Ninjas And The Snake Pit

My Mother was terrified of snakes and all things creepy crawly. At least I think she was until she had three boys. You know those shows where they make you face your fears in order to overcome them. We took it to the extreme. Nolan was the worst offender. I don't believe he was ever intentionally mean about it, he just had a natural fascination with these things. If it was slimy or slithery, Nolan would inevitably spot it before the rest of us and had no fear, but to pick it up. Maybe even stick it in his pocket for laundry day. Mom loved laundry day.

For awhile we were also fascinated by the 80's movies about ninjas. What boy wasn't back then. We wanted to learn everything Ninja. We all had secret dreams of getting lost in Japan and being raised by a Ninja Master. My Dad's shop was commandeered and we set to making wooden swords, nun chucks, and the all important throwing stars. Nolan was the only one that got the all coveted Ninja suit. His friend down the street, Mike was able to buy one. My mom was able to then take it and copy it to sew one for Nolan. I don't think he ever took it off that summer. He and Mike were constantly skulking through the bushes in the dark looking for their next victim. You may be asking yourself why I would put these two stories together. Well I wasn't the first. Nolan and Mike seemed to have no end to their creativity. It is interesting to note that when ever there was work to be done in the yard, Nolan seemed to instantly have the need to go to the bathroom. Never knew anyone that could spend hours in the bathroom like him. I say this because it was shocking to me that Nolan and Mike would take the initiative to dig a large pit in the bush on a hot summer afternoon. But they did. They set out then to collect as many guarder snakes as they could to fill that pit. I have to give them credit for their perseverance. They set out with one of those large green rubber maid garbage cans and patiently filled it with as many snakes as they could find. I am sure they found every guarder snake they could find with in a mile radius of the house. The pit truly was a sight to behold. I am not sure what happened to all the snakes in the end, but knowing Nolan they were probably set on their way.

I am more overly impressed that when he truly set his mind to something Nolan could accomplish it. I am sure had my parents told him to do it it would have just resulted in another long stay in the bathroom.

Did Cowboys and Indians have Pellet Guns

My Father had taught us boys from an early age to respect fire arms and treat them as though they could kill at any moment. One of my earliest memories of shooting a gun was the farm in Grassy Lake Alberta. I think. Resting the barrel of my Dad's little .22 cal rifle on a cross board of the fence, lining up the sights and shooting at cans. I have a recollection of shooting his .303 and getting knocked on my butt by the recoil. However as I stated this is a fuzzy memory at best. The point is we were farm kids, raised to respect certain things. So it may come as no surprise that as we reached a certain age (12 I think) my Dad would by us each our own air rifle. Why not, we were raised to care for and respect these items, as well we were living in the country with lots of back woods in which to develop our skills. I just think that if he had even the slightest clue about what we were really capable of he would never have considered getting them for us.

For starters, My Mom's Christmas lights were history. The large old bulbs on the green wire were hung with care by Mom one year. They stayed up all year. She just replaced the bulbs as needed. Which was often. The point is they make the coolest popping noise to a twelve year old with an itchy trigger finger.

Birds were an endangered species in our yard. My younger brother, Nolan had a bedroom at the front of the house. Both windows opened to give a 180 degree view of the yard. There was a small hole in each screen, just large enough to allow the barrel of the gun to fit through for that stealthy, clean shot. I know, I know, poor birds. I think that now, but hey I was twelve.


Not quite sure when we discovered that the flat headed pellets hurt, but left the skin intact. I am sure it was not by accident. If one of us was shot first I am quite confident it was out of malicious intent. We were all about revenge in those days. Needless to say it was discovered and from that point on all of our "hunting" trips would inevitably turn into an scene from the latest movie depicting the war in Vietnam. We loved the jungle warfare, Gi Joe stuff. How we were able to keep all of our eyes is still a miracle in my opinion. We would set ground rules as to distance and such and we would go to town "hunting" each other. These were single shot rifles, sneak attack was everything. Nolan, however would always take it to the next level. He would find himself pinned down and wait for you to reload. He would them charge with full war cry and plug you in the back side as you ran for dear life. This was of course at close range and it hurt.

We often took this little adventure to new heights as we would get older. We as brothers would fight, and fight hard. It didn't take long before the guns would come out ant we would shoot at each other on the house. The trick is ensuring you fill all the holes in the wall before your parents get home. I would like to think that my parents never had a clue what was going on, but as I get older and have teenagers of my own I have come to appreciate the comforting power of denial.

Blowing Up Nolan

Our house out Beaver Creek, Port Alberni, BC

Did you have a burn barrel when you were growing up? We had a burn barrel out front of our house on Beaver Creek Rd. (Yeh Creekers).
Some might consider taking the garbage out as a chore. I certainly do now. What am I saying the kids do it I don't have to. Love ya Kids.

Well when you are a teenager and your parents are giving you permission to light something on fire, it is NOT a chore. Nothing is going to stand between you and striking the match. Watching anything go up in flames when you are young is as mesmerizing as anything you have ever experienced. It is like a strong euphoric drug to a teenage boy. Maybe that's why Dad's plumbing torch never had any propane left in it. If it burned we burned it. From making smoke bombs with wooden matches and masking tape, to drawing designs with gasoline and then lighting it on fire, to the fireworks wars we used to have on Halloween. If we thought we could get away with it we burned it. Remember what I said denial is a powerful parenting tool.


Well this particular day of garbage duty probably started off as any other. Take the garbage out to the barrel and light it up. Not hard right. Of course you would have to have a certain amount of accelerant, otherwise where is the oohh aaahh effect. They had to be able to see it from space or it just didn't count.

This is the way i remember it. Clint and I were out getting things ready for the big burn. Nolan was being his regular annoying self. "Let me light it, Let me, Let me." you get the point. We sent him in to get matches. I can't speak for Clint, but I don't remember my intent at this point. The gas was added while Nolan was inside. He came out all gleeful and such. I picture him skipping, delighted at the prospect of lighting the match, but I don't think he ever skipped. The bag was high on the burn barrel, open. He leaned in real close, head in the bag close to block the wind I am sure. He struck that match and put it to the fuel soaked garbage. The rest was literally a blur. It erupted in full force. That poor boy flew back a good fifteen feet rolling over backwards.

It's funny how you remember things. I don't remember getting into trouble. I don't remember being overly concerned or helpful to the little turd at that point. I can't even say i remember Clint's reaction. I just keep seeing him flying through the air and rolling over.

Nolan lost both eyebrows, eyelashes and his hair was singed back to his ears. He was blistered on his nose, cheeks and forehead. We laugh about this now as we sit and tell these stories, but the seriousness of what could have happened is not lost on us as we have aged. All I can say now is that our Guardian Angles worked a lot of overtime.

I had to open my big mouth

Ever had that after thought, "If only I had kept my mouth shut." One of the down falls of living an adventurous life is that you tend to have a few "stories" along the way. I guess one of the first things you tend to learn as a parent is that little ears always listen.

We had moved into our new rental in Port Alberni. It was a nice home with a good fenced back yard. We had inherited a trampoline from some friends when they moved and thought it perfect for the kids. On the back of the house was a wood shed with a roof on it that made me instantly think "If I were still young I would be jumping off that roof". Well shortly after we moved in I made the comment that the kids had better not think of jumping off that roof onto the trampoline. I had forgotten that by saying just that it was an open invitation to try it.
















Holly's first learning experience as a teenage was that if you don't want Mom and Dad to find out, don't leave the pictures on your camera. Needless to say the invitation was taken with full heart.

I think it turned into more of a competition. It goes with out saying that if you involve everyone, no one can tell on you or they get into trouble too.

I tried a lot of stupid thing and I guess it is just part of growing up. You realize at some point that the reason your parents always knew what you were up to, is because they were up to the same thing. My children will grow to figure out the same lesson.

Being a Dad of four daughters and a son is my greatest adventure to date. I mourn the day they all leave, but look forward to the new adventures to come. And don't worry girls I did not cry when I wrote that last bit.

I've launched Chickens, Have You?

You might be wondering about this title.

I would warn you it is exactly as it sounds.

My Father grew up in small towns and Farms thru out Saskatchewan and Southern Alberta. He picked up a few tricks along the way. Much to my Mother's dismay he wasn't shy about teaching us boys a thing or two. Passing time living on a farm takes creativity and ingenuity. You can only build so many hay forts and make so many mud pies that you then begin to think there must be something more.

My Father taught us to launch chickens.

Let me just preface the story a little. My mother loved our Farm in Aldergrove. After moving from a farm house in Alberta, on several sections of land, to a condo in Whiterock(Vancouver). I am sure we were driving my Mother to distraction. My father had the opportunity to rent a house on Ten acres of land in the then quite town of Aldergrove. My mother cried when she saw the house for the first time. It was not for relief of getting out of the city, but that is another story I will tell you some other time. So here we were again on a property Mom could plant and grow and raise some animals. She loved her chickens. It was our job to feed and collect eggs. To a eight year old they were simply another chore in the way of the fun stuff. So when presented the opportunity to launch a chicken we "Jumped" on the chance.

Launching is an Art. Catching the chicken is simply put, chaos. For a flightless bird they are surprisingly quick and agile. But when you are finally graced with the opportunity to lay you hands on one, that is when the fun begins. They may be quick, but they are not very smart. Take the chickens head and tuck it under it's wing. Gentle stoke the bird until in is lulled into a false sense of security. Meanwhile, in preparation to all of this, you have set up the launching apparatus. A see saw of epic proportions. A good long plank balanced over a good size object that a ten, eight,and six year old could muster. Your little brother is precariously balance on the shoulders of you older brother. He is vibrating in anticipation for the moment. You gently place the chicken on the lower side of the see saw. Your little bother leaps before anyone has a chance to say go. That chicken is then launched into oblivion only to awake twenty feet in the air. This bird may be flightless, but today it has been launched into space. They flutter to the ground unharmed physically, but the shell shock leaves an unforeseen side effect.

"I just can't seem to figure out why those chickens aren't laying eggs" Mom would say at the dinner table. Well lets just say that revelation on the matter was soon forth coming.

It was a beautiful summer day and we we engrossed in the joy and bliss of being hidden on the other side of the Barn. Some how we believe that the barn was some secret barrier that drowned out sight and sound. We were anxiously engaged in our new favorite pass time oblivious to our surroundings. Let me just say the sight of Mom coming around the barn dressed in overalls, large rubber boots and carrying a large garden tool, screaming, and never looking angrier. Well, it is a sight that drives the loyalty out of any child. It literally took us seconds to reply "Dad told us we could". I think she was waiting for him on the door step that night when he got home from work. I don't remember him getting in trouble, but I do know, that was the last day we ever launched a chicken. Life is good.