From blueberry picking to finding good stick (first version)

Premier Bill Davis, MJM, Clare Hoy, Willy Memegos (white hat)

Here is my original good stick story published in 2010..Years ago, when I was still living in Chapleau, my favorite place for a walk in the bush, some may call it the forest, but not me, was on the road leading to the Memegos property. I first started going there with Grandpa Hunt as a child to pick blueberries and continued until I left Chapleau over 26 years ago.

I did take a walk there with Michael McMullen, my cousin, and Ian Macdonald, my friend, when were were home for the Chapleau High School Reunion in 2012.

For my walks I would leave from our home on Grey Street, go over the "Indian Bridge" across the "back river" (Nebskwashi River) and head off along the roads. On one particular day I recall that I had been trudging along for about three hours going here and there, and was now heading toward the Memegos family's land. My good friend, the late Willy Memegos had given me permission to walk on their land any time, and I will tell you more about that kindness later.

As I walked along the road, coming towards me was a man who I had often seen go by my house, but I did not know him. As he approached, he said, "Where is your good stick?", stopping to explain that he always carried a "good stick" with him. He moved it from hand to hand, he told me and it served to strengthen his arms and upper body.

"Maybe some day you will find a good stick too," he said smiling, and off he went, adding, "Maybe you will also see the wolf. It's auburn. Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you." I never saw the man again, or the wolf.

Shortly thereafter I came across a stick and picked it up. It wasn't as sturdy or straight as the one the man was carrying, but crooked as it was I had found my good stick. My good stick became my travelling companion helping me cross a beaver dam and walk along the edge of a pond. When I became tired I leaned on it and took a rest, and when I stumbled it helped me keep my balance, and aided me as I climbed a hill.

My good stick was very powerful indeed, and long after I lost it I thought that if that old piece of wood from a dead tree could have been so much help to me as I wandered along, giving me confidence to surmount minor obstacles, maybe the man I met on the road meant much more with his comments than maybe I would find a good stick and even see the wolf that would not harm me some day.

Let me return to my friend Willy Memegos and his family for a moment. Shortly after I became reeve (mayor) of Chapleau, we needed a new township public works superintendent and were not satisfied with the applications we had received. Councillors Ernie Gilbert and Dr G.E. Young suggested to me that we ask Willy if he would like the job. Willy had not applied but when we asked if he would like it with the option that he could return to the position he had at any time, he accepted. Let me just add that Willy's brothers Adam and Baptiste also worked for the municipality, and bar none, Baptiste was the best grader operator anywhere! And Willy never returned to his old job!

Until I left office in 1980, Willy would come to chat with me every day that I was at the Town Hall/Civic Centre, and gave me the benefit of his wisdom and guidance on all manner and sorts of things. Willy was a man of few words but he was always right on.

An example. Willy convinced me and council agreed to let the township public works department assume responsibility for the installation of the water and sewer services to the "new' Chapleau General Hospital on Broomhead Road. One day Willy came into my office and said I had to stop construction according to the engineer's drawings because they were wrong. A change must be made. This led to a flurry of phone calls between us and the engineer's office, and it turned out that Willy was right and the engineer wrong! When I asked him how he knew, he replied simply, "I have a good eye."

When Ontario Premier Bill Davis visited Chapleau in 1975, Willy took us on tour of the new hospital site.

Willy and his brothers worked on the original installation of the sewer system in Chapleau back about 1949!!!

The Memegos family also watched out for Grandpa Hunt who was well into his seventies and still picking blueberries.

I met Willy as I walked along to the road towards his land one day, and asked his permission to walk on it. "You can walk on my land any day," he replied. When I would reach the crook in the road I would always think of Robert Frost's poem 'The Road Not Taken' and realize that so often I took the road less travelled by, and that has made all the difference in my life.

But people like Willy, and so many others that I have met along the way over the years, became "the good stick" and made the journey easier. May each of you find your Good Stick!

I am so indebted to Willy's nieces, Anita and Johanne, for kindly agreeing that I may refer to their uncle and family. Thank you.

Friday Morning Coffee Club launches series of 'good stick' stories

Friday Morning Coffee Club, aka FMCC, launched its 'good stick' project with members bringing their own personal examples to the regular session on Feb.19.

Somehow, at least to me, it seems that the man I met on the bush road near my home in Chapleau on July 28, 1980, who commented that maybe some day I would find a good stick like he had, meant much more than I thought I did.

After receiving my own good stick recently from my lifelong friend Harry 'Butch' Pellow, of course I had to bring it to a FMCC meeting, and suddenly others were sharing their personal experiences with me. 

In fact Gerry Warner was the first to launch our 'Good Stick' series with a fascinating look at his travels with a stick he has had for 40 years. Here is the link to it: http://themainstreeter.blogspot.com/2016/02/theres-no-friend-like-good-stick-by.html

Gerry Warner

One thing leads to another, as it usually does, and we now hope to have a series of personal stories on finding your good stick, and the role it plays in our lives. Members are working on their stories now and they will be published on this blog and a Facebook page.

If you would like to participate, please just email me at mj.morris@live.ca

Good sticks on the table

Over the years I have written several stories based on my own good stick experience, and even included reference to it at an ecumenical service in which I participated at the 90th anniversary reunion of Chapleau High School in 2012. I expressed the hope that everyone would find their own good stick.

In the letter accompanying my stick Butch wrote: "As our frailties become more evident, we need to be mindful of every step going forward -- be reminded of your friend many years ago who explained the "good stick theory."  

For a guy who loves metaphor, it took me about 30 years to grasp the implied comparison between a piece of wood that was very helpful and powerful in helping me as I walked along a  bush road and my friends who have also been there with me and for me -- most particularly Harry 'Butch' Pellow. I have been most blessed. Thanks Butch for being the "good stick" so often over the past 70 years or so.

As FMCC members share their stories, it takes me back to a speech I heard by Ray Bradbury, who commented that he was born "a collector of metaphors. Metaphors are the centre of life."

Brian shows his "good stick"

Most assuredly I agree, as I look forward to the metaphors from my friends in FMCC, and any who choose to share their good stick stories.

I would just add that the man on bush road, while expressing the hope that I would find my good stick, added that maybe I would also see the auburn wolf, but not to be afraid. It would not hurt me. I will leave interpretations of that metaphor to you my friends.

Here is link to recent version of it:http://themainstreeter.blogspot.com/2016/02/discovering-meaning-behind-good-stick.html

Last but not least. thanks to Joel for making sure everyone brought their good stick, arranging and doing photography, and being a great 'good stick' to all of us in FMCC.Can't wait to hear your good stick story Joel... He tells us it comes from Maine.

Discovering the meaning behind the 'good stick'

Perhaps  the man I met on the bush road at Chapleau some 30 years ago who told me "Maybe some day you will find a good stick too", meant much more than I thought he did.

As I walked along the road, coming towards me was a man who I had often seen go by my house, but I did not know him. As he approached, he said, "Where is your good stick?", stopping to explain that he always carried a "good stick" with him. He moved it from hand to hand, he told me and it served to strengthen his arms and upper body.

"Maybe some day you will find a good stick too," he said.

As I walked along the road, coming towards me was a man who I had often seen go by my house, but I did not know him. As he approached, he said, "Wher smiling, and off he went, adding, "Maybe you will also see the wolf. It's auburn. Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you." I never saw the man again, or the wolf.... (or so I thought)

I had written a story about finding the good stick some years ago, and even spoke about it at the 90th anniversary reunion of Chapleau High School in 2012. I hadn't thought about it much recently, until I received huge box from my lifelong friend Harry 'Butch' Pellow. Upon opening it. Butch had sent me a walking stick.

Butch and MJM circa 1947

But, it was the enclosed letter that made me fully realize the metaphor of the "good stick". He wrote that it was sent with best wishes "as you carry it". 

He added: "As our frailties become more evident, we need to be mindful of every step going forward -- be reminded of your friend many years ago who explained the "good stick theory."  I get the message my friend.

Butch and Brigitte Pellow 2015

By the way, the bush road was actually a logging road built originally by Edgar Pellow, Butch's uncle circa 1930.

Let me go back to my story about the good stick, and I hope I don't mangle metaphors too badly in so doing. "Shortly thereafter I came across a stick and picked it up. It wasn't as sturdy or straight as the one the man was carrying, but crooked as it was I had found my good stick. My good stick became my travelling companion helping me cross a beaver dam and walk along the edge of a pond. When I became tired I leaned on it and took a rest, and when I stumbled it helped me keep my balance, and aided me as I climbed a hill.

"My good stick was very powerful indeed, and long after I lost it I thought that if that old piece of wood from a dead tree could have been so much help to me as I wandered along, giving me confidence to surmount minor obstacles, maybe the man I met on the road meant much more with his comments than maybe I would find a good stick and even see the wolf that would not harm me some day."

For a guy like me who loves metaphor, it took me about 30 years to grasp the implied comparison between a piece of wood that was very helpful and powerful in helping me as I walked along life's road and my friends who have also been there with me and for me -- most particularly Harry 'Butch' Pellow. I have been most blessed.

Thanks Butch for being the "good stick" so often over the past 70 years or so.

I was so excited with my discovery that I was going to use it as a framework for a review of 2015 which was a truly amazing one for me, as my friends, aka "good sticks" made possible. 

Back David, Jim, MJ, Ed, Brian, Joel, Antoine Seated, Dennis, Mark. Ron

However, the Friday Morning Coffee Club, aka FMCC, was meeting and of course, I had to bring my good stick to our weekly session. It is just on three years now since FMCC was launched quite unintentionally.. 

I started having coffee at Starbucks in the newly opened, now closed Target store, was joined by Joel Vinge, then Jim Roberts, and the rest is history.If everyone shows, we now have 20 members. There is no agenda. We meet for fellowship, many laughs for an hour with all the "good sticks" who have become good friends.

We celebrate birthdays and other special occasions, and have played golf and had breakfasts at Rocky View Ranch.

Without mixing metaphors any further, let me leave you with a quote from Stephen Grellet as I head out carrying my good stick:  “I shall pass through this world but once. Any good therefore that I can do or any kindness that I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

PS  I am not even going to try and deal with the wolf metaphor now!!!

There’s no friend like a Good Stick by Gerry Warner

Bull River Rumble

NOTE: Thanks to Gerry Warner for agreeing to launch the "Good Stick" stories. If you would like to participate, please email me at mj.morris@live.ca with Good stick in the subject line. MJM

By Gerry Warner

My “good stick,” which I’ve carried faithfully for almost 40 years, started as a birch sapling growing on the banks of Carpenter Creek near the ghost town of Sandon in the West Kootenay. Its bark was red like cherry wood because birch trees don’t develop their distinctive, peeling white color until they get a bit older than my wooden companion which was probably only a few years old when I cut it.

It was a handsome stick, unlike its owner, and I did some carving on it to give it a square grip, which made it even more distinctive something like its bearded owner. Now this was back in the mid-1970’s when few hikers carried sticks or even poles like so many do today. So I was a bit ahead of the curve in those days unlike today when you see hikers and walkers that seldom stray from sidewalks shuffling along—not with a beaten up, old, organic stick – but but with a gleaming, set of space-age, titanium or steel poles in case they get blown over by a summer breeze or a butterfly lands on their shoulder causing them to fall down and break a leg.

But I digress.

No, I’m not kidding about the age of my stick. I’ve probably had it more than 40 years and it’s showing its age. Most of the gleaming, scarlet – it really was scarlet – bark has long since peeled off even though I used to wax and varnish it on occasion. A short section also splintered off the lower end of the old birch wood stick and the wood left now is a dirty gray color far from the translucent red. But oh, the places we’ve been.

I carried and leaned on that stick for more than 200 miles along the Pacific Crest Trail, starting in Manning Park and going as far as Snoqualmie Pass in the Washington Cascades. I still dream of taking it, or it taking, me, all the way to the end of the Crest Trail in Mexico, but that will probably remain a dream. On another occasion, I used my trusty, old stick as a mast to hold a sail as I canoed down Lake Laberge on my way down the Yukon River to Dawson City. It shortened that long northern trip by at least a day.

Moyie Falls

Oddly enough. I didn’t take it with me when I walked the 400 miles or so along the El Camino Santiago in Spain because I was afraid its trail-worn character wouldmake it a likely target for a thief or it might have ended up as lost plane baggage on the trip over and back. Nor did I use it when I hiked into Everest Base Camp for largely the same reasons.

But I’ve hauled it almost to the top of Mt. Fisher several times, but abandoned it temporarily when I reached the exposed section of the peak where I needed both hands more than my faithful stick. And yes, I always hide it under the boulders and crevices of the saddle because it has been with me for so long I get more paranoid about somebody stealing it every year. And don’t knock paranoia. It gets worse with old age.

Summit Over Kindersley Pass

As I reflect back on the history of my “Old Stick,” I can’t help but wonder, who’s going to be around the longest? Tempered by all those hiking trips and being banged around from hither to yon. that stick, if anything, is stronger than it was when I rudely cut it down in the leafy, wilds of Carpenter Creek. As for me, I’m doing pretty good for a septuagenarian, a new septuagenarian I might add. But I’m not kidding myself. You only get so many years on this mortal coil. The flesh, if not the soul, is growing weaker and my day of reckoning is coming.

And you know something? If that damn stick outlasts me, I’ve just decided to change my will.
I want to be buried with that old hunk of Kootenay wood.

Mayan Gabbay recommends "Fill Nature, Feel Nature"

By Mayan Gabbay
I like going to the grocery store. It’s a place where you meet all kinds of people. 

Doesn't matter if you are white or black, if you're Jewish or Christian, female or male; we all meet there for the same reason - bringing home food supply.

 Food is one of the basic things we need in order to live. some people even say that "what we eat is who we are". I actually really believe in that sentence and I think we can take it even a step farther and say - "how we fill our cart is how we are".

Our nutrition starts at the grocery store. once we enter the store it's time to think consciously who do we want to be.

Do we want to be peaceful? Let’s take some variety of different fruits. Do we want to feel colorful and meaningful? Let’s take some colorful veggies. Do we want to feel natural and clean? Let’s leave the sweet drinks on the shelf and drink pure water.

In conclusion, the more we add industrial food in plastic bags or bottles to our cart, the more we are going to feel like plastic.

Let’s fill our cart with nature. Let’s be nature.

Mayan Gabbay, a fitness and wellness consultant lives in Israel.