To my Grandfather

Yesterday I spent the day wandering the buildings of North Pacific Cannery. North Pacific is a museum and National Historic site just outside of Prince Rupert BC. The cannery has been kept up and opened for the public (in the summer) to come and take in the exhibits and the cannery grounds as they used to be. I've been coming to NP since I was a little girl and I've always loved it. I used to come here with grandparents mostly so it was a little different to be wandering the grounds on my own. My grandparents used to be a constant narration in the background of cannery stories. My mother took her first steps at North Pacific Cannery and my grandfather although he did not work at this particular cannery im sure had to work in and around the site. The old office at the museum is set up with old typewriters, radios, operator knobs and buttons just how it would have been in 30's or 40's. North Pacific has a road from Prince Rupert now but this road wasn't put in until 1959. Before that it was radio and telegraph and post to communicate. However, the office has a different sentiment for me. The office reminds me of grandfather through and through. He's still alive but just a little stooped old man with a poor memory and a very different disposition remains.

Im very found of my grandfather. He's not your typical grandfather I suppose. He's not warm and affectionate. He did tend to my scrapes and bruises but it was with Iodine not hugs and kisses. He was still working until quite recently in his business doing income tax work for fisherman. Most of my memories of my grandfather are of him as a business man. He was a big fish in a little pond in Prince Rupert. People knew who he was (and I think some people were quite afraid of dealing with him). Every once and a while i get stories filtered in of what a snappy, harsh business man he was. Nothing slipped on his watch. (except of course the time Oceanside cannery burned down when he was managing). I used to sit on the other side of his great wooden desk next to his file cabinets playing on his underwood. He was my grandfather and I loved him. He was always there for me whatever I needed. Things fixed or built or my taxes done, anything I could ever need he could provide. In some respects he helped in place of my father who was always away.

But that man I knew and loved and relied on is gone now. Not physically gone. My grandfather is still alive. But mentally gone. He is a shell of what he once was. A frail little man who asks me the same questions over and over. He can't do much on his own anymore. His once commanding presence gone. 

We all get old however, to see some people degrade so much is hard. People who have known my grandfather their whole lives shake their heads in disbelief when they see him. They can't even believe its the same man. 

He is similar to the old canneries he used to manage. Just a shell of what was once there. 

He is my grandfather and I love him.

The Wonderful Character and Characters of the Coast

This is Port Neville, B.C. Population 3. I got the chance to meet one of those three inhabitants of this once upon a time town. Lorna has lived on this property her entire life. Her grandfather founded Port Neville with the Post office seen in this picture. The post office was the center of the fishing and logging in this area. People lived along the inlet and at one time there were a few hundred permanent residents, a school house, a store and this post office. The original homestead of Lorna's grandparents still stands. In fact it was the nicest house on the property but for some reason she doesn't live in it. Lorna lives in a mobile home which is the new post office. Population 3 but the mail still comes in and out. 

Lorna was a very interesting character. She has a very thick bush accent. She was born and raised on the same coast as myself and yet she has a pretty thick accent. Most of the coastal isolationist speak a little different. This is something I have always loved. 

 Lorna was of course delighted to see us. My father napped while she showed me around the Old post office which is now a museum gone art gallery. The woman who lives across the inlet is an artist. Her work decorates the walls. I'm not so sure i would trust the walls of that old building to house my art. The Post office building shuttered in light breezes, one strong sigh and it would gladly fall back to the earth.

Lorna obviously spends a lot of time alone and was happy to have me to her little mobile to have tea.. She told me all about her daughter who she raised at Port Neville, just the two of them.

Lorna's house was decorated with doilies and crosses and plaques with little prayers. She gave me tea and homemade cookies and we chatted. We chatted about everything and anything she was really quite a lovely lady. She fit little "bless your soul"s into our conversation everywhere. 

Once upon a time people like Lorna dotted the coastline all the way up. And my father informs me that you could be guaranteed that everyone of those people would welcome you into there home and share a cup of tea with you. Now those isolated people are few and far between but we managed to stop for a cup of tea with quite a few and Lorna was one.

Fishing Family

My father and I. Well my strongest connection to the fishing industry would have to be through my dad.  My dad and I have a very strong, very complex relationship...

Most people see only the romantic side of fishing. The old wooden boats, the cozy nights at sea with the rain coming down, the camaraderie between fisherman, a pretty Stan Rogers picture. Of course the average person realises that with all that wonderful stuff comes a lot of hard work. Long, hard, dirty fish stinky smelly days.

Being the daughter of a fisherman can sometimes be difficult. My father spent most of my life leaving. He had fishing openings all summer long so he might have been home a day or two here and there but I was not likely to see him because he would be getting ready for the next opening. 

Fisherman don't just fish their boats. They maintain the structure of their boats and they are the mechanics. A fisherman has to know exactly how his boat works because if he is out fishing and something happens then he has to  able to fix it. He also has to maintain his gear. I have many memories of my father sitting out in the yard mending his nets for hours. So marine mechanic, ship builder, electrician, hydraulics specialist oh and yes he had to know how to fish and everything that entails. Fishing is no 9 to 5 job. It's all year all the time which is very hard to integrate your family into. Even the summers that I spent out with my father, I felt like more of a burden than a help. 

I was a lucky in some respects. My dad came home. Every year trip after trip he actually came home. My dad's count of friends who have not come home is now at 41. So as much as my dad was away, their dads will never be around ever again. 

My family has a long line in the fishing industry. My grand father the cannery manager, great grandfather fishery officer and many more stories of long waits for their return. Long hours, long nights and a lot of very self sufficient women back home.