So much for salt’s

flavour

dish—suppressing

elemental potency, and the need for balance

sweetness,

everywhere it exists and is consumed. Try as

profile

bitterness,

amplifying

enriching aromas.

even

you may, though, there’s no tempering the word’s versatility as an idiom in everyday parlance. Here’s a few that are worth their salt!

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FOLKLIFE FORUM

TAKE IT WITH A GRAIN OF SALT WHAT’S A LIE YOU CAN’T HELP TELLING?

True nature That my wardrobe consists of more than just earth tones. KATLYN ANDERSON

Fine and dandy “How are you?” “I’m good.” No one really explains how they are each day. They go for standard answers. SIDNEY WAHL

Moving right along “No problem, I get it,” when the lie is that I get it. I don’t always need to understand to forgive. Move on or get over it. But it’s what I say to move past something quickly. LEXA BERGEN

Excess exes I try to be as honest as I can, but I frequently lie about how many times I’ve been married. Let’s face it, telling someone, especially a potential romantic partner, that you’ve been divorced three times is never easy. I lie because I’m embarrassed. Telling the truth feels like an admission of either stupidity or just plain poor judgment: yes, I chose the wrong person not once but three times! I can make up all sorts of excuses, too, like the first one didn’t really count because I was so young and immature, or I married the second one because we had a kid together. The third one was a manipulative liar, and I didn’t see the red flags until it was too late. But the truth is, I married all three of them and only have myself to blame. Through therapy, I’m learning to forgive myself, to set better boundaries, and to look at my past relationship patterns so I don’t make the same mistakes again. Meh, it only took until I’m 57—better late than never, right? KP

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY DREW HAYS

FOLKLIFE FORUM: TAKE IT WITH A GRAIN OF SALT /

Posh accent I used to go out with a friend and we would pretend we were from England. I would get tipsy and talk in an accent all night. We lived in Vancouver and didn’t know many people, so we had the protection of anonymity. I had a whole entire story and place where I was from. Some people would see me around town, and I would slip into my English character. It was hilarious and, of course, eventually somewhat blew up in my face! It felt harmless at the time, but people actually didn’t know who I was, so now I can see the harm in it. I think I was after the attention and the rush, while also needing an outlet to act and play as a young adult. ANNA BETHUNE

Remorse “I’m sorry.” It’s so Canadian, or at least something we’ve been led to believe. Sometimes I am not sorry but say it anyway in passing, to strangers most likely, or for not responding to people quickly enough. And sometimes I am sorry but don’t say it at the right time or it comes off as not genuine.

Social butterf-liar “I’d love to come to your get-together!” CARMEN BOWLER

Bright spark “I am not as dumb as I look!” ERIC VEALE

KELSI DUNNE

Yea, yea, yea “I’m listening.” ADRIAN HUYSMAN

Let’s have another round I’m going to go have a beer after work. “A beer” always means at least two (or seven).

Faux chill When I say “it is what it is” after discussing something upsetting. I’m nowhere near that easygoing. CARLIE BLUME

MATT ENS

PHOTO BY DYLAN PHILLIPS (LEFT), CARLIE BLUME (RIGHT)

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FOLKLIFE FORUM: TAKE IT WITH A GRAIN OF SALT /

Scaling back My weight, still my dumb weight, and mostly to myself.

Flexitarian? My diet/life being 100% plant-based.

Tardiness principle It’s possible that I fabricate different explanations for my lateness to avoid admitting that I have poor time-management skills.

TRISTAN RAY-WILKS

KATIE GLAZE

DEBORAH ROBERTSON

Loose ends “What’s up these days?” “Not much.” Such a huge lie! But whenever people ask me that, my mind goes blank. I am always up to so much!

PHOTO BY FILIPP ROMANOVSKI (LEFT), PRISCILLA DU PREEZ (RIGHT)

JAIME MACLEAN

Home-baked falsehoods “I made them, it was nothing.” I.e., pie or cookies from a local bakery, taken out of their original packaging and placed into a tin box or clay tray I own. It makes people so happy, so is it really that bad?! BRITTANY LOWE

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTOS BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

FOLKLIFE FORUM

A SALTY VENTURE FEEDING THE NEED TO FEEL GROUNDED When I started my business in 2016, I wanted to make sure I was working from a place of my own inspiration. When I took a moment to focus on what inspired me, it was simple: salt. Salt represents both ocean and earth. It leads to thoughts of home—Salt Spring Island, or, lovingly called Salty. Salt is the root word for my two favourite places on the planet, places that nurture me with calming energy and have become a haven for my heart. Salt is the island and salt is the sea. I want to create a brand that helps everyone to understand the beauty of these two places. I want a brand that encourages people to explore, to get outside, to be away from technology. I want people to feel grounded again. That is why my business is called Salt Shop. JESSICA WILSON

PHOTO BY MICHELLE PROCTOR

FOLKLIFE FORUM

SALT OF THE EARTH THESE FOLK ARE SWEET

Aaron Campbell

Pender Island

After moving to Pender with his daughter, Betsy, Aaron quickly became one of the fixtures around the island. Whether through his time managing the local pub or working away on his farm, everyone seems to know this salt of the earth farmer. Aaron’s farm is aptly named Ohana Farms, a Hawaiian term for family, which not only includes your blood relatives but your chosen family. This is exactly the type of atmosphere Aaron creates. I have no idea how he ever gets anything done around there, as you can’t spend five minutes on that farm without someone stopping by to say hello or catch up on how things are going. Aaron embodies the community spirit of the Gulf Islands. Mahalo.

BY CHRIS HALL

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

Selvin Errol Beckford

(Becky), Galiano Island

There’s a fella named Becky. He’s a farmer, is extremely generous, and has a great sense of humour. Everyone loves him. He’s very connected to the earth and the things he grows. He’s originally from Jamaica and he’s got that lovable, cool, grandpa vibe. I am not doing him any justice with this description, but all I can say is that it’s hard not to love Becky. You just have to meet him.

BY ILANA FONARIOV

PHOTO BY KRIS KRUG

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FOLKLIFE FORUM: SALT OF THE EARTH /

Donna Wooley

Denman Island

In Buddhism, the Metta Meditation is the practice of directing loving kindness toward others and community. At the Earth Club Factory on Denman Island, this is embodied daily by the spectacular and gentle Donna Wooley. Her consistent and subtle embracing of each person who walks in the door is sincere—she aspires to meet the specific individual needs of each unique person. Donna’s unwavering commitment to her community is obvious: from making weekly school meals with ingredients foraged locally by the elementary students to holding the hand of someone who is dying alone, she asks nothing in return. She walks calmly through chaos without shifting gears, simply accepting what is, instead of muttering with frustration while wishing things were different. The degree of loving kindness, sprinkled liberally on locals and visitors alike, is impossible to measure in words. This way of being in the world is just who Donna is. She is Metta. BY THE DENMAN COMMUNITY

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

Bob Andrew

Gabriola Island

Harvesting beans in the allotment garden next to mine, talking about tomatillos and Commons governance and family coming home to Gabriola. Lending a hand, helping get a house ready for someone who needed improved accessibility. Facilitating Commons Council meetings. Sharing his tools with a gang of enthusiastic people, taking a wooden deck apart, and sighing philosophically when his hammer handle didn’t survive the process. Building beautiful things for others and, finally, a beautiful house for himself. Walking into our house to come for tea, explaining to my rather growly dog that he wasn’t a threat. Setting up for the Fall Fair, holding up one corner of a huge market tent during the assembly process. Smiling, coordinating with everyone else, and holding up his corner. Doing that everywhere. BY MARY WILSON

PHOTO BY EYE_PICTURE_YOU

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FOLKLIFE FORUM

UNDER THE SKIN 18 FOLKS SOUND OFF ABOUT SALTY STUFF

People who don’t leash their dogs in their yards. I’ve been chased too many times while running! JULIA JANICKI

society.

Judgment. Black-and-white thinking. Divisiveness. It makes for an unstable

KIRA NEUMANN

power.

Politicians that lie to get votes yet do nothing they said they would when in

I can’t stand noisy eaters (mysophonia). Also, the look of holes (trypophobia), I shudder just thinking about it.

HAYLEY HURL

JULIANNA SLOMKA

05 06

People chewing gum. LINDSAY DAVIDSON

Tesla drivers. They act like they drive better vehicles and who knows what the piles of dead batteries are going to do to the environment down the road. And why do you need a huge monitor on your dash?

MURRAY SIPLE

When you put your hand under your chair or under the table and realize you’re touching someone’s old gum. Corporate greed. When people buy bottled water instead of drinking tap water from a reusable bottle. Animal cruelty. When people spit on the ground. Waiting in line behind people who take forever to find their debit card, then act like they’ve never used a debit machine before. Waiting in line for anything, for any amount of time.

KATIE GLAZE

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SERGEY LITVINENKO

FOLKLIFE FORUM: UNDER THE SKIN /

The lack of community through COVID. On the flip side, living on a Gulf Island has been a haven with the safe and respectful community efforts.

RILEY BAUMAN

Whistling. When I taught, the custodian would always whistle in the morning as I was still trying to wake up, and I couldn’t take it.

DANIELLE FOULK

Fast drivers who endanger others with their impatience. (Slow the FOLK down!)

ANONYMOUS

Folks who come into a new situation and proclaim how it should be different without knowing why it is the way it is. Makes me crazy, and it is so disrespectful! ROSE HUNTER

The patriarchy. But that’s a long conversation.

People eating with their mouth open. Also, people who are disrespectful to nature.

MAIRI WELMAN

TARYN PICKARD

Many big things (social injustice, racism, the list goes on), but right now I am pissed that the book I waited six months for didn’t end the way I wanted it to. And also, when I can’t match the lid with a bottom container. Where do they go? ANNA UHLICK

I can’t stand the cost of living and how even middle-class people can’t make enough money to afford anything. The housing market is absolutely ridiculous; rentals are through the roof. I was searching for a one bedroom, and it’s around $1,500 here. Services we need cost money, groceries are overpriced, which can all lead to homelessness, abuse, and child poverty.

KRISTAN VANDEN HOEK

Stickers on tomatoes. ALISON BELL-IRVING

17 18

Lawns. JENNIFER SPEERS

When people buy homes on tiny islands just to leave them empty nine months of the year, when there are dozens of working families providing essential services that are desperate for adequate shelter—that really rubs me the wrong way.

ALLIE QUELCH

PHOTOS BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

VILLAGE BUILDERS

Green City Builders is now Village Builders: new look, same awesome team. Village Builders is a family business on Salt Spring Island focused on excellence in construction and community building. We work with islanders to dream, sketch, and build wonderful homes and community places for people to come together, put down roots, and belong. Construction | Project Management | Planning

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PHOTO CREDIT: STASIA GARRAWAY

Village Builders

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THE FLUKE OF

FLEUR DE SEL BY LENA MCKENZIE

How much of life is a dream? How much can

California. And every birthday and every

we plan? And how much is an accident?

Christmas, my family would send me presents. Early on I said, ‘Guys, no more

Philippe Marill, co-founder of Salt Spring

great presents, just send me fleur de sel.’”

Sea Salt, is a man of many fortunate accidents. He hails from the South of

It’s the crème de la crème of sodium

France, known for its celebrity culture and

chloride. While ordinary sea salt falls to the

historic towns, for its rich cuisine, and for a

bottom of the pond, fleur de sel, the flower

little fluke of nature called fleur de sel.

of salt, rises to the top. It is not a grain of salt, but rather a delicate flake. It forms in

“Fleur de sel is the type of salt I grew up

a floating crust of crystal as the seawater

on . . . I guarantee you that once you don’t

evaporates, producing salt petals so pure

have that around, nothing can replace it,”

and perfect, they sparkle.

Philippe tells me. “For 22 years I lived in

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

While ordinary sea salt falls to the bottom of the pond, fleur de sel, the flower of salt, rises to the top.

These special salt diamonds can be found in salt marshes around the world. But in their natural environment, they occur only a few days each year, as if by accident. Sun and slow steady winds must align for their creation. Philippe uses the word “accident” often in conversation, as if his life were a testament to the serendipitous nature of fleur de sel itself. Philippe started his career in fashion— the

California

years—an

accident

that

eventually employed a team of 24. From manufacturing handbags, he moved into golf centre design, then villa design, then vineyard development, garnering a number of awards along the way.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTOS BY BILLIE WOODS

THE FLUKE OF FLEUR DE SEL /

When he and his wife, Carolyn, decided to

It took another accident, another random

move to the West Coast of Canada, they fell

confluence of events, for the newly minted

in love with the Gulf Islands—their natural

salt makers to reach the next level of their

beauty, diverse people, and the summers

craft. One fateful afternoon, parental duty

reminiscent of the South of France. Devoid of

called and Philippe had to abandon his brine

purpose, however, paradise quickly stopped

midway. “My wife couldn’t pick up my son at

feeling so paradisiacal. A year into living

school, so I had to drop everything.” In the

their Gulf Island dream, they began asking

absence of Philippe’s watchful gaze, the salt

themselves, “What are we doing? We need to

began to behave differently. Petals floated

find a way to make a living.”

to the top, forming an icing of salt that resembled the culinary staple of Philippe’s

Inspiration came when Carolyn stumbled

childhood. He was dumbfounded when he

across a radio documentary about a group of

returned to find the kettle filled with crystal.

people in Martha’s Vineyard who had begun harvesting salt. Martha’s Vineyard didn’t have

He spent the next few months reverse

the geographical advantage of the salt deltas

engineering the accident. “Little by little, I

of Philippe’s youth—and yet somehow these

put it together.” He began deconstructing

people were making it work.

the process, boiling seawater for 24 hours straight. “I was on watch all the time, and I

Carolyn came home with the story and in an

wasn’t sleeping very well. It was hard for the

instant, their brand was born. “Salt Spring

first five years. Now we feel like, finally, it’s

Sea Salt,” the pair murmured. “It’s a given.”

taking off. If we want to create something

They registered the name that very night.

that will last, it’s our time now.” Philippe likens

Six weeks later, they were selling salt at the

the experience to climbing a mountain. “You

market. “But at the time it was just regular

suffer to get to the top and then you arrive

salt,” he says.

and . . . wow!”

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

THE FLUKE OF FLEUR DE SEL /

Seven years on, Philippe and his team now

They now have their eyes set on a reverse

boil their seawater in industrial kettles,

osmosis pump. “I’m trying to find somebody

collecting salt flakes in stainless steel pans,

on Salt Spring who would need the fresh

and infusing their product with flavours and

water,” a by-product of the salt-making

aromas from only the finest ingredients.

process.

Their product is now sold across the

machine, they would expect to generate

continent and beyond.

1,500 litres of freshwater per week—a great

With

the

investment

this

match for an island that struggles with Philippe and Carolyn found a livelihood that

freshwater supply.

merges childhood nostalgia with a new place, a new time, and a new way of creating,

So, what’s been the key to their success

and the couple continues to dream.

so far? “Not quitting,” Philippe says with a laugh. But there seems to be more to it

“Every morning, every day, when I collect

than that. It appears the secret lies in their

the crystals, it’s magic. It’s always magic,”

willingness to embrace the accidents that

Philippe muses. “I would love to create a

occur along the way.

legacy. I would love to create a brand of salt that will go on.”

“When you cook with table salt,” Philippe explains, “you use three times as much salt.” You must dissolve the salt into the dish, resulting in a flavour profile that

Every morning, every day, when I collect the crystals, it’s magic. It’s always magic.

completely

homogenous:

every

bite tastes exactly the same. But with fleur de sel, the beauty

is in its randomness. The delicate flakes, which crumble under the weight of your fingertips, are scattered onto the plate right before eating, the finishing touches to a meal. You get small crumbs, medium crumbs, and large crumbs, “So the taste will go like this,” Philippe draws a wave in the air. “And that is the secret of fleur de sel.” Every bite is slightly different from the last—every bite is just another perfect little accident.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY BILLIE WOODS

FREE SPIRIT GALLERY STUDIO & SHOP

Designed for creating, collecting, and appreciating local visual arts, Free Spirit Gallery Studio Shop is nestled in the village on beautiful Gabriola Island, BC—the ‘Isle of the Arts.’ Showcasing local contemporary art and goods from emerging to established artists on Gabriola and across BC, we also offer classes and workshops for kids & adults, using a process-based art-making approach. EXPLORE. PLAY. CREATE.

freespiritstudio.ca

PHOTO CREDIT: STEPHANIE ARTUSO

A gallery space for people to immerse themselves in a creative retail environment.

RAGING

GRANNIES

Kick Up BY KRISTEN BOUNDS PHOTOS BY STASIA GARRAWAY

a Storm

A sharp sense of humour. A passion for activism. A sprinkle of sass. Right away, it’s clear that the Raging Grannies embody all these traits. They come together to disrupt the status quo, showing that grandmothers care about more than knitting and ensuring their grandchildren are well fed. Amid the hubbub of locals chatting with vendors and tourists browsing goodies at the farmers’ market, there were the Raging Grannies, singing away. They appear harmless enough at first: a group of elderly women wearing flamboyant dresses, shawls, and hats, singing classic tunes in harmony. Upon drawing in a little closer, however, you would discover that the lyrics are more contentious than “How Much is That Doggie in the Window?” That is to say . . . “Take your freakin’ frackin’ drills and keep them from our town We don’t want your freakin’ frackin’ turning all our water brown Take those freakin’ frackin’ drills or we will shut you down Hydrofracturing just sucks!”

“We don’t have jobs anymore, and we can’t get fired, so we can say what we like,” says Susan Paynter, a member of the Raging Grannies for more than 15 years. “We discovered that people respond to humour better than anger.” Susan sings along with Audrey Wild and Sue Sheane, also long-standing members of the Salt Spring “gaggle,” as they call themselves. When the three connected with the Grannies, all were in search of community and justice—a place where one might find kinship among the noise of society. They wanted to use their voices to take action while breaking down barriers of ageism and sexism.

Susan Paynter Member of the Raging Grannies 15 years

RAGING GRANNIES KICK UP A STORM /

Her artistry is apparent in her own cherished headpiece: a striped, frilly bucket hat adorned with myriad buttons. A long feather protrudes from the The Raging Grannies were founded on the West

top, given to her by a man from Penelakut Island

Coast of Canada in 1987 to protest the US Navy

who was standing alongside her in the fight to save

warships and submarines that were threatening

a First Nations burial site from development. Susan’s

public health and the local environment. Now, there

favourite accessory is a shirt that says, “If You Love

are 100 gaggles raging across the world.

Something, Stand Up For It.” “If we all followed that mantra, our world would be in better shape,” she

Rather than using shame as a protest tactic, the

says.

Raging Grannies opt for satire in the form of song to get their points across, knowing how hard it is to be cross with Grandma. Each Granny adds her own flair to the Salt Spring gaggle. Sue is a sprightly firecracker of 75 who has “fully lived and earned every one of those years!” she says with a boisterous laugh. “I’ve moved around so much in my life that I know how to immerse myself in a community. I had seen Ottawa’s gaggle of Grannies, so the first thing I did when I moved to the Island was look through the phone book and call around and ask about their group here.” Her vibrant personality is reflected in her prized chapeau, and a button pinned to the top reads, “Site C Still SUCKS.” Meanwhile, Susan, with her calm and poised personality, is deemed the organizer and the artist of the group, stemming from her years as a home economics teacher. She gushes about the fulfillment she gets from fighting for what she believes in. “I wasn’t involved with activism working and raising my kids, so I kind of felt it was my turn to start fighting for the future of our planet,” she says. “I joined the Grannies, and I liked comparing stories with the women involved. I was younger than most of them, but I respected their commitment. We weren’t fussing about fitness, up-to-date clothing, makeup, or financial gain—I loved that!”

Sue Sheane Member of the Raging Grannies 14 years

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

RAGING GRANNIES KICK UP A STORM/

Audrey Wild Member of the Raging Grannies 33 years

At 91 years young, Audrey is the elder of the group. She joined in 1989, caring about each of the Raging Grannies’ core values: peace, justice, and the environment. Born during the Great Depression and witness to the devastation and recovery post-war, Audrey realized from a young age the importance of advocating for peace and committed to doing so for as long as she could. Audrey was an educator in her working life and did her best to promote the causes she thought important. She notes that issues such as overfishing, clear-cut logging, racial discrimination, and gender equality are all still being fought for. “I was always into the environment, too, and was a great propagandist as a teacher.” Now, her favourite part of Grannying is performing. “I’m a bit of an exhibitionist! I can never stand still when we’re singing.” All three women describe the connection they feel to the other Raging Granny groups around the continent, each fighting issues specific to their region. “We’re all similar in the way that we approach protests; the issues we’re fighting are just different,” Susan says.

“A lot of issues we were protesting back in the 1980s and 90s are still issues we’re fighting today,” Audrey says. She remembers visiting Clayoquot Sound to protest over-logging, and there, standing among the towering ancient cedars, was an elderly man with a cane who said, “I fought for my country in the Second World War, and I’m still fighting for my country.” Dejectedly, Audrey says, “Some things never change. Then it was Clayoquot, now it’s Fairy Creek.” “We just change the name of the politician,” Susan adds.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

And despite the challenges involved in every social or environmental issue, it’s the collaboration and camaraderie that keeps the group going. Their hope is to pass the torch on to future generations.

Susan, Audrey, and Sue all agree that the fight for

justice

requires

vigilance,

dedication,

and

In such an intergenerational collaboration, the

commitment, no matter what age you are or where

Grannies teamed up with 28-year-old environmental

you come from. “That’s the whole point of the

activist and singer-songwriter Luke Wallace to

Raging Grannies—people don’t really expect much

sing his “Nonviolent Anti-Petroleum Blues.” The

from an old woman. If you feed all the stereotypes—

performance is immortalized on YouTube in a video

if you pretend to be old and frail—and then break them, you become much

That’s the whole point of the Raging Grannies —people don’t really expect much from an old woman.

more memorable,” says Sue. “As women get older, they begin to get a little more assertive. Women who are

of Luke and the Grannies sitting around a table

used to sitting at home are all of a sudden getting

with cakes and cheeses and even a cheeky gin &

dressed up and going out, or starting their own

tonic, with the Grannies dressed in full regalia and

businesses, or, you know, making a fuss! Making

all chiming in on the chorus addressed to the oil

trouble.”

industry: “I ain’t going nowhere!” “There are no requirements to join. You don’t have “It’s mostly the young people giving us thumbs

to be a grandma, you don’t even have to know how

up when we sing at the markets, so that’s really

to sing properly,” Susan says. “You just have to have

encouraging,” says Sue.

some fighter spirit in you.”

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

PÁIPÉAR BY SIBEAL

A sustainable stationery dream inspired by nature “Two years ago, I did not know a finch from a chickadee, a raven from a crow, or a young eagle from a mature one. Now I recognise their songs, observe their habits, and have been made acutely aware of how fragile this west coast ecosystem is.” Highlighting the fragility and beauty of nature, Páipéar by Sibéal is a new collection of sustainable greeting cards and art prints , created on Salt Spring Island in 2022. As beautiful as the feelings you want to express, purchase your own fine art gift cards.

paipear.com

WALLETMOTH

Painting. Sculpture. Printmaking.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts

walletmoth.com

PHOTO BY DYLANDOUBT

For sales and upcoming exhibits, visit walletmoth.com

FORAGING FOR FOOD AND STORIES

KEEPING TRADITIONAL KNOWLEDGE ALIVE BY ALISON COLWELL

PHOTO BY KRIS KRUG

Dan faces into the wind, his knit cap pulled

We sat on the curved wooden benches of

low over his ears. A Russian immigrant, he

the school, speaking of food, foraging, and

forages more than any person I’ve ever

stories of what remains and what is gone. “I

known, managing to subsist on the food

remember the ducks,” said one elder. “Great

he harvests in and around Montague Park.

rafts of ducks wintering in our waters. That

He’s always generous with his knowledge,

was before the Exxon Valdez. Before the oil

welcoming others to forage with him or to

killed them all.”

eat at his driftwood campfires. This time, he and seven other Galiano seniors are with

“We’d get clams, cod, come home with a

me in a boat coming back from Penelakut

boatload of food,” said another. His grin

Island, one of the many small islands in the

grew broad. “Once I was in the boat with

Salish Sea.

my brothers. We pulled up the crab trap off Retreat Island and an octopus came with it.

The Penelakut have lived here for thousands

It was big enough to feed the community.

of years; as a settler, I’m a newcomer,

Never again though. Now if I had to live off

despite living here for 25 years. I’d gone

these waters, I don’t know if I could.”

on this trip with the seniors to share nettle soup and stories with the Penelakut elders.

Sadness runs beneath the stories of the Penelakut elders along with the fear that the young people aren’t interested in the old ways. Back on

‘Now if I had to live off these waters, I don’t know if I could.’

Galiano,

foraging

is trendy. There’s a whole weekend festival dedicated

to the stinging nettle, but we have little traditional knowledge to fall back on. Extreme foragers like Dan are rare.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

FORAGING FOR FOOD AND STORIES /

Clearly we need to protect the food that remains: the grand fir tips, swordfern roots, thistle stems, salmonberry, huckleberry, Oregon grape berries, wild nori seaweed, salmon,

herring,

clam

beds,

oysters,

mushrooms, the deer, and the ducks. We must save the stories that teach us, so that Heading back to Galiano, we stop the boat in

knowledge isn’t lost along with the older

a kelp bed, where long ribbons of seaweed

generation.

fan out behind the floating bulbs. I reach into the cold water of Trincomali Channel to

After two hours, I bring the kelp rings and

snap off a long whip, curling it on the deck

brine to a boil. Still breathing in the scents

between our boots, next to the empty soup

of the sea, I spoon the mixture into canning

pot. Ahead of us, the unbroken green shore

jars, making sure the kelp is covered. As I

draws closer—second-growth cedar and

process the jars in my canner, I think about

Douglas fir beneath a grey sky. The boat

my grandma and the lessons in preserving

hugs the sandstone shoreline, arriving at the

she taught me.

long reach of the red-painted Spanish Hills dock. Later, I rinse the unwieldy kelp stalk in my kitchen sink, breathing in the saltwater smell of the ocean. I hack it

We must save the stories that teach us, so that knowledge isn’t lost along with the older generation.

into foot-long sections on my scarred maple counter, peel off the outer layer, and

The pickles sit on a shelf in my pantry,

cut the sections into ¼ inch rings with my

alongside imported sacks of flour and rice

sharpest knife. I mix white vinegar and sugar

and jars of home-canned tomatoes, salmon,

in a saucepan to make the brine. Then I add

applesauce, and jam. But as our food supply

garlic, pickling spice, and turmeric, plus a

changes, I can’t help thinking that the

red onion sliced into thin crescents. The kelp

stories are as important as the ecology. It is

rings go in last.

the stories that will keep my family and my community from going hungry.

Foraging oysters from Retreat Cove in winter, gathering stinging nettle and miner’s

In the end, it’s the stories that will make the

lettuce in spring, picking blackberries in late

difference.

summer, and unearthing chanterelle and prince mushrooms in the fall, I feel like the year is a calendar of harvest. To my eyes, food surrounds us on our small island, a veritable Eden, but a day’s tapping a bigleaf maple and cooking down the sap makes only enough syrup for one Sunday breakfast. Are the Penelakut elders right? Has too much diversity been lost?

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY KRIS KRUG

FOLKLIFE RECIPE /

Pickling Kelp Ingredients

To Make

2 cups kelp rings

1½ cups white vinegar 1 clove garlic, diced 1½ tbsp pickling spice 2 tsp turmeric 1½ cups white sugar ½ red onion, cut in crescents

To make the brine, mix vinegar, garlic, spices, and white sugar in a saucepan. Set aside.

Cut the kelp into foot-long sections. Peel each section with a potato peeler.

Slice each peeled section into ¼ inch rings.

Add the kelp rings and thinly sliced onion into the brine and set aside for two hours, stirring occasionally.

After brining for two hours, boil contents for five minutes.

Spoon kelp rings and juice into canning jars and process in hot water bath for 10 minutes.

PHOTO BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

GROUNDED IN CLAY

FROM MAKING POTS TO MAKING POTTERS WITH JULIE MACKINNON

“Clay is in its golden era,” Julie MacKinnon

naturally, as it did for her father, but she found

says from her vibrant living room, looking out

she couldn’t stay away from the clay. “I got to

at the world through her terracotta-coloured

choose the type of clay, what to do with it, the

glasses. “The Slow Food movement started

colour, the form, the glaze, the environment

it, which led to the maker’s movement,

to fire it in—the options just seemed so vast.

which led to clay. You don’t want to put your

And honestly, I really needed to be grounded;

freshly grown produce on an Ikea plate. You

that endless range of possibilities—there was

want it on something beautiful.”

nothing like it in my life. It was the only thing I committed to just for myself.”

The current renaissance in clay is as big as

Over time, Julie turned to the full-time

it was in the seventies, according to Julie.

creation of what became her well-known

“People need clay right now with everything

lines of “Suburban Ware”: functional, chunky,

going on in the world. They need that timeless

colourful, retro-inspired ceramics, from mugs

connection to the earth—to be grounded, in

to bowls to plates to vases and more. “At first

a literal sense. Shoving your hands into clay,”

my designs didn’t sit very well with people

“Plunging them into water—it shakes you

because they said my work looked machine-

into being,” Julie explains. “Such a direct and

made and that clay should be organic and

visceral experience brings you into your body

natural. But the throw lines (the grooves from

and out of your head.”

the wheel) are on the inside. The way the light bounces off each layer, it looks like Bauhaus—

As an 18-year-old student of architectural

my inspiration. The composition of it works.

landscape design, Julie had come to her

I feel proud of it. My work is nothing like my

calling when her dad asked if she’d go to a

life,” she says with a laugh. “My work is clean.”

pottery class with him. The skill didn’t come

But entering her home you find that it is, indeed, similar to her work. White walls pop with colourful art and remnants of her past. It’s dynamic, just like Julie herself, who shows up bold, vivacious, and colourful.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

People need clay right now with everything going on in the world.

“My suburban series is also a historical nod to

In her 22-year career as a ceramicist and single

post-war optimism,” she says. Julie explains

mother raising twin girls, Julie’s main focus has

that the North American kitchen undertook

been selling her work at markets and shows.

a transformation after the war: “The kitchen

It’s been a life built on the unpredictable

was happy and joyful. Like those Melmac

cycles of local markets, always unsure if she’ll

mugs. Mine is a riff off of those. I remember

make $200 or $2,000 and heading into winter

as a kid using it—the playful nature of it. Even

wondering whether she’ll be able to pay her

Tupperware was beautiful. And those Pyrex

bills until the markets start up again.

baking bowls I’d lick batter out of with my grandmothers. Those memories, you know.

Over these years, Julie has also been asked to

It’s candy . . . this is fun design that brings

open the doors of her workshop, first by other

those out,” she says.

potters and then by eager students. She has always said yes, bustling groups of people in and out of her too-small space. But nothing has compared to these last few years, which have changed her trajectory. When the world shut down in 2020, so did her business. No more Saturday markets to sell her wares at. No more sales events. What was already a seasonal income turned to . . . nothing. After some thumb-twiddling, Julie started lending wheels to people in the community, and then came to the realization that it was clay itself that was needed in the community. The grounding power of clay. So began a year of sold-out, two- and threeday workshops. From beginner to advanced, participants create what they choose via hand building, the potter’s wheel, surface decoration, and glazing. With the lower floor of her house already serving as her pottery studio and the middle floor occupied by her daughters, Julie had to get creative, so she set up her yard as a classroom for teaching the art of clay.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY JESSICA WILSON

GROUNDED IN CLAY /

Since a potter often has to fly around from

In the last couple of years, her focus has

show to show, Julie says much of her career

undergone a major shift: Julie estimates that

was spent hustling. The recent evolution from

about 80% of her time now goes into her

creating and selling to teaching has helped

students and only 20% goes into her own

Julie to realize that home is what she’s needed

work. And she is more than happy with this

all along. Now she feels more in control of her

turn of events. “People kept asking to use the

life.

space, so it just kept snowballing. I went back to the numbers and was like holy crap, it’s

“I’m more around for my kids,” she says. “Life

1,000 students this year.”

doesn’t have that frenetic energy of having to have a kiln opened by Friday or Saturday morning, racing to the market not knowing what’s going to sell, the next day reacting to what sold, then making more for the whole week, and doing it all again.”

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

I went back to the numbers and was like holy crap, it’s 1,000 students this year.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

GROUNDED IN CLAY /

“I like to not take things too seriously so that people feel comfortable relaxing into their creativity . . . It’s not a stuffy class. And everything that you do with clay too—how can you not laugh and make fun of it? With the way it’s evolved I’ve finally woken up to the idea that’s been slapping me in the face— realizing that this is really my calling.” To meet workshop demand, Julie has now set her sights on building a proper studio, working in her limited time off to fundraise for it. “I know that this project is worthwhile,” she says. “That what I do for community is key. I will fight for my students to make sure they have the space to create.” She’s still getting used to the transformations taking place. “Lucky isn’t the word,” she says. “But I’m kind of astonished. I still get so nervous before every workshop. I pace a bit— because it’s literally an improv class every time. You make what they want to make. And you hold space for people. Help them to embrace the organic. The clay captures the moment, and when you touch the clay, that’s what happens—what you feel is

I will fight for my students to make sure they have the space to create.

in those pots. Sometimes there’s fear involved, and I try to stay super attentive. I literally remember every

single face and every single thing they made. It’s this really personal journey.” “I don’t just make pots anymore,” Julie says. “I make potters. And I’m so crazy proud of them.”

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO (TOP), JULIE MACKINNON (BELOW)

I don’t just make pots anymore, Julie says. I make potters. PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

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WHALE CHASER DRAWN TO THE CALL OF THE GRACEFUL GIANTS BY CHRIS STRAW

PHOTO BY HYSAZU PHOTOGRAPHY

My wife and I live in a log cabin on what we settlers

Most days, when I’m outside, I have one eye

in Coast Salish territory call Orlebar Point, Gabriola

scanning the horizon for fins or flukes (two-lobed

Island. Just a short walk from our home is a rocky

tails) and one ear straining for the sound of a blow. I

point that juts out toward the BC mainland,

know that puts me on the fanatical end of the whale

providing an expansive view up and down the

fan spectrum, but I really can’t help it. I’m hooked.

Salish Sea. Among the busy transit of ferries,

And I know I am not alone. Spontaneous, land-

tugboats, log barges, and fishing trawlers, we are

based whale watching is one of the Gulf Islands’

lucky enough to occasionally see big, beautiful

great pastimes.

whales! And it never gets old. Informal chat groups on social media spread the Around here, it’s mostly humpbacks and killer

word like wildfire when whales are around.

whales and, on the rarest of occasions, greys and minkes. Just knowing that we might experience

Here, posts like, “Whales at the point!” or “Pod of

these magnificent creatures up close at any time

orcas in Dodd Narrows!” regularly send people

is magical. It’s why I really can’t imagine living

jumping on their bikes or into their cars and racing

anywhere else.

(within local speed limits, of course) for the chance to see the whales with their own eyes.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

WHALE CHASER /

There’s something magical about them—some glorious mystique that speaks to us on an almost supernatural level.

More than once, I’ve been in our local seaside pub

A few years back, a grey whale spent several days

when a pod of orcas has cruised by. In an instant, the

rubbing itself along the sandstone shoreline on the

pub clears as everyone runs to the shore, drinks still

northwest side of Gabriola. At times it was so close

in hand. Meanwhile, burgers sit cooling on empty

that people were walking along beside it. They could

tables and the servers just look at each other and

almost reach out and touch the rough barnacles

shrug, “They’ll be back. They left all their wallets and

on its back. A friend was among the lucky ones to

purses behind.”

experience this. She talked about the incredible connection she experienced, looking right into the

I’ve seen tourists brought to tears by the sight

huge whale’s eye and sensing it looking back.

of a family of orcas coming into view or a humpback breaching fully out of the water. It’s

I’ve been lucky enough to have had a few thrilling

not uncommon for small gatherings at the point

whale moments of my own. One such experience

to break into spontaneous applause and shout,

happened in the dead of night and will stay with me

“Hurray!” or “Woohoo!” in the presence of whales.

forever. It was October. I remember being awakened

There’s something magical about them—some

about 2:00am by the sound of a blow whooshing

glorious mystique that speaks to us on an almost

in through our open bedroom window. It was

supernatural level.

unmistakable. “Did you hear that?” asked my wife, opening the curtains wider and peering out into the stillness of the night. “Yup. Humpback!” I said, pulling on my jeans and heading for the door. As I ran barefoot in the dark toward the water, I heard a second blow and then another one in close succession. Their timing and proximity meant there had to be two of them feeding in the deep channel just off the point. The

sound

their

surfacing

blows

was

unmistakably that of humpbacks. In addition to the forceful sound of air being expelled, there was a deep resonance, like a bow drawing across the fattest string on an upright bass. There was just enough moonlight to see the spray trailing away in the darkness, and I could make out small white waves as one fluke broke the surface, then curled inward and returned to the surface, following the smooth, long body down into the deep.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY HYSAZU PHOTOGRAPHY

WHALE CHASER /

I stood and listened as the whales dove and surfaced several more times, filling their giant bellies with nutritious krill, herring, and anchovies. I was spellbound. When it was clear they had moved on, I turned to head back to the house and was overcome by a strange and humbling sense of connection. It was as though I had just shared a powerful secret with the moon and the ocean and two graceful giants, going about their steady, rhythmic business of staying alive in the deep mysterious underworld just beyond our reach. We are so damn lucky to live here. Our friend and supporter Chris Straw is no longer with us, but his presence, his laughter, and his voice echoes in many hearts. We miss him, and share his words and experiences here in grateful memory.

PHOTO BY KUMIKO HAWKES (TOP), HYSAZU PHOTOGRAPHY (BOTTOM)

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

INSIDE THE

CIDERIES A Q & A with Fossil Beach Farm, Ravenskill Orchards, and Salt Spring Wild Cider

PHOTO BY ALISON DAWN PHOTOGRAPHY

INSIDE THE CIDERIES /

It took Johnny Appleseed quite awhile to make it all the way to the Pacific Northwest on foot. Apple trees have been growing in these parts for less than 200 years, but it didn’t take these spheres of sweetness long to become a well-loved staple. Who can resist the crunch of the Ambrosia or the tang of the Spartan? Apples have most often been associated with the dry and sunny Okanagan Valley, but three Gulf Island orchards are changing that by claiming apples of their own, and by encouraging apple juice to meet its full potential in craft cider. Let’s raise a glass and toast these seaside farmers who overcome many obstacles to grow and press the fruits of their labour—all so that we may sit back and enjoy.

What drew you to the island?

Aileen Fearman of Fossil Beach Farm

Gerda Lattey of Salt Spring Wild Cider

We’re fourth generation—my son is fifth

I came over for a party at the home of a local author and

generation on this land! This farm is also an

it was a totally amazing experience. I spent the weekend

incredibly unique property. A farm on the

hiking and bushwhacking all over the island and fell in

ocean. It’s dreamy to look out the window and

love with it here. Many years later, I met Mike on the ferry

see both. Two calves escaped to the beach the

to Vancouver. He came over to spend the day with me

other night. It was such a fun sight—it’s like

and here’s where we’ve landed.

going back in time. Hornby is home in my soul. There are challenges with it that I now see as an adult, but we are incredibly lucky to have access to this magical island.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY KIMBERLY KUFASS (LEFT), ALEXANDRA PAGONIS (RIGHT)

Why grow apples and make cider? Why does this work matter to you? Marti MacKenzie of Gabbie’s Cider at Ravenskill

Wild Cider

Orchards

Years ago, before we started the cidery, Mike

We got a great deal on an acreage and Keith said, “I’ll

and I were looking to start a business that we

plant you your orchard.” We wanted to make fresh apple

could live with, ethically. Making cider here

juice the old Yankee way using the apples I grew up with.

using apples that are literally rooted in the

But we found that those apples, like Northern Spy and

island’s history is such a natural continuum of

Golden Russets, weren’t commercially viable in British

island life. Shaking fruit from these old gnarled

Columbia anymore. Keith got involved with BC Fruit

trees that tell us those stories and then sharing

Tasters, and once he learned how to graft trees, the next

that story in each bottle—that’s what we do.

thing you know we had 2,000, and the community was

Now we pick and press some 250,000lb of

happy to see an orchard being developed.

apples per year—from orchards whose fruit was once left to rot. And we employ a bunch of

We were happy to grow apples and make fresh juice; then

amazing people. It feels great to contribute to

our kids piqued our interest in having a cidery. Once the

the local economy on multiple levels.

barn was built and we’d dug into learning all there was to learn, we really dove in. The neighbourhood kids worked here as teenagers, pickin’ rocks and such. Now they’ve grown up and bring their kids for juice and apple picking. The heritage apples are now a part of our family and community legacy, and I feel responsible for keeping the tradition alive.

PHOTO BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

The heritage apples are now a part of our family and community legacy and I feel responsible for keeping the tradition alive.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

INSIDE THE CIDERIES /

How many trees and varieties of apples do you grow? Fossil Beach

Gabbie’s

We have two producing orchards: one of old

It is constantly changing. A lot of these old varieties

standards planted in the early 1900s by settlers

haven’t been grown in this century, and we are finding

on the property, the other planted in the early

out if they can tolerate this climate and soil. We have

nineties. We are currently under construction

1,800–2,000 trees, planted in 2007. Fourteen years later

for a larger, more commercial-style orchard.

we are finding out which ones work. We’ve almost been a research facility!

Wild Cider We have about 30 on our property, but pick from some 450 varieties all over the island.

What are the challenges of running your business on an island? What are the benefits? Fossil Beach Haha! Well, if you need something ASAP, it’s two ferries away. The first thing we bought was an excavator. It arrived on a repurposed World War II landing craft, which was wild! We named the “Cidersourus” cider after it. We ended up buying a lot of old equipment to help with the development: dump trucks, tractors, UTVs. Our cousin custom-milled the wood. Our cider production equipment was all custom designed, manufactured, and shipped to site in an ocean-worthy container, which we now use as storage. Gabbie’s Getting trades here is expensive and difficult.

We had to learn to be mechanics and know our

We have a huge team, though, and everyone

equipment inside out because the cost to ship parts

has a little area of expertise or a willingness

is high and you can’t easily get somebody out to fix

to do hard jobs and that really helps. Really

whatever is broken. We have to plan for all eventualities

becoming a farm family—with my family, my

and power outages.

husband’s family, and our employees—has been the best. Our son is living his best life

We love the travellers who just stumble upon us—we

here, so even when it’s really hard, he’s getting

are a hidden gem and they feel like they’ve discovered

quite the childhood.

something.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

Did the explosion in craft beer initiate a similar explosion in craft cider? Wild Cider

Gabbie’s

Although cider is much more akin to wine than beer (it’s

I believe so. Before prohibition, cider was the

carbonated apple wine), it often gets compared to beer.

most popular drink, not only in Britain, but

But real cider isn’t made with water, like beer—it’s made

in North America as well. But when alcohol

with pure juice, just like wine.

became illegal, the orchards were burned. It took a long time for the cider industry to reestablish itself. Before the craft beer explosion, most ciders on the market were very fizzy and

Before prohibition, cider was the most popular drink.

sweet and not very close to the traditional variety. Interest in craft beer brought on the cider revival, and now people are searching for a true traditional craft beverage like the kind we make at Gabbie’s.

How would you describe your cider? Do you have a signature style? Fossil Beach We are making what I’d call a Pacific Northwest style from the heritage orchards that were planted here many years ago for eating. The unique blend of so many different varieties has resulted in a dry, crispy, and very fruit-forward flavour. We play a lot with natural-pressed juices from the different farms. Whatever is in season in the blends makes the flavour pop. We both love the tropics, so you’ll see this show up quite often. Gabbie’s It is clean, crisp, traditional fermented cider, but using modern winemaking techniques. Not a lot of sugar. Wild Cider Making cider is always a bit of a crap shoot. You do all the right things and it responds differently every time. It’s not malleable in

Making cider is always a bit of a crap shoot. You do all the right things and it responds differently every time.

the way you might think, especially if you are fermenting using wild yeasts. The island’s apples are rare, and they make each batch unique. Developing a sensitive palate to those interesting profiles has been really fun and inspiring.

PHOTO BY ALEXANDRA PAGONIS

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

What’s been the biggest learning curve? Fossil Beach The

licensing,

regulations,

and

time

commitment of dealing with the Agricultural Land Commission, Island Health, and Liquor Distribution Branch. Wild Cider The last six years have been one gigantic learning curve. Cidermaking sounds romantic and in some ways it is, but mostly it’s just very hard work, and relentless. Our biggest challenge right now is learning how to slow down and take time for something other than cider. Gabbie’s The rules and regulations surrounding alcoholic beverages.

Are the apples for your cider purely from your orchards? Fossil Beach

Wild Cider

The majority are heritage Hornby apples,

We pick and press over 250,000lb of fruit off of historic

but we do have to source some from the

Salt Spring orchards on high-yield years (usually every

Okanagan.

second year as apples are largely biannual, especially when not farmed). On off years, our yield is about twothirds of that. In addition to all the fruit we get off of Salt Spring, we also get fruit from certified organic orchards in the Okanagan. Gabbie’s The majority of apples are from Gabriola and from an orchard in Nanaimo. We do supplement cider production from a leased orchard in Summerland. Reason being is that we don’t have enough special cider apples. A cider apple must contain tannins. A true traditional cider must be made with these tannic apples. Although we have planted over 500 cider trees in our orchard over the years, we still don’t have enough of these apples. We will be planting another 200 trees next fall.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTOS BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

INSIDE THE CIDERIES /

What’s your favourite memory from this undertaking? Fossil Beach

Gabbie’s

Last summer, our season was in total jeopardy because

When we first planted the orchard, we came

of COVID. We made it a policy that, despite business, we

home late on the Gabbie ferry one night. It

would celebrate and have farm family meals. We had

was June, sometime after solstice. The sun

them weekly all summer. For our end-of-season party, we

was setting, and we sat on warm hay bales,

ended up hiring someone to cook a dinner for us in our

surrounded by the dogs and cats, drinking

outdoor kitchen, and it was just the best night. Everyone

the first cider we ever made. We got tipsy

was so proud of the season, and we all genuinely enjoyed

and silly and didn’t get to bed until 5:00am!

each other’s company by the end! Wild Cider After we purchased this property, and shortly before we were allowed to move onto it, Mike was putting a fence in on a borrowed tractor. He called me, asked if I was sitting down, then told me he had rolled the tractor with him on it. He did some kind of superhero, acrobatic move (my words not his), and survived the fall without the tractor landing on him. It’s not a “favourite” memory, but it’s a reminder of just how green we were when we started. And how much we’ve had to learn on so many levels along the way.

PHOTO BY KIMBERLY KUFASS

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

INSIDE THE CIDERIES /

What is your favourite failure? Wild Cider

Gabbie’s

Pear vinegar! One day we’ll find the time to

We inadvertently fermented the wrong juice,

bottle it. It’s soooo good.

Granny Smith, and the resulting “Groovin’ Granny Smith” became one of our most popular ciders.

When are you most content? Wild Cider Walking our favourite hidden old orchard on the island—you can feel the history and taste the terroir in the fruit. It has one of the best eating apples in the world there: Ashmead’s Kernel. Gabbie’s When I see the first little kid of fall, running around up and down the rows picking apples with parents chasing them, and when I see little apples with kid-size bite marks everywhere— that is the reason this orchard exists. Seeing the excitement the kids have being in that orchard. Who would ever want to buy an apple in a store?

What advice would you give to a student about to enter the working world? Fossil Beach Figure out what you can do yourself and what you need to hire other people for. You need to be prepared to get things wrong, but you really just have to work at it. Wild Cider Put one foot in front of the other. Just keep doing. Don’t fret too much, but try to be mindful of what’s ahead without stopping your momentum. Gabbie’s You are never too old to start something new.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

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RITUAL NORDIC SPA

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RitualNordicSpa.com

Seaweed SARAH

BY SARAH WELSBY PHOTOS BY @EYE_PICTURE_YOU

My father has a photograph of me on his bookshelf. I’m aged five, on the beach, with seaweed stuffed into my bathing suit and huge clumps of it in my little hands. So perhaps my nickname 20 years later, Seaweed Sarah, was inevitable. As nicknames go, it’s not bad. My mother-in-law is a master herbalist. She had been teaching classes on local medicinal herbs, and when some students asked her about seaweed, she admitted to not knowing a huge amount but told them about me: the seaweed geek. Not long after, I was approached by two women at the grocery store who cautiously asked, “Are you the one who knows about seaweed?”

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

SEAWEED SARAH /

From there, word spread. People wanted seaweed! I decided to save time and take all these folks to the beach at once. And so, Seaweed Sarah was born, and I’ve now been running seaweed walks each spring for the past eight years. Like many around here, I wear multiple hats to pay the bills, teaching prenatal classes and serving as a childbirth doula. My favourite thing is when these worlds collide, and I can take a doula client to the beach and teach them how to soothe their swollen feet with bladderwrack.

I think it’s the bewildering range of seaweed forms that really captivates people when they start to learn—there are more than 600 species in Pacific Northwest waters. From a tiny, single-celled green orb to the massive, ethereal beauty of Nereocystis (Greek for mermaid’s bladder and commonly known as bull kelp), with its sweeping canopy of tangled blades teeming with kelp crabs and darting seals. Walking the intertidal zone at low tide, one can see electric green sea lettuce, the ruby-red fronds of dulse, the almost oily-looking sheets of nori that cling to the rocks in early spring, and the puffed lobster claw tips of bladderwrack, which my children love to pop. The term seaweed refers to thousands of species of macroscopic, multicellular marine algae (not plants). For a seaweed forager, there is a vast range of colour, texture, and taste to explore on our coastline, and the good news is almost all types are edible and delicious. Cooking or drying seaweed intensifies its flavour, but my favourite way to enjoy it is straight off the beach—crisp, salty, and bright. I’ve been known to show up at the beach with some greens from the garden and a nice sesame dressing, throw in some sea lettuce and young bladderwrack tips, and enjoy a healthy feast.

Cooking or drying seaweed intensifies its flavour, but my favourite way to enjoy it is straight off the beach—crisp, salty, and bright.

The dancing blades float around in the vast and vital broth of our ocean, absorbing

every

mineral

known to humankind in their jelly-like cell structures, rendering them the most nutritious vegetables on the planet. Forget kale! Sea lettuce packs almost twice the protein of eggs, half a cup of nori contains almost all your required daily amount of vitamin A, and bull kelp

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

Oceans account for 70% of the earth’s surface but only for a small fraction of the food we eat.

contains six times as much calcium as cow’s milk.

Sustainability is less of an issue with small-scale

Most seaweeds contain a mind-blowing cocktail

seaweed harvesting thanks to how fast it grows:

of Omega-3 and 6 fatty acids, as well as significant

some species of kelp can grow 6” in a day.

levels of magnesium, iodine, and potassium. The forager’s dilemma is always how to promote Archaeological evidence of ancient foraging habits

a source of free and readily available food without

points to seaweed being a problem solver for

damaging the habitats. The solution, as with most

humanity. Marine biologists believe seaweed was

things, is education—striking a balance between

as crucial in the evolution of our cerebral cortex as

protecting the environment and engaging with it.

fishing, due to its brain-feeding micronutrients.

The natural world is our home, not a museum. The

Oceans account for 70% of the earth’s surface, but

ecosystems it supports encompass us; we are part of

only for a small fraction of the food we eat. With

them. We cannot exist outside of the natural world

the world’s population approaching eight billion, it

even though many of us feel estranged from it.

seems inevitable that humans will return to these

When we are taught only to protect and not touch,

nutritious food sources.

we become spectators, and spectators eventually lose interest.

Of course, when we talk about foraging for wild food, we have to think of our precious ecosystems,

There are many ways to become more active

the impacts of our harvesting, and how sustainable

participants in the food we eat. For me, those

the resource is that we plan to eat.

actions include meeting foragers and farmers, growing carrots, picking ditch mint for mojitos, and singing the praises of seaweed.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

SEAWEED SARAH /

Seaweed Sarah’s

HARVESTING TIPS If you are interested in sampling seaweed yourself, here are some insider tips. 1.

The first thing to consider is where you are planning

Look for seaweed that is bright and fresh.

to harvest. Parks are not the places to forage. I also

As with picking lettuce, you want to avoid

make sure I choose a beach away from houses (think

pieces that look faded or munched. This

old septic systems—yuck) and marinas.

is particularly important with seaweed because as it decomposes it releases

hydrogen sulfide, which is toxic.

Every type of seaweed is different, but generally it’s sustainably safe to trim off a portion of each leaf-like blade and leave the rest with its holdfast structures

still connected to the rocks so it can regrow.

Once you’ve identified your sea vegetable and sampled it, you can relish the feeling that you’ve just eaten a true superfood.

Never take more than 10% from each algae. Otherwise, wait for a high tide or storm, and gather

Remember that eating wild food is a

the bull kelp, rockweed, and other seaweed that has

celebration. Enjoy taking this small action

washed up on the beach.

in a world run by folks in suits who poison dandelions.

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

ALCHEMY FARM’S BEE GARDEN SCHOOL

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AlchemyFarm.ca

HEALING WITH HERBS THE ART OF CULTIVATING COMPASSION BY CLAIRE MAJORS PHOTOS BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

I’m told that if, upon my arrival, I bang the old shovel against the copper cylinder, Jasmyn Clift will hear it ring no matter which corner of the five-acre property she is tending.

The day I visited Jasmyn and her partner Kevin’s home, gardens, herbal lab, and school, I had to turn my car around twice before I found their driveway at the top of a winding road. I knew I’d missed my chance to hit the MacGyvered gong when I saw a woman walking toward me in a long, black-and-white gingham dress. Jasmyn welcomes me, asks what kind of tea I’d like, and leads me to the cabin where she counsels her clients. It’s a wood-shingle building, dusted in fading red paint and just big enough for two storybook windows with animal bones set along their ledges. The front steps are overgrown, and Jasmyn warns me that if I don’t watch my step I risk “pissing off the catnip nation.” Once inside, Jasmyn settles on the couch and adjusts her dress, which I find out has been repurposed from a tablecloth found at the Hornby Island Free Store.

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

HEALING WITH HERBS /

I’m not sure what to call Jasmyn. Is she a medicine maker? A plant teacher? A sorceress of sorts? “I usually go by clinical herbalist,” she says, going on to clarify the label. “There are many types of herbalists. Like my guy, Kevin: he doesn’t have human

Meanwhile, Kevin takes care of most of the

beings as clients, he solely extracts herbal

farming as well as making the essential

medicines,” whereas Jasmine is a clinical

oils, syrups, tinctures, salves, and honeys for

herbalist who provides personalized herbal

Sandhill Botanicals, their line of farm-to-jar

formulas to both humans and animals.

herbal products.

Having started her practice back in the

Jasmyn says she was 16 when some

1990s, Jasmyn has kept some of the same

auspicious Wiccan books introduced her to

clients in her care for decades. “I know kind

the healing power of plants. After graduating

of everything about them because they come to me for an initial health complaint, and from then on, when

It’s what I did instead of having kids, it’s what I did instead of getting rich.

they get sick, they seek out my care and I hear from them again—oh,

from the California School of Herbal Studies,

you’re pregnant now, or oh, I’m sorry to hear

she returned to Vancouver and got to work

your dad died, or oh, you just got diagnosed

on helping the most vulnerable in society.

with ulcerative colitis.” Impelled by her striking abundance of creativity, Jasmyn

generosity, founded

and

perseverance,

non-profit

herbal

wellness centre in partnership with the BC Compassion Club Society, the first medical cannabis dispensary in Canada, and spent her 20s offering unpaid herbal clinics at bus stops, serving people “abandoned by the mythical social security net.” People who couldn’t afford bus fare, let alone medicine. “It’s what I did instead of having kids, it’s what I did instead of getting rich, but it has informed most of my herbal experience.” Thirty years later, Jasmyn is still dedicated to the Club. Because many clinical herbalists exclusively focus on wealthy clients, Jasmyn considers herself somewhat of a rarity in her field. While she does serve paying clients in her private practice, she emphasizes that her time spent helping people who “everyone else has given up on” is what inspires her every day.

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FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

Although most of the herbs she prescribes

grew tired of saying “You can go to this one,

are grown on the island, in one of the

but . . .” Apparently the world of herbal

salubrious

medicine

garden

patches

surrounding

Jasmyn and Kevin’s house or on their farm

fraught

with

problematic

practitioners. Jasmyn responded to the

down the road, Jasmyn

community

covets

by establishing the

certain

desert

herbs that grow only in Southern California

Plants that struggle make strong medicine.

and New Mexico. Take

Wild

Seed

need School

of Herbal Studies in 2008. The school has

the super-powerful anti-inflammatory yerba

traditionally offered a hands-on experience

mansa, which can be used to treat everything

for all levels of herbal education, from a three-

from arthritis to irritable bowel syndrome.

day beginners’ intensive to an eight-month

Plants that struggle make strong medicine,

intermediate program to an advanced case

Jasmyn explains. “So, you can dose really low

study and a supervised clinic. However, now

with them, which is a really big deal when

the school has had to adapt its courses to be

you’re donating herbs.”

delivered online.

Due to climate change, however, that struggle

has

been

growing

ever-more

precarious. Last year, Jasmyn hiked with gallons of water into the valley patches she has been nurturing for years, only to be met with a lizard-less, silent desert, meager plants, and the burden of knowing she will have to let down the many people who rely on this potent medicine to function day to day. So, Jasmyn and Kevin are focussing on doing what they can. They take advantage of the temperate climate where they live by growing a lot of Epipactis, a giant stream orchid that, among other benefits, works as a benzodiazepine substitute. In high demand, it is shipped from Salt Spring Island across North America. It was also included in a “Calm” formula that Jasmyn developed and brought to the Fairy Creek old-growth logging blockade to treat anxiety, depression, and grief on the frontlines. Another way that Jasmyn has found to help others is through education. She tells me that, after a while, when people would ask her for herb school recommendations, she

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

101

Even if students can’t smell or taste what

“So many people that practise energetic

they are studying these days, they can still be

medicine are bogus,” Jasmyn says. Another

inspired by the Wild Seed School’s integrity.

testament to Jasmyn’s no-nonsense prowess

Jasmyn openly acknowledges how her

is her impressive herbal medicine library. Some

privilege has played a role in her success and

of the tomes behind her glass cabinet are at

how she is a guest on unceded and stolen

least 100 years old, and if you want to study

land.

with her, you can expect a long reading list. If Jasmyn ever writes her own book, it’s going to

“How do you do clinical herbalism in the

be about “non-hippie” uses of flower essences,

context of trying to be less of an invasive

which can be used to treat “mad, reluctant,

settler?” Jasmyn continues to ask. She’s

or wounded humans and creatures,” she tells

still not completely sure, but the school has

me. She has used them to calm sheep, birds,

taken on certain decolonial practices such as

horses, and, on one occasion, a killer goose,

hiring Indigenous faculty, asking permission

being careful to flick the liquid from a distance.

to wildcraft, crediting sources of knowledge,

“They are so dilute, they are like a thought,” she

and respecting requests for settler herbalists

says, still somewhat astonished that they work,

to not use devil’s club or bundle sage for

even after years of evidence in the field.

smudging. Finding time to write a book could prove difficult in the near term because Jasmyn, Kevin, and their hardworking crew aren’t about to slow down. There’s talk of offering a course on trauma-informed care and of converting a church into the new location for the Wild Seed School. All this on top of the continual learning that comes with the territory for committed ethical herbalists. By the end of my visit, I’m no longer surprised by Jasmyn’s abundant altruism. Here, among the giant stalks of sunshiney elecampane and the tangles of purple vervain, an industrious generosity is just the norm—for plants and people alike.

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FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

SHOP. EAT. STAY.

Where your heart is With their fabric of rolling hills, dense forests, sandstone cliffs and pebble beaches, the Southern Gulf Islands are woven together by the creativity of our artisans, artists, food producers, and entrepreneurs. They’re the heart of our vibrant communities. Though each island has its own character, you’ll find our unique sense of imagination on every one. It’s expressed in earth and metal, wool and pigment, word and music, jar and plate. And because we live in such abundance, our islands have a lot to share.

Share the Love. Feel the Love. love-local.ca Brought to you by the Southern Gulf Island Chambers

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POEM FOR THE DAY By Kim June Johnson

PHOTO BY SWEET SEA PHOTOGRAPHY

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

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WEED’S BUDDING POSSIBILITIES BY LENA MCKENZIE

Once upon a time, cannabis farms were

bud for my best friend, I want to know

shy creatures, dwelling on the edges of

whether it is or isn’t safe to smoke,” he says.

civilization, evading watchful eyes like the

He couldn’t have asked for better conditions—

wolves of the West Coast. How the landscape

the salty Pacific air has imbued the plants

has changed. Today, growers like Tyler Rumi

with a unique flavour, and the quality of the

talk about modern marijuana enterprises, in

soil has proven rich and fertile. “The climate

his case drawing attention from investors

is special here,” he says, referring to both the

and conglomerates across the country, all

environmental climate and the political one.

eager to take a bite of the proverbial weed

“More freedom. More space to be able to do

pie.

this and get it done right.”

A Toronto native, Tyler drove 4,000km west,

Four years on, Tyler is now the CEO of an

landing on the tree-lined shores of the Gulf

award-winning cannabis company. Founded

Islands. The allure of the West Coast wasn’t

with his brother, Alex, GoodBuds is paving

merely the idyllic call of island life or the

the way as the first licensed outdoor cannabis

freedom associated with inhabiting a home

company in Canada, and BC’s first living

on wheels. “I think van life is a legit rite of

wage employer in the cannabis-growing

passage here,” he says. “I look back on it

sector.

really fondly.” Those

aspects

ultimately

Tyler

aside, was

seeking the best place to grow the best possible cannabis. He believes the

The stickiest nugs should be hand-picked, hand-rolled, and certifiedorganic.

stickiest nugs should be hand-picked, handrolled, and certified organic. “If I’m buying

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FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY MICHAEL RIDER

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107

Tyler projects a youthful disposition and

such as Mango Taffie and Gluerangutan,

appearance that belie his status, sporting a

make for a cannabis connoisseur’s Eden.

Simpsons tracksuit as he inspects his fields of

Scrub-clad employees hand-trim, hang-dry,

marijuana on 24 acres of land. The property

and hand-roll the crops while researchers

is flanked on one end by outdoor crops and

work away on new hybrids. Elsewhere in the

on the other by large shipping containers

complex, a bud accountant tallies up the

repurposed

weed.

high-tech

greenhouses,

laboratories, and packaging centres. Visitors

108

are required to don Tyvek protective suits

At the end of the work day, employees filter

before

through a locker area that contains four

separated by strict security systems, and a

sizable shower stalls. Tyler notes that “a lot of

quarantine centre monitors products (not

people who work here don’t have houses in

people) to prevent contamination. Rooms are

the traditional sense,” so GoodBuds helps by

filled with various strains whose exotic names,

offering services they lack.

entering

them.

Each

section

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY MICHAEL RIDER

WEED’S BUDDING POSSIBILITIES /

Tyler considers himself as no different from

from here?’ It was seen as a very limited

a beet or a berry farmer. The farm faces the

opportunity from a business and lifestyle

same challenges of cultivation, sustainability,

perspective.” But Tyler kept at it and never let

and distribution, and he approaches his

go of the dream.

enterprise with an eagerness to innovate. “I would say, I felt confident with what I knew,

Many years later, times have changed.

but I’ve been extremely spanked by what I

Marijuana has transformed from stigmatized to

I would say, I felt confident with what I knew, but I’ve been extremely spanked by what I haven’t known.

legalized

and

some

extent, idealized. But despite the potential and attraction of big investment, Tyler says he is adamant about maintaining craft-industry status. “So many

haven’t known. That’s kind of what you’re

other businesses are getting controlled—over

going into with something new like this.”

invested and over consolidated. Coming in at this time, we can shape our own destiny.”

Aiming for a more sustainable future, he is committed to expanding their range of outdoor crops, despite the difficulties that come with it. While indoor cannabis cultivation yields more consistent results, it consumes a significant amount of energy. “Outdoor is the future,” Tyler says. And while growing beneath unpredictable open skies is a risky move, Tyler points out that pushing boundaries has always been the nature of the industry. In year four since the legalization of recreational marijuana in Canada, he believes mindsets have broadened. “People see that, ‘Hey, the world didn’t implode.’ Maybe that can change our approach to some of our other policies, too. It’s really nice that people can open their minds in a way they haven’t tangibly done since the seventies.” When he started growing cannabis under the Marijuana Medical Access Regulations in 2007, he says there was a lot of public skepticism

around

it.

“It

felt

very

stigamatized—most people weren’t ready for it. People would say, ‘Where do you go

PHOTO BY DANIELLE REYNOLDS

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

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WEED’S BUDDING POSSIBILITIES /

Asked whether their business freedom is a

“I find that cannabis is a good ego challenge.

result of the industry’s infancy, Tyler shakes

It changes my perception. It’s very easy to get

his head. “I think the people who want to

our brains wired—it’s nice to rip back a big

control it don’t know how.” In contrast, Tyler

joint to see if a neuron takes a big left turn.”

appears

immensely

connected

every

aspect of his work. “You might be in a room

He asserts that there is value in following

with ten people, wherein you’re the only

that neuron, that strange thought, that crazy

person who has grown it, trimmed it, smoked

idea, and asking ourselves, “Where does this

it, rolled it, transported it, stored it, and

go? How can this change my life?” After all,

dealt with hundreds of customers who have

it was that sort of neuron that launched the

wanted to buy it. The fundamentals are in you

journey that brought him here—to an award-

and you feel confident in them.”

winning farm at the forefront of a burgeoning industry.

To many, legalization may have seemed like the final victory in a century-long battle,

If the possibilities can seem endless under

but in reality, it is just the beginning. There

the influence of weed, the possibilities can

is a palpable excitement that stems from

now also seem endless in the interests of

contributing to a growing industry and a

weed. And the journey has only just begun.

more sustainable destiny. Farmers like Tyler Rumi continue to shape what was once only a dream.

I find that cannabis is a good ego challenge. It changes my perception.

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PHOTOS BY MICHAEL RIDER

FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

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PRODUCTS

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POWWA PANCAKES livepowwafully.com

12.75

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SALT SPRING SEA SALT saltspringseasalt.com

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PHOTO BY DL ACKEN

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FOLKLIFEMAG.CA / VOLUME 05. 2022

SUBURBAN MUG juliemackinnonceramics.com

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FOLKLIFE RECIPES /

THE ‘POWWA’ OF PANCAKE MEMORIES BY CHRISTINE SHEPHERD PHOTOS BY HANNAH SPRAY PHOTOGRAPHY

I remember making pancakes with

My parents split when I was 12, and

my dad. We would take down the

making pancakes with Dad became a

cookbook, flip to the same floury

thing of the past. As I grew up, however,

page, and prop it up in a stand on the

my passion for cooking and nutrition

counter. The recipe was called “Power

also grew. I am now fully aware of the

Pancakes.” I would put on my apron

importance of eating well, and I laugh

(sewed by my mom) along with my

at myself for eating the same birdseed

white poufy chef hat, and together

foods that I used to tease my hippie

we would measure, mix, pour, and flip

“granola” dad for enjoying. But the

until our home filled with the aroma of

sweet memory left its mark on me, so

pancakes.

when I left home, pancakes and blender drinks followed me to every new

The plates were put into the oven (never

abode—from a glass-box apartment in

serve hot pancakes on a cold plate)

downtown Vancouver to a converted

while the real Canadian maple syrup

church flat in East London, and from

warmed on the stove (you don’t want to

a tiny studio in Hong Kong to my first

serve pancakes with fridge-cold syrup,

cabin home, “Loveshine,” on Salt Spring

either). Then we called my mom and my

Island.

sister. As the pancakes were brought to the table, so was the “blender drink.” This was our term for a smoothie, which consisted

blueberries,

bananas,

oranges, and maybe even something green if the taste could be masked. There wasn’t a time when my dad

There wasn’t a time when my dad would make pancakes without me being right there beside him.

would make pancakes without me being right there beside him.

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FOLKLIFE RECIPES /

The recipe has been refined over the

These Strawberry Power Pancakes take

years, with many gluten-free flour

inspiration from days spent gathering

trials and vegan editions. The range

“you-pick” strawberries with my mom,

of toppings and flavours has also

from one of my favourite desserts of

expanded, inspired by the countries

vanilla ice cream with strawberry sauce,

I’ve visited and what is in season. Some

and from the excitement I feel every

of my favourites are fig, pistachio and

June when the strawberries first appear

honey, pumpkin spice, roasted plum

at farm stands. These little red hearts fill

with date syrup, and, of course, the

my heart, and I believe it is through the

classic blueberry. I gather people in

heart that we should live.

with pancakes. To

accompany

the

pancakes,

I’m

Power Pancakes turned into Powwa

sharing one of my favourite blender

Pancakes while I was living in London

drink

(try saying power with an English

through its own evolution. It’s the

accent), and this particular edition

recipe that has been most requested of

came home with me when I returned

those that have made their way to my

the

Pancakes

West are

Coast. sold

recipes

that

has

also

Now

Powwa

brunch table. It’s my way of hiding the

organic

taste of the greens, yet it still packs all

pancake and waffle mix that is gluten-

the powwa.

free and vegan-friendly. I think it’s so important for homes to have whole foods and for families to be able to make healthy breakfasts that bring them together. This is my offering to my local community.

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From my heart to yours, enjoy!

FOLKLIFE RECIPES /

Power Pancakes Serves four people Wet Ingredients 1 cup organic rolled oats 1 cup coconut yogourt (or other plant-based yogourt) ¾ cup plant milk Flax “eggs” - 2 tbsp ground flaxseed with 6 tbsp water 2 tbsp oil (coconut, olive, or sunflower) Instructions Dry Ingredients 1.

Mix oats with yogourt and milk in a large

1 ½ cups organic gluten-free all-purpose flour

bowl. Mix ground flax with water in a small

2 tbsp brown sugar or coconut palm sugar

bowl and let sit for five minutes to thicken.

2 tsp baking powder

Combine flax and oil with the oats.

1 tsp baking soda ¼ tsp salt

Combine all the dry ingredients into a separate medium-sized bowl and mix until

½ cup organic walnuts, chopped

combined. 3.

Add dry into the wet and stir. Best to not over mix. Batter will be thicker than typical pancake batter, but you are welcome to add more milk if preferred.

Preheat a non-stick frying pan to medium and scoop batter onto the pan. Flip after about three minutes or until golden brown.

Toasted Hazelnuts ½ cup hazelnuts, chopped Instructions 1.

Toast hazelnuts over the stove in a pan on a low temperature until golden brown.

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FOLKLIFE RECIPES /

Salted Maple Cashew Cream 1 cup organic cashews soaked ¼ cup water 2 tbsp maple syrup ½ tsp coarse sea salt Instructions 1.

Soften the cashews by soaking in boiling water for a few hours. If you don’t have a few hours, five to ten minutes will be okay.

Combine all ingredients in a high-powered blender and blend on high until creamed.

Strawberry Chia Compote 3 cups organic strawberries 1 tbsp chia seeds Juice of an orange 1 tsp vanilla Splash of water if needed Instructions 1.

Combine all ingredients in a pan on the stove and heat until boiling. Add a splash of water if needed—there needs to be enough liquid for the chia seeds to soak up and for the strawberries to be a sauce.

Turn down to medium and cook for five to ten minutes.

Assembling pancakes Stack pancakes, add strawberry compote, maple cashew cream, hazelnuts, and drizzle with maple syrup!

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FOLKLIFE RECIPES /

Green Smoothie Serves four people 1 banana ½ avocado ½ cucumber 2 stalks celery 2 handfuls spinach ½ lemon, squeezed ½ inch fresh ginger, peeled 2 dates 2 tbsp almond butter 4 cups oat milk Instructions 1.

Combine all ingredients in a blender and blend on high until smooth.

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WHEN NEIGHBOURS

FIGHT

Stories from CoHo Landing, a 15-household land co-operative on Denman Island BY LAURA BUSHEIKIN PHOTOS BY KATRINA RAIN

“Forget it. You can’t do it. We tried that in the sixties and seventies and it always fell apart. People can’t get along. You’ll fight. It can get real ugly.” It was discouraging to hear this from older islanders, back in the early days when we were just a group of friends dreaming about sharing land and lives. But we did hear it, and fairly often. With great satisfaction, I can report that they were wrong. We did do it. It’s been 12 years since the first person moved onto our Denman Island land co-operative, and we are now 15 households strong. It has not fallen apart. And also, with somewhat less satisfaction, I can report that they were right. We do fight. It can, indeed, get real ugly.

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STORIES FROM COHO LANDING/

We have small annoyance-level conflicts regularly. “Who moved that pile of dirt?” “Who used scented detergent in the washing machine?” “Your dog has been barking all afternoon!” And sometimes we have medium-sized conflicts, such as different ideas on how to calculate the resale price of a unit, what criteria to use for new members, or what type of infrastructure to build. For instance, there’s an ongoing conflict about our pond. Or maybe that should be written “pond.” Two years ago, with great anticipation and excitement, we excavated a big hole in a promising location

We do fight. It can, indeed, get real ugly.

that

could

use the water to irrigate our common garden. “Water is life!” “Food security is our future!”

“We will be self-sufficient!” Or so we thought as we happily watched the hole fill to the brim over the winter. But then in spring, when the rains ended, the water level started dropping. And dropping. By the time the crops needed water, there were just a few feet left, and then just mud, and then just a layer of cracked dry earth on top of rock. The pond was a failure. All that lovely soil did not hold water the way we’d hoped. What to do? Some of us said, “Buy a pond liner,” while others said, “No, never! Not more plastic in the environment. Let’s work with nature. Let’s line the pond with clay,” to which the pond-liner proponents said something along the lines of, “That might not work and involves vast amounts of labour and finding and trucking in tons of clay. The liner is guaranteed and will last two decades. Let’s be pragmatic here.”

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STORIES FROM COHO LANDING/

As you can see, this sort of conflict stirs up core

We keep showing up.

values around self-reliance, efficiency, practicality, and integrity. The conversation has been respectful,

It’s demanding, but we do it. Because

but we don’t have agreement yet.

not only do we live here, we live here together. It’s not easy to join and not

We’ve also had big conflicts where conversations

easy to leave. We all chose this project

weren’t always respectful. There have been tears,

specifically because we wanted to build

shouting matches, sides taken, mediators brought

a communal, collaborative culture. We

in, and even, on one occasion, a few calls to a lawyer.

chose a life of neighbourliness.

I’m not going to dish the dirt for you, though. You’ll find no salacious details here. But you might find

As I write this, our pond is just a big empty

some food for thought, because as we all know,

pit in the ground. There are many ways

conflict is part of being alive.

you could interpret this. You could see it as a symbol of our inefficiency, our inability

Our society has created laws, enforcement, and a

to get anything done on a “reasonable”

justice system in order to contain and respond to

timeline. Or you could see it as a symbol

conflict. All these structures rely on hierarchies and

of potential, a waiting container, holding

complex bureaucracies—two things noticeably

space for whatever comes next.

missing here at our land co-operative. We have no hierarchy and no governance or justice systems beyond this: all decisions are made by consensus. We have a bunch of agreements and policies, but they aren’t even collected into one document, and they are hard to enforce. When it comes to dealing with conflict, we have little to rely on but our hearts, our words, our trust, our goodwill, our patience, and our commitment. Usually our conflict is centred around boundaries, pets, the extent and type of nature protection, the value of property, and the perpetual quest for balance between personal freedom and the common good. So how do we deal with conflict? Mostly, we muddle through. It’s a good approach. Muddling involves a certain mindset: humble, open to possibility, open to imperfection, willing to stay with the trouble for as long as needed. We talk and talk and talk. We take breaks to let thoughts and feelings settle and evolve. We set deadlines to resolve conflicts and then we fail to meet them. We talk about our feelings as well as about the details of the issue at hand. Crying at meetings is okay, but so is grabbing a flip chart and making lists of pros and cons.

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This sort of conflict stirs up core values around self-reliance, efficiency, practicality, and integrity. At a recent meeting, we decided to focus

Believing that conflict can be resolved is the first

on other sources of water, for now. I heard

step to resolving it. I’m so glad we didn’t listen to

someone say, “We’ll put our energies into

the naysayers. And I’m not sure they were right—

that and in the meantime slowly figure

not all the communes and collectives of the sixties

out the pond.”

or seventies collapsed under the weight of conflict. I believe that those projects—the ones that failed,

Everyone else nodded.

and those that adapted and carried on—laid a foundation for contemporary land-share projects like ours. We live in less idealistic times, and I think that sets us up for success. We’re willing to muddle along.

Part road trip, part art show, part treasure hunt The 33rd Annual Denman Island Pottery Studio Tour is an adventure for pottery lovers, and an authentic Gulf Island experience. Meet the artists, get a behindthe-scenes look at the spaces where they create, and learn about their techniques and processes. Saturday & Sunday, May 21 & 22, 2022, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

Denmanislandpotterystudiotour.com MAGS_11357_Folklife Ad_4.125"x4.75"_R1.pdf

2022-03-04

3:16 PM

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ADRIFT ON THE

SALT FLATS WORDS AND PHOTOS BY ALINA CERMINARA

I don’t know whether it’s the grilling morning sun or the shady old town of Marree or the shadowy street dwellers or the old trucks or the dirt or what, but it’s clear we’ve landed in Australia’s great Outback. If you were to guess what the great Outback is like, you’d be right. Think rockin’ Mad Max with stretches of dirt in front of you. Tumbleweeds like no one’s been here in centuries. Long mirage salt flats made of crystals that mostly don’t taste like salt unless you find the pure ones. I’d know. I licked ‘em.

The mirage vibrates on the horizon, and the only things that feel like they’ve got life in them are the flies landing on your face, vomiting on you then eating it up before you get a chance to smack ‘em away. That, or they’re just lazy from flying around nothin’ all day.

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Five of our crew ventured on foot into the salty

motion. We’re all the type where it could’ve

distance, trying to get their hands on it. One

been trouble, constantly sitting on the edge of

motorbiked into it—filling the sky with dust

safety. No one would call us daring or stupid,

and a whir that makes me want to jump in

but they wouldn’t call us safe either. It’s always

one of those vintage, rusted Beetles that are

the most fun if it could’ve been, but didn’t.

everywhere and speed around with a mouth full of chrome and Valhalla on my mind.

David takes off his sweat-laden shirt. A short guy, but blessed for sure. You’d think he came

David makes it back, his bike and work pants

from Italy with that romantic accent, but nope,

sprayed with mud—shit-like streaks across

the tiny island of Malta. Dean’s from there, too.

his black suit. “Could’ve been real trouble,”

They weren’t friends ‘cause Dean is a try-hard

he says. Taking off his helmet and shrugging

wimp and David wasn’t having any of that, but

his shoulders with an I’m-not-sure kind of

they just happened to be in Oz at the same time.

We’re all the type where it could’ve been trouble, constantly sitting on the edge of safety. Dean materializes next from the mirage, giving up earlier than the rest. “That wind feels good,” he says. “There’s no wind down there.” He doesn’t sound Maltese, like David does. He prides himself on that.

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See, Dean started it all with a post on the Australian

The rest re-emerge, no shoes on their feet

Backpackers Facebook page. I gave up my Melbourne job

and salty mud as ankle socks. A normal

serving veggie food and had no plans other than getting

look for Kendall, the Kiwi, but a sure

kicked out of Oz in February. It was finally time to take a

surprise to see the others match her suit

look at where to go and how to get there, and really, what

this time ‘round.

to do with my life, having just quit what I was doing back in Canada. I was thinking west. Most go north by way of

“Balls deep in salt,” says Sofus, his Danish

the east coast, but seeing as the August winter of Australia

albino complexion blending into the salt

was still in full form, there’d be rain over there, and boy was

flats behind him. He walks heavy on each

I done with that wet.

foot, swaggering his broad shoulders to and fro. Kendall and Wesley trailin’ behind.

But then there was Dean’s post. Lookin’ for someone to fill a last seat in his SUV the following week. Going from

“I brought you a gift,” says Wesley. Another

Melbourne to Adelaide to Alice Springs to Darwin to Cairns

Kiwi, placin’ a tiny chunk of salt crystal on

to Brisbane. Straight up Australia’s Outback butt crack and

my palm. Perhaps it’s a peace offering, this

over to the east coast, with no real timeline. And so here I

salt piece a perfect little white mound in

sit. Not a week later, and I’m in an SUV with these clowns.

the centre of my pudgy palm, for all the

I didn’t think much through about it. I never did in those

nattering at me about my misinformed

days.

veganism. I hold the salt with all the carefulness and attention I can muster,

I don’t think I fully grasped the roughin’-it nature when I

licking the lovely gift to discover that some

first decided to come. How wet it’d be in the beginning.

of the white stuff actually does taste like a

How cold it’d be. How hot it’d be. How adventury it’d be.

perfect piece of salt. I half forgive him and

How dirty it’d be. How sweaty it’d be. How important it’d be.

his 38-year-old Peter Pan tendencies.

Even still, I packed up the stuff I thought I wouldn’t need and left it in a box with the guy I was leaving in Melbourne. I had to leave him ‘cause he didn’t think it was safe for a girl to go off on a road trip with a bunch of guys she didn’t know. And that kind of coward, no matter how awesome and lovely and comfortable, just doesn’t sit right with me for a life that you only live once.

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ON THE SALT FLATS /

Straight up Australia’s Outback butt crack and over to the east coast, with no real timeline.

“We saw marks where vehicles had gotten stuck,” says Kendall, “and old shoe prints covered in salt. But we couldn’t tell if the vehicles got stuck a month ago. A year. Five years. Two hours. You just can’t tell.” Everyone falls as silent as the salt of this timeless world “The sensation is strange out there,”

we’ve driven into. I squint and look over at our once-shiny

Kendall says, her long limbs spreading

SUVs, covered in red dirt that could pass as ‘roo blood. Proof

across the dirt ground like she’s trying to

that we’re hardcore enough to go off-roading. Hardcore

make a snow angel, her short brown hair

enough for anything, I’d say.

matted to her head. “There’s no breeze. It’s hard to walk. Before we got into the salt, we could feel the change of the liquid in the dirt under our feet. There’s the layer of dried stuff, then there’s sand under the feet, and then the water. It’s mud.” We all gaze back out into the distance where the sand turns to salt like layers of earth that don’t seem too hard to reach. Wesley said he thought he saw a wall at one point, but it was just a different colour. A surface change. “We didn’t make it that far. We just thought it was a little bit further, but we couldn’t get there,” he says. “You can’t tell how far away things are.”

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Going back to a simpler life is not a step backwards —Yvon Chouinard

FOLKLIFE MAGAZINE

PHOTO BY SYD WOODWARD/NIAMH STUDIO

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