STEP - St. Thomas Elevated Park

Well, that was interesting.  One thing that I admire about my brother-in-law, Damon, is his activity in his community.  He moved to Stanstead, Quebec a few years back and jumped into community development and the arts.  My wife and I just came back from our first open “Town Hall” meeting.  One thing I saw clearly before my eyes – you just can’t please everyone, but you can take the chance to rally the troops and engage people in honest debate and productive discussion.

St. Thomas, Ontario is purportedly the “Railway Capital” of Canada.  During the late 1800s and early 1900s as many as 140 trains rumbled down the iron tracks that weaved through the city.  The old railway station stood abandoned when we moved into town in 1999.  There was little to truly declare that the reputation of the railway capital was based on much more than lore.

Take a walk down the streets of St. Thomas and you will soon see that there is a very different feel and it makes many uncomfortable.  There is a higher than average population of our neighbours living with problems related to mental health struggles.  The regional mental health centre is situated on the outskirts of town along a road that once showed warning signs “Don’t Pick Up Hitchhikers.”  A new forensic psychiatric facility is being built as we speak.  There are a number of adult group homes supporting those with challenges.  Ontario Works (welfare) is situated on the main street.  Ontario Disability Support Program (ODSP) is on the main street – at least until the province makes the final decision to close the office.  A satellite office of Family and Children’s Services is on the main street.  A methadone clinic is on the main street.

Alma College, a lost treasure

A number of companies have packed up shop and moved out of the city.  Factories have closed and moved out of the country.  Mom and Pop shops closed.  Schools have amalgamated leaving empty century-old structures that once stood proud.  The historic old jail was torn down.  The old Alma College burned to the ground at the hands of teenage arsonists.  Granted, some schools have been re-purposed and are once again in use.

The old Michigan Central Railroad Kettle Creek Bridge is no longer in service and was sold by the railway to a developer.  Many of the other rail lines have been removed from the city, but this 80-90 foot high, iconic structure remains a landmark in Ontario straddling the road between London and Port Stanley.  It was an engineering marvel in it’s day and truly is something to behold.

Future home STEP...with the community support, YES!

Tonight, community based program ‘On Track’ presented the concept of the St. Thomas Elevated Park (STEP).  If this idea moves ahead, it will take the title of first elevated park in Canada!  Similar elevated parks exist in New York and Paris, but nothing in Canada.  Sure there are bridges that are incorporated in various trails throughout the country, like the historic wooden Kinsol Trestle on Vancouver Island, but nothing like what was proposed.  A Canadian first…in St. Thomas!  It could be a reality.  As a public park, it would serve as a high profile addition to the Trans Canada Trail offering panoramic views of the Kettle Creek valley.

New York Elevated Park

 The City has put forward an offer to the developer with the hopes that a community partner would come alongside them with the finances as St. Thomas wasn’t in the position to spend that sort of money.  On Track is seeking $250,000 to cover the purchase of the land, and to cover the associated costs such as a safety and security assessment and a land survey.

Paris Elevated Park

One outspoken community member spoke out tonight citing the numerous losses of the city and requested that the community embrace this possibility and to no longer sit idly by and allow opportunities to slip through their hands as many have in the past.  Others made brash comments about annual suicides occurring as people chose to end their life by jumping 80 feet to their death.  The On Track committee assured the public that a safety assessment would be reflective of this reality. 

Landowners complained that they weren’t made aware that the property backing their land was up for sale, but a 16 year old stood up and said that if she was able to find this out then there wasn’t much of an excuse for others. 

Concerns were raised about vandals having access to people’s properties.  I thought there was a valid point, but generally speaking, people who are hiking or exercising aren’t usually the destructive type.

Traffic flow and parking were concerns, but plans would have to be approved by the city with public input.

A loss of tranquility was raised.  There were once 140 trains a day rumbling by.

“There’s no where to go, nothing to do in this city.”  How about a one of kind park in Canada being located in St. Thomas?

CASO under extensive renovation

Regardless of personal opinion, On Track has brought rail heritage back to St. Thomas.  Numerous murals appear throughout the city, Thomas the Train visits for two weekends each summer much to the delight of children and their parents, and they have seen to the restoration of the deteriorating railway station which now stands proudly as a beacon to railway enthusiasts – it also houses the office of MP Jeff Yuerk and small commercial spaces.  Another railway park along a former rail corridor is underway.

It’s easy to view the city in a negative light and I have often been critical of the condition of St. Thomas.  But I am seeing small steps being taken by brave people to restore the city to it’s glory days, despite the problems that exist.  The city needs an economical boost.  The influx of dollars would be beneficial to business.  Tourism Elgin would have some new bragging rights, too.

Everyone has a story.  St. Thomas had a story that many have forgotten.  I hope that people who were unaware of this project would throw their support behind it and learn a bit more about the heritage of the city that they, that we, call home.

Support your Red and White

I woke up this morning and went about my usual routine; staying in bed as long as possible, having a coffee, checking in with Facebook, Twitter, and Gmail, double checking my agenda to make sure I’m on my way to the right place, getting another coffee ready for the road.  Nothing glamorous about my mornings.

Another great day was shaping up.  Sun was out, the breeze warm.  My car, unlocked and the door not quite closed.  Wait, what?  I don’t always lock my car, and this wasn’t the first time that someone exploited my trust.  CDs, papers, and business cards were scattered across the drivers seat.  My multi-tool money clip from the church was gone, a red Bic lighter was gone, some loose change was gone although some remained.  This is the second time I’ve had a red Bic go missing, yet I’ve never purchased a Bic lighter before; I find them on the ground, in parks, along the curb.  The first one was taken from my office.

It wasn’t really worth phoning the police over, but the last time this happened, the local authorities advised me that they need these reports for two reasons: 1^st, statistics, 2^nd, they know where to focus their time during shifts.  It’s not uncommon to see the police roll through out neighbourhood, but nothing substantial goes down.  Most times it’s for things such as what I faced this morning, or to recover stolen bicycles that found their final resting spot on a front lawn.

As I waited for the police to arrive, I noticed a 31” scrape along the rear right quarter panel.  That’s new.  I initially thought it looked like a scrape from a bicycle’s handlebar, but the police advised me that it was keyed.  They’d faced a series of similar concerns on the south side of town a couple weeks back, but there has been little to report over the past week or so.  I was now the first of five calls this morning.  Looks like things have moved to the north side.

This sort of thing doesn’t really bother me.  It’s annoying, it’s rude, it’s an invasion.  It’s stupid.  I hope that whatever they were looking for, they found.  I hope they find it useful. 

It’s in these situations that I am reminded, “It’s just stuff.”  And I rarely find myself concerned about stuff.  Stuff can always be replaced, but those things that matter, the people in life, the relationships, and the memories…those are the parts of life that matter.

Everyone has a story.  Mine goes on.  The people that took my stuff, well, only time will tell how theirs will end…

All of this got me thinking about being robbed.  I’ve been watching the Olympics every day since they began.  While I wasn’t able to watch the entire opening ceremony, what I did see was quite a spectacle.  Visually thrilling, and I think that a seat at home was the best place to watch such a production.

The men’s gymnastics seems to have so many pieces and events to make up the event, I really don’t know when it was, but there was an event that saw the China team file an appeal which resulted in Canada being bumped from the medal standings. 

Now I am the first to admit that I don’t know a ton about gymnastics, but if you saw the video recap to determine whether the hand stand by the Chinese was worthy of points, I am sure most people would say “Nope.  That wasn’t a handstand.”  The judges, however, changed their original scoring, elevating the Chinese team from fourth, to second, moving Canada from silver to bronze, and removing Ukraine out of the standings.

I felt robbed as a Canadian.

I’m not an athlete.  I don’t represent Canada on a public stage (except on my various missions trips).  But I do have a sense of pride in Canada.  I feel a genuine sense of joy when our athletes capture a medal.  To be the winners of silver, only to have it downgraded to bronze because of a disagreement just felt wrong.  Robbed.

Much like I felt this morning.  Disappointed in the actions of others, actions that cost me.

As a final word, I want to encourage my Canadian readers to support your Red and White – the colours of Canada.  Be proud of our country, stand up for it, defend it.  Support your Red and White.  Fly your flag with the pride that so many other countries show. (Watch for another blog coming soon on the Red, White, and Blue).

Registration, please.

Digger and Hazel had been married earlier Saturday afternoon.  It was mix of bikers and medieval themed outfits coming together for a casual and enjoyable wedding day.

As it wrapped up, Digger said he needed to get his 1981 Harley Davidson shovelhead back to his place, just 6 km away.  I offered to ride it and he agreed.  Dave would ride Graham’s bike and we’d put them both in the shed.

Instead of waiting for the load of chairs to be taken back to the Anglican Church, Digger gave the following instructions: “Go to the light and turn left.”  He was pointing right.  I clarified.  I should have known this wasn’t going to go as planned. 

“Go to the light and turn right.  There will be lake on your right.”  We were up near Algonquin Park and there were lakes everywhere.  He assured me, “You can’t miss it.”

“Go to the light and turn right.  There will be a lake on your right.  There is a curve and my house is just past it so start slowing down.  My house is on the right.  You’ll see my motor home in the driveway.  Just put my bike in the shed.  The door will just open when you lift the rope.”

Good enough.  Dave and I fired up the bikes and went for our short ride in near zero degree temperatures.

At the light, we turned right.  There’s a lake on the right.  Here’s the curve in the road.  There’s the house on the right, with the motor home in the driveway.  There’s the shed.  We pull in and turn off the bikes.

There’s a van in the driveway.  The shed is locked up tight.  I can’t get in.  I can see that there are two hooks holding the sliding door securely in place.  There’s a silver padlock on the man-door.  We wait.

Graham drives by in the truck with the load of chairs bound for the Anglican Church, my wife was following in our van.  We wait.

And wait.

Dave is freezing.  I’m wearing my wife’s knit gloves.  Classy.  Very tough biker.

I called my wife.  Voicemail. 

I called Tim, another friend who was with Graham.  No connection. 

I called Graham.  No connection. 

I texted my wife.  Nothing.

Finally, a text from Tim.  “Where are you?”

“I think I’m at Digger’s”

“Are you at Hazel’s house?”

“I think so.  There’s a motor home in the driveway and a red van.  I can’t get into the garage.  Maybe wrong house?

Tim texts back, “Run.  What street are you on?”

“I turned right at the stop sign and then you guys passed us.”

“Graham is coming to get you.”

We’ve just spent about a half hour at someone’s house, peering in windows, checking all the doors to see if we could get inside.  Surely Digger, or Hazel wouldn’t mind.

Dave and I moved the bikes up to the end of the driveway to wait, since we don’t really know which direction to start heading in to find where we are supposed to be.

As we wait, an unmarked OPP (Ontario Provincial Police) Chevy Suburban drives by.  I mention to Dave, “Don’t you think that if a cop drives past two guys on bikes sitting at the end of a driveway wearing colours, he would stop and check things out?” 

He replied, “Guess not today.”

I text Tim, “K.  You want is to wait here…wherever we are?”

The OPP turned around and were now coming back for us.

Tim replies, “Do you have an address?”

The officer pulls in front of us and asks if things were okay.  I asked him what road we were on.  I texted Tim our address and let him know that we are now with the police.

The officer notes, “That’s a pretty old bike.  What kind?”

“1981 Harley Davidson panhead” I say with confidence…Digger had just told me about it earlier in the day.  Glad I remembered.

We explained to the officer that we had come from a wedding and were bringing the bike back to put away while the groom left with his bride.

Officer says, “Does the groom live here?”

I reply, “No, apparently not.”

“Do you know who lives here?”

“No.”

I tried to explain the directions I was given and he agreed that it would seem I was at the right house, but it wasn’t really adding up.  A groom named Digger should have been the first clue.

“There have been a number of break ins in the area.  I’m not saying it’s you but I figured I should check things out.”

That’s his job and that’s a good thing to do.

“Do you own that bike?” he asks me.

“No.  It belongs to the groom.”  The groom, named Digger, that I can’t get a hold of.

To Dave he asks the same question.  “No.”  Remember, he’s riding Graham’s bike.

The officer asks, “Do you have registrations for either bike?”

“No.”  This isn’t going well.

“You can see how this is sounding more hokey every time I ask a question right?” the officer asked.

“Yup.”  Sometimes the truth is like that.

“Do either of you have a driver’s license?”  Finally a question we can answer affirmatively! 

He ran our licenses.

And then he got out of the truck.  This was it.  Dave and I both figured we were getting arrested.  We are out in the freezing cold, 400 km from home, apparently lost, at a house who’s occupant we don’t know, on bikes that aren’t ours, without registration, and a friend named Digger.

I explained that Graham was on his way to get us and he could verify that he owned one of the bikes.  He pulled up just a moment later.  Graham gave his ownership to the officer.  It checked out.  I asked Tim if he bail money just in case.  He seemed…non-committal.  There were some jokes told.  Graham asked the officer what name I had given him since it came back without a criminal record.  It could have gone much worse if Graham hadn’t shown up.  I’m thankful for friends.

When everything was cleared up, the officer asked us about our colours and we explained that we were members of the Heaven’s SaintsMotorcycle Ministry.  We shared with him what we do, we shared the gospel message and gave him a testimonial DVD to watch later.  He thanked us and said that it was good to see some good coming out of the biker culture.

I later said to Dave, “Any weekend we can get out and ride, and not go to jail, is a good weekend.”

Everyone has a story.  I expected that the wedding would have been the story, and in a way it was.  If it weren’t for the wedding, for Digger’s directions, and so many lakes and motor homes, none of this would have happened.

What shall we do next weekend?

Live Deliberately

I know it’s almost February, but I have taken some time to process this in my own mind.  It’s a new year, and I am grateful.  On January 1, 2012 I woke up with the revelation that this would be a year of RESTORATION and RENEWAL!  What a relief.  Last year seemed to be the year of death and dying.  I believe in my heart that broken relationships will be restored.  That those who need a healing will be renewed.  Broken dreams and dashed hopes will take on a new sense of urgency this year as people have a renewed hope in their purpose in the world.  Their purpose is restored in their hearts.

I don’t tend to get on the resolution bandwagon, but I read an article by Gretchen Rubin who spoke of taking one word and putting a theme to the year.  By creating a theme, your actions are essentially filtered through it.  I toyed with idea of a one-word resolution, but I just couldn’t bring myself to a resolution.  A phrase rang in my soul, though. 

Live Deliberately.

I like that.  Live Deliberately.  It gives up the old living-by-chance approach.  My success as a freelance writer, a novelist, a magazine publisher or any other job or role I am in, simply cannot be left to chance. 

In 2012, I choose to live deliberately. 

Everyone has a story.  By living deliberately, I can help write my own, rather than allowing others to write a story I may not want read or be a part of.  How about you?  Give it a shot and create a theme for the year...and let me know what you came up with.

What Truly Matters

Christmas was different this year.  Actually, 2011 was a different sort of year all together.  We lost many people in a circle of influence during the past 12 months; a friend’s 10 year old son, a friend’s 27 year old son and then his father just months later, a life-long family friend, my daughter’s friend’s father in his early 30s, my mother in law, and most recently a family friend’s mother on Christmas day.  There are others, too.  We went to at least 8 visitations and funerals this year, and couple others that we couldn’t be at.

This year was different.  It served to remind us how fleeting life can be and how significant relationships are to our own existence.  Many have written that social media has caused us to detach from relationships, thus becoming more isolated and leaving countless people feeling alone despite having hundreds of “friends” and “followers.”  I think there’s some truth – if we allow the social media to replace real people.

Our family chose to simplify this Christmas season.  We helped others with Christmas gifts who otherwise had virtually nothing, and we chose to downsize our own celebration.  Having been very blessed in recent years, it was a deliberate shift back to the focus of family time, face to face time, and being in relationships with each other.

Christmas day found us in church after opening gifts with our children, age 11 and 13.  Gifts were kept meaningful and simple, a shift from digital technology that dominates the world around us.  As we later gathered with my parents, we opened gifts which were again deliberate and scaled down from years past.  We shared a traditional meal, played Bingo and Apples to Apples, and watched Red Skelton.  As we drank tea and munched on Christmas cookies, I reflected that we are so blessed.  We drank tea from 40 year old Centennial Rose china and ate our meals with gold plated cutlery, while others in the world think about their next meal, and live just one day at a time.

It’s okay to be blessed.  It’s a blessing to be so blessed, but let us not lose sight of the things that truly matter in our lives – the people, the relationships, and the memories that we make.  As the Christmas season quickly closes and we move on to the next mass marketing campaign of Valentine’s Day, I hope that we will spend the coming year focusing on this simplicity that matters.  Take the time to connect to real people, face to face, and care about them – don’t just poke, like or tweet.  Help out a neighbor, open the door for a stranger, buy someone’s lunch, lend a shoulder for a tearful friend or stranger.  We are all in this together.  When we take the time to slow things down, we learn that each of us has something to share with each other.  Let’s again become a community.

Everyone has a story.  Take the time to listen to someone’s.  They have a story to tell.  They may have a story that needs to be told, one that you need to hear.