“I’m a big picture kind of guy,” says Zac Whyte. “Everything I do, I do because I love it.”

Photo by Lisa Graham

Just who is Zac Whyte?  Or perhaps the question is, what is Zac Whyte?  Most of us, even if we wear a number of hats, can be described with just a few words, or a simple sentence.  But not Zac Whyte.

Before going to interview him, I call up a special friend who I rely on as my source on what’s what and who’s who in the Comox Valley.

“He’s a totally awesome, amazingly inspiring guy,” she says.

“But what does he do, exactly?” I ask.

“All kinds of stuff; it’s all super cool.”  Mmm, hmm.

An internet search leaves me with such a long list of describing words I’m wondering if I’ll be able to cover it all in one interview.  My notes read like this: social entrepreneur, videographer, communications expert, digital artist, public speaker, businessman, global studies educator, wedding photographer, fundraiser, business consultant, “Zactivist,” founder of The HEAL Project which supports the International Non-Governmental Organizations Child Soldiers Initiative and War Child Canada, waste management employee, initiator of a hugging project, university student, father and “domestic god.”

Okey dokey.

Sometimes where lists and other forms of linear thought fail to communicate clearly, a story will do the trick.  Whyte recently told his story to a packed auditorium at Isfeld High School as one of a series of local TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) talks.  Watching the video of this event told me plenty about just who, and what, Zac Whyte is.

Taking long strides back and forth across an empty stage, Whyte starts at the beginning: he is four years old, lying in bed and frozen with fear, haunted by nightmare creatures that torment him in his sleep.  Every night he wakes, and huddles under the blanket, terrified, for an hour or more.  He calls his tormentors the shadow creatures.

At six years old, he strikes a bargain with the shadow people: they’ll leave him alone till the age of 33, and then they will come for him.

It works.  The shadow people back off—into his subconscious, where they remain, keeping their promise, holding their threat.

“That number, 33, sat in the back of my brain my entire life and has influenced hundreds and thousands of decisions,” he explains.

As he approached his 30th birthday, his subconscious begins to stir—the deadline is coming.  And his life (coincidentally? serendipitously?) offers a wake-up call.

“At the age of 29, I was working as a videographer and was sent out to the house of a couple who had adopted a 12-year old girl from Liberia named Kortu.  She had survived two civil wars and lost both her parents.  The couple was having trouble because Canada wouldn’t issue a visa.  They needed my help to tell her story,” says Whyte.

The couple described Kortu’s situation: “During the war rebel soldiers would circulate in her village shooting people at random, abducting children, forcing them to become child soldiers, slaves and bush wives.  To this day rape is prevalent, and preventable diseases just flare up and kill people.

“If we don’t get Kortu out, our daughter, the risk of her dying every single day goes up and up.”

Whyte continues:  “They went on for 15 minutes and after that I didn’t even hear a word.  Tears were rolling down my face.  I was devastated.  I told the story as best I could and then tried to forget the whole thing.

“Six months later I received a phone call: ‘Zac, your story was a big help.  We got Kortu out, and she arrived last night and she wants to meet you’”

His meeting with Kortu, sitting on her brand new bed sucking ice-cubes with her (she’d never seen them before and was fascinated), was profound.  “I was thinking, ‘Did my story really just save this girl’s life?’  What if I told more stories like this?  I need more of this.  In fact, I don’t need much more than this.  So what am I scared of?  I can do better.  So I did.  The following week I quit my job to become a full time social entrepreneur… or as my wife put it, ‘We’re poorer this week than last week.’”

A year later he had created an educational program that he took into local schools to raise awareness and engage the kids in raising money for schools in Africa.  He called the project Connecting With Kenya and it worked extremely well—he and the students raised $47,000 in six months, almost twice his goal.

But his 33rd birthday, and the shadow people, still waited.  His new-found activism was in fact leading him toward them.  A contact he’d made through Connecting to Kenya invited him to Ecuador to learn about conditions there.  It was a new setting, he says, but poverty looks the same everywhere, and it brings the same degradation.

Whyte was walking the streets of Quito, Ecuador’s capital, one hot afternoon.

“There, between the shadows of the tall buildings and the narrow streets of Quito was a 12 year old boy glowing in the sun.  I was two months away from my 33rd birthday.  He was a child soldier.  He had been sent out onto the streets by a team of men because he was available, he was cheap and he was disposable.  He pointed a handgun at my chest and waved at an open door,” says Whyte.

Whyte made a decision.  He figured that if his life were to end, he’d rather it happen with a quick gunshot than whatever was beyond that door.  Instead of giving in to fear he looked at the boy with deep forgiveness, turned his back and walked away, expecting to hear, and feel, a shot.  Nothing happened.

“I was okay.  And as I rounded the corner of that block I made a promise right then and there to the shadow people living under my bed, in my closet, behind my door, the unseen men, women and children who weren’t far away—I would be their voice.  I would help them be heard; I would help them be seen… people like the 300,000 child soldiers active around the globe,” he says.

The shadow people of his childhood dreams were, in fact, very real.  Now, as an adult, Whyte has new dreams, and he is fully engaged in making them real.  He ends the talk by saying, “There is nothing between a dream and reality except fear.  Anything is possible.”

After watching the video, I end up with a wad of damp Kleenex in my hand and a much better sense of who Whyte is, what he does, and why.  A few days later I head off to interview him, curious to know more of his story.

Whyte may have a global focus, but his roots are as local as you can get.  He was born in Comox, grew up in Courtenay, and traces his family back six generations here in the Valley.

“My daughter is the seventh generation,” he says with satisfaction.  With a sprawling network of extended family here, and a great childhood memory attached to just about any locale in the area, he feels deeply, and happily, rooted in the Valley.

He didn’t originally set out to be all those things he is now.  He signed up to study civil engineering at BCIT, but it didn’t take him to long to learn that “face-melting solos, calculus, ramen noodles and beer in combination do not produce sustainably good results.”  He also realized that his interests lay elsewhere—he was drawn to ideas, language and communication.  He did an about-face and switched to English, where he thrived.  From there he followed his passion into a career in media.

“After I started getting artsy-fartsy,” he begins with a laugh—deep voiced, stocky, his dark hair shorn close to his head, standing six-foot something and wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he hardly looks ‘artsy’—”I volunteered at the Eagle radio station.”

At first he did whatever needed to be done, learning the ropes by helping out and finding mentors.  Eventually he got his own show.  From there more opportunities appeared.  He was invited to go to Tofino to build a radio station, which turned out to be a year-long adventure setting up the station and training people, including First Nations youth, to run it.

He went on to work at a radio station in Victoria, and then signed up to study Television Broadcast and Media Communications at BCIT.  He then worked as a technician for CBC on shows such as The Hour and Zed.  The stimulated his interest in current affairs and he began to read about global issues.

“Romeo Dallaire became a really big focus for me, and James Orbinski, former president of the Canadian branch of Doctors Without Borders, and Stephen Lewis,” he says.

His life seemed to be well on track—and then came the assignment with Kortu, and the encounter in Ecuador, and everything changed.  He’d already started his own media consulting company, but quitting his job meant he had to make it work—and find the time for the passion that drove him.

He soon realized he had to change his attitude toward money and work.

“I changed my whole perspective on business.  It’s not about making me rich, it’s about giving me more time.  Why spend your life making money to be secure, then retire and worry and about how to spend it, and then die?  I want to spend my time doing things that fulfill me, which is mainly learning and teaching.”

That first year he was mostly learning.  “I was reading and reading, mostly about children’s issues around the world and also things like basic geography.  For instance, where the hell is Liberia?  And while I was reading, I also was thinking I need to go back to university.

“I thought, ‘That’s crazy… just crazy enough to do,’” he quips.  He signed up for a Liberal Arts degree at Vancouver Island University.

About this time he found himself at a talk given by Craig Kielburger, who founded Free The Children when he was 12 years old.  This International organization engages youth in North America and the UK, educating them and involving them in finding solutions to global child poverty.

Not only did this talk spark Whyte’s first major project as a social entrepreneur and activist, it gave him an unforgettable lesson in the power of leadership and community.

“He got me all jazzed up.  Then, at a pivotal moment he asked who in the audience had an idea they were ready to move forward on.  Me and two others put up our hands.  Then, he asked who in the audience was ready to help these three people.  Everyone put up their hands.

“At that moment I realized—the support is always out there.”

That support helped Whyte channel his excitement into Connecting With Kenya.  He used the contacts he already had—in particular, his wife, who is a teacher—to get a fast-track into the school system.

“I worked out a program that was tied to the curriculum, so it didn’t waste anyone’s time.  I was going in and doing up to 10 presentations a week, reaching 300-400 people a week.”

He taught the local kids about conditions in Kenya and got them involved in fundraising, mostly by creating art, printing it on cards, and selling them.

“A spin-off was that kids got excited about art.  They had no idea it could do that,” he says.  By the project’s completion, he figured he’d reached about 5,000 people, opening their eyes to global realities and showing them they could be powerful agents of change.  As a result, 600 children in Kenya got a new school, health care, water system, library and entrepreneurial skills to solidify their ideas for the future.

Then, after his eye-opening trip to Ecuador, he returned to Canada to found The HEAL Project (Health, Education and Love for children affected by conflict), a six-month campaign to raise awareness and funds to eradicate the use of children in conflict.

Whyte definitely sees himself as a leader, and happily admits that he likes being in charge, but he firmly resists any attempt by anyone to put him on a pedestal.  He’s not applying for sainthood anytime soon.

“What I do isn’t selfless, not at all.  In fact, it’s pretty selfish,” he says.  “Everything we do is rewarding if we do it with a deep passion.  Everything I do, I do because I love it.”

That’s a lot of love—Whyte still runs his media consulting company, gets more and more work as a public speaker, has a part-time job doing education for the Regional District waste management program, does the odd gig as a wedding photographer, etc., etc., etc.  He just finished a Liberal Studies degree, is planning to return to school to get a Masters and PhD, and is continually making new plans and connecting with new partners.

He has no plans to slow down or narrow his focus.  He feels everything he does is connected, and connection—between projects, ideas, people, countries, cultures, and generations, between heart and mind, between information and action—is one of the big themes in Whyte’s life.

“I’m a big picture kind of guy.  I love making connections,” he says.

For more information visit www.zacwhyte.com.

This year—the 25th anniversary of women in Rotary—also marks the first year in Valley Rotary history that the presidents of all four clubs will be women. From left, new leaders Lynn Brandon, Holly Grant, Naomi Carmichael and Deb Nolan, at the Rotary Skypark in Courtenay.

Photo by Lisa Graham

Naomi Carmichael, Deb Nolan, Holly Grant and Lynn Brandon are dressed in black waistcoats and top hats, circa 1905.  Fake moustaches and beards are haphazardly pasted on the women’s faces and they are trying valiantly not to laugh.

It is a sunny evening in late June, 2011.  A crowd of more than 100 Courtenay Rotary Club members and guests are in attendance at their Annual Installation Dinner at the Westerly Hotel.  They roar with laughter as the women in black do their best to stage a reenactment of the very first Rotary Club meeting that was held in Chicago 106 years ago.

One by one, the ‘actors’ rise from their chairs and pretend to gaze into a ‘crystal ball’ in the middle of their table.  They ‘smoke’ fake cigars and make off-the-cuff comments as they pretend to foresee the future of Rotary—one that did not include women members amongst their ranks.

The Courtenay Rotary Club was gathered for the installation ceremony of its 2011/2012 executive, directors and officers, and to celebrate the start of its 75th year.  The comical skit served two purposes:  it is a traditional part of this club’s installation ceremony and was also a way to have some fun while celebrating a very important Rotary International (RI) historical milestone—the 25th anniversary of women in Rotary.

These particular women are performing in the skit not because of their acting abilities—that is quite obvious—but because they are all incoming presidents for the four Rotary Clubs in the Comox Valley: Carmichael represents the Courtenay Rotary Club, Grant is the new head of the Comox Club, Brandon is with Strathcona Sunrise, and Nolan now leads Cumberland Centennial. (See story next page.)

They end their parody with a flourish, shedding their waistcoats to reveal black T-shirts emblazoned with the word ‘Rotary’ in sparkling rhinestones. They sing and dance in a not-so-perfectly choreographed chorus-line style to the strains of the song Now is the Time.  The crowd gives a standing ovation and heartily applauds them for their efforts.

This skit will be re-enacted three more times, at the installation ceremonies for the other three Comox Valley Rotary Clubs.  And, despite the jovial nature of their performances, these four women know that their roles as presidents of their respective clubs carry tremendous responsibility. They are all embarking on what will be one of the most important years of their lives.  This may be the 25th anniversary of women in Rotary International but, coincidentally, it is also the first year in the entire history of Rotary in the Comox Valley that the presidents of all four clubs will be of the female persuasion. It is a very big deal!

Today, many of us take gender-rights for granted.  But as Rotarians celebrate this milestone event, we must acknowledge that women’s ‘right to join Rotary’ was a decades-long effort of both men and women campaigning for gender equality worldwide.  The first documented effort was in 1950, when an enactment to delete the word ‘male’ from the Standard Rotary Club Constitution was processed by a club in India.  From 1950 to 1989, the RI Council considered a total of 13 proposals to allow women to join.

Despite the fact that they could not be Rotary members, women have played an important role in the organization from its early years.  Prior to 1987, wives of Rotary members were called ‘Rotary Anns.’ This designation was never one of disparagement, but rather grew out of an interesting historical occasion, as explained in this excerpt from an article published by the Rotary Global History Fellowship:

“In 1914, when San Francisco Rotarians boarded a special train to attend the Rotary Convention being held in Houston, Texas, few wives attended Rotary events. When the train stopped in Los Angeles, the only woman aboard was the wife of Rotarian Bru Brunnier.

”As the train picked up additional convention-bound delegates, Mrs. Ann Brunnier was introduced as the ‘Rotarian’s Ann.’ This was soon shortened to ‘Rotary Ann’.  Upon the train’s arrival at the Houston depot, a delegation greeted the West Coast Rotarians. One of the greeters was Guy Gundaker of Philadelphia, whose wife was also named Ann. The same term of endearment was then used for all of the wives in attendance and the name ‘Rotary Ann’ was here to stay.”

The first official Rotary Ann Auxiliary Organization was formed in Oklahoma City in 1928 and its acceptance spread to thousands of clubs throughout the world.  One of the purposes of a Rotary Ann Club was to bring the families of the members of Rotary into fellowship.  Other objectives included assisting Rotarians in the execution of various club and community projects, and upholding the purposes and aims of Rotary.

A Rotary Ann group was started in Courtenay in the 1930s and all Rotary wives were invited to join (and most did). Comox Valley resident Margaret Gansner became involved in 1962, when her husband, John Gansner, became a member of the Courtenay Rotary Club that same year.  Forty-nine years later, he is proud to still be a member of this worthy organization but Mrs. Gansner is no longer a Rotary Ann.  Here’s why:

In 1977, the Rotary Club of Duarte, California, made the bold decision to admit women as members. This was in direct violation of the RI and the Standard Rotary Club Constitutions. Because of this violation, the club’s membership in RI was terminated in 1978.  The ensuing litigation proceedings lasted years.  On May 4, 1987, the US Supreme Court declared Rotary could not exclude women on the basis of gender. Even though the ‘official’ approval from RI would not come for a couple more years, women’s names soon began appearing on membership rosters almost everywhere.

In 1989, the RI’s Council on Legislation officially voted in favor of admitting women as Rotary members. This was a watershed moment in the organization’s history.  It is interesting to note that, although a majority vote was achieved, there were 328 votes in favor of allowing women and 117 against.

“When women were [legally] permitted to join Rotary in 1987, Rotary Anns were left wondering what our role would be,” recalls Margaret Gansner with a touch of remorse.  “We considered inviting the husbands to join us and call the group ‘Rotary Anns and Andys.’  But we eventually came to the conclusion that we were obsolete and thus dissolved.  The friendships formed through Rotary Anns, however, have been enduring and we take pride in the fact that we made so many worthwhile contributions in our time.”

“The general attitude here in the Comox Valley prior to the 1989 US Supreme Court decision was one of acceptance of Rotary as a ‘Men’s Club’ in much the same way as Soroptomist’s International was considered to be a ‘Women’s Club,’ explains John Gansner.  “There was no issue.”

Gansner recalled that when the Supreme Court decision was handed down in 1987, followed by RI’s vote in 1989, there was considerable dismay within the ranks of Rotarians locally.  A few Comox Valley members actually resigned.

“Looking back over the 25 years since the decision, however, much has changed and women are now welcome members of the group and have become essential to its function,” he adds.  “While most of the local club expansions occurred prior to their entry, their inclusion has kept RI membership and our local clubs relatively stable, at a time when many other service clubs have had difficulty sustaining members.

“There can be no question that RI’s 1989 decision was the correct one for the Association, for Rotary Clubs internationally, and the Rotary Clubs of the Comox Valley,” concludes Gansner.  “As a result, we have been able to maintain our international, community and vocational services without interruption.  After all, these functions, along with friendship, comprise the purpose of Rotary.”

Today, while a high percentage of Rotarians are men, there are well over 200,000 women in Rotary worldwide.  While these women recognize and appreciate the contributions of the Rotary Anns that blazed trails before them, and the Rotary spouses who currently support various initiatives, they are proud of the fact that, when it comes to the leadership of their respective clubs, they can stand beside, not behind, their ‘men.’

The Strathcona Sunrise’s Club new president, Lynn Brandon, grew up in the Comox Valley but joined her first Rotary Club while living in Prince Edward Island.  She became a charter (founding) member of the Stratford Rotary Club in 2002.  When she and her family moved back to Vancouver Island in 2005, finding a new Rotary Club was a top priority.

“I decided to join the Strathcona Sunrise Club because the timing of their meeting best suited my schedule,” explains Brandon.  “I was privileged to take on a position on the board of directors and now look forward to serving my fellow Rotarians and the community as club president.”

An individual’s anniversary of joining a Rotary Club is always celebrated, but most Rotarians will tell you that there is usually a pivotal moment where they feel they have become a true Rotarian.

“For me, that moment came in 2010, when I was at the RI Convention in Montreal,” explains Brandon. “As I looked around the stadium filled with 20,000 other Rotarians from around the world, I realized the inclusivity and the tremendous potential of Rotary.  We are all just people—gender, race and religion simply do not factor into it—and we are working for a common purpose: to simply do good in the world.”

Naomi Carmichael joined the Courtenay Rotary Club in 2005, and feels that she truly became a Rotarian soon after.  “I knew almost immediately that being involved with this organization would be life-changing for me,” explains Carmichael.  “That summer, while at a Rotary work bee to paint the gazebo at the Courtenay Air Park, I took a moment to step back and quietly observe as my husband and kids, along with other Rotarians and their families, worked and laughed and made a difference in our community. I was overwhelmed with emotion because this sense of fellowship, the sharing, and cooperation I was seeing was what it is all about.”

Carmichael admits to being a little intimidated when she first joined Rotary but soon felt right at home.  “I have worked hard to earn the respect of our members and I feel that I am not looked at as a woman but rather simply a Rotarian,” she says.

Deborah Nolan was never a Rotary Ann but she has many years of experience as the spouse of a Rotarian. Her husband, Bayne Mann, has been a member of the Strathcona Sunrise Club for 24 years.  In 2006, when the Cumberland Centennial Club was being formed, Nolan’s husband encouraged her to step forward as a charter member.

Nolan is excited about the opportunity to serve as club president in the coming year and is grateful that she has a tight-knit and enthusiastic group of fellow members to back her up.  “I enjoy being a Rotarian because I feel like I am making a difference,” says Nolan. “Whether it is a small local initiative or a huge international project, Rotary makes it possible for one person’s dream or ambition to become reality.”

Holly Grant also has years of familiarity as a Rotary spouse.  She, along with her husband Tom and their three children, moved to the Comox Valley from Ontario 1992.  Tom was soon invited to join the Comox Club.  In 2006, Holly was also invited to join.

“The timing was finally right for me to get involved,” explains Grant.  “Our children were old enough to be on their own on Thursday nights and, considering that I had attended so many Comox Rotary Club events over the years with Tom, I knew this was the right group for me.

“Being a Rotarian brings me great personal fulfillment,” adds Grant. “It is wonderful to be able to do something solely for the pleasure of providing service to others.  Having fun and building friendships is also a big part of it.  It is my privilege to serve the as president of the Comox Rotary Club and I consider it the highest compliment that they have put their trust in me.”

Recent research conducted by Rotary International showed that, despite 25 years of women actively participating in the organization, the stereotype still exists that Rotary is an older gentlemen’s club.

These four Comox Valley women want you to know that Rotary does have a softer side.  The membership roster for any club truly represents a cross section of business people; all cultural, race, religious, age, and gender barriers have been removed.  Rotary is not about men—or women—it is simply about people giving back to the community.

Something to Sing About!

Helen Austin is a singer/songwriter from the UK now living in the Comox Valley. She was recently asked to help celebrate the 25th anniversary of women in Rotary by writing a song about it. You can listen to the lyrics and watch the story unfold in photographs on YouTube. Type ‘Women in Rotary’ in the search engine and sing along!  For more information on this talented award-winning artist, visit www.helenaustin.com.

Phil McLaren shows off another one of his restoration projects, an MG Midget.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

The body is a rich Devon Cream hue, with immaculate chocolate-brown fenders and radiator cowling and it rolled down the Oshawa production line in 1916, the year my late father was born.

The McLaughlin-Buick owned and painstakingly restored by Phil McLaren of Astra Bay, was a pure labor of love.  A testament to the effort put into its restoration is that the old touring car looks like it could have rolled down the line last week, its vintage lines notwithstanding.

But it is only when one takes a ride in the old car that one really appreciates its venerability and understands how far technology has moved since that year half-way through World War One.  Don’t expect many hi-tech or modern innovations like a synchromesh transmission.  The three-speed gearbox demands the skill of double-declutching. Disc brakes, meanwhile, were far in the future in 1916, and braking power relies on two wheel mechanical brakes applied to the massive 30-inch wooden-spoked rear wheels only.

But, it was nevertheless a delightful ride I took with McLaren while I was researching this article.  I wouldn’t have missed sitting up as high as I was and waving at the folks along the way who acknowledged us as we chugged through that seafront neighborhood in Comox.

Needless to say the locals are not strangers to the McLaren McLaughlin.  Not only is it a familiar sight in the neighborhood but also elsewhere in the Valley, where it does popular duty at graduation events bringing prom-dressed young people to their ceremonies.  Brides love it, too.  And it has long been a mainstay at the various parades in Valley communities.

One appealing aspect of the McLaughlin-Buick for McLaren is that it is a Canadian vehicle.  The company began to turn out vehicles in 1907 as the result of collaboration between Sam McLaughlin and General Motors’ William Durrant of Detroit.  While it is directly tied in with General Motors’ mainstay, the regular Buick, the McLaughlin (which continued to be manufactured in Oshawa until 1942) boasted certain unique attributes, McLaren says, including the fact that considerably more wood was used in its construction.  After World War Two, McLaughlin evolved into GM Canada.

There was a time in which the so-called Big Three auto manufacturers produced a number of Canadian versions of the more commonplace American ones, such as the Meteor and Monarch by Ford, and the Acadian and Beaumont by GM.  However, the McLaughlin was the first to boast a uniquely north of the border provenance.

How did McLaren’s involvement with this venerable vehicle come about?  Well, in the first place it was something of a natural for the man who was automotive instructor at Vanier Secondary throughout his teaching career.

A career that saw the students in his shop turn to such projects as restoring vintage fire engines for Comox, Courtenay, Union Bay and CFB Comox.  During one memorable year (1994-95) the students also produced a competition level dragster that still races and still is to be found in the Comox Valley.

“Since retirement (in 1999) I’ve been doing mainly car stuff,” McLaren says.  “It’s not too different from when I was working, except now I’m doing it for me.  Or, rather for ‘us’, since Ardie (his wife) really enjoys the cars and is hugely supportive and helpful with the projects I’ve worked on.”

He notes that in gratitude for her stalwart support in his automotive endeavors he completely redid the kitchen of their Astra Bay home for her.

As far as the cars go—and there has been a number of them he has completely restored over the years— the McLaughlin-Buick was the first big project to be completed.

“Actually I started in 1966 or ’67 on a 1929 Willys Whippet,” he says.  “I got it up to a running frame, but I was always searching for parts to complete the project.  I was told there was a Whippet near Sunnydale Golf Course, so I went to have a look. What I found was a McLaughlin-Buick in pieces.  It had been shipped out from Portage La Prairie.”

Ardie and Phil McLaren in the restored 1916 McLaughlin-Buick.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

The next weekend he took Ardie for a ride to see the vintage touring car, such as it was. He notes—not a man to sit around and waste time is he—that he was also building the new family home at the time.  To make a long story short, he decided to acquire the old tourer and to see what he could do with it.  This also marked the end of his involvement with the Whippet.

“I sold the Whippet for the price of the tires for the Buick,” he says.  “It was $1,500 for the five tires.  That’s still a fair amount of money, but it was a lot of money back then. The Whippet was never completed, but I’ve heard that it’s still around the Valley somewhere.”

He began to work on the McLaughlin-Buick in about 1977, he says, and it was finished by 1991, in time for his son Michael’s wedding.

“The hardest aspect of completing the car was the search for parts,” he says, noting that these were pre-Internet days, so word-of-mouth and other tips had to be relied upon, was well as car restoration publications.  “The McLaughlin was Canadian and in that was slightly different from American Buicks.  So, we had to search through the verbal network.”

He adds that while waiting for parts to complete the big project, he also restored an MG Midget for his son, Mike.

“Mike was always interested in the car restoration and it got him into his career in bodywork, which he still continues with.

Shortly after the completion of the McLaughlin-Buick McLaren, with his Vanier automotive class, undertook a unique project that was right up the alley of the students of the program—the completion of the aforementioned dragster.

The dragster, he says, raced a few times and then it was retired to the automotive shop at the school.  Eventually he decided it was time to offload it so he gave it to two of the students who had worked on it in the day.“It has raced quite successfully since that time,” he says.  “It was really a gratifying project because its creation, with huge parental as well as community support really gave some new life to my teaching career as I neared my time of retirement.”

And then there are the other cars, and the element that becomes apparent in talking to McLaren is that there is a ‘labor of love’ element in all his projects.   Which brings us to the 1950 Plymouth he restored to assembly-line calibre.  Yes, it was just a standard and rather prosaic ’50 Plymouth—at best never a terribly exciting car—but, there was a symbolic virtue to the vehicle for McLaren.

“It was a direct facsimile of the car my parents first bought after the war, when I was a young kid,” he says.  “So I found one of the same model and I restored it for them in the late 1980s and gave it to them.  They were thrilled.”

The Plymouth, since his parents have passed on, now sits back with the next generation McLarens, in what is quaintly called the ‘Hobbit Garage’ (for good reasons, because that is just what the structure resembles), right alongside the McLaughlin.

During that time he also restored a 1957 Morris Minor convertible to like-new condition.  The Morris Minor is a particular favorite vehicle of his, and he currently has the hulk of one sitting at his place for which he has great plans and when completed might provide the basis for yet another story.

A gem of a vehicle is his 1961 MGA, and this was to commemorate his fond regard for the memory of a late colleague at Vanier, Doug Hibberd, who had originally planned to restore it before ill-health took over.

He has a photo scrapbook showing the shape of the MGA at the time he acquired it from Hibberd’s widow, Margaret.  It was literally a rusted hulk and he was told by others in the field that the undertaking would be too great to bring it up to even a moderately decent standard.

Just the challenge he wanted.  He had the car for six years before turning his hand to its restoration, and then spent a further eight years restoring it to mint condition, a process which included both repairing, filling and even turning out facsimile body parts.  But in the end it was done.

“Marg Hibberd was the first person to ride in it,” McLaren says.  “She calls the car ‘Doug’ after her husband, and I even made a plaque with his name that is affixed to the dashboard.  It’s won a few awards over the years, including first-in-class.”

The final car (currently) is a 1956 Austin Healey.  Ardie, he says, had always wanted a Healey and he had always wanted to restore one for her sake.  Incidentally, she chose the color of the car.  They are not easy cars to find, however, find one he did.  The one they did find was unique in that it was produced in only the third year of Healey production.  This was before Healey was powered by the big six cylinder engines of the later 3000 model.

“It’s called a ‘100-4’ and that’s because it’s supposed to be capable of 100 miles an hour, with a 2.6 litre four cylinder engine,” he says.  “It’s a rare model and considered one of the most desirable Healeys; a big dollar car.  It’s a competition model and even has the fold-down windscreen for racing.”

At the moment of acquiring the Healey, McLaren says he tossed up between a Healey and a Jaguar XKE.  He’s happy he opted for the Healey.  Next project is the one that involves the Morris Minor mentioned earlier.

Needless to say, car restoration is a highly demanding and very expensive hobby.  The McLaughlin, he says, because he could do so much of the work himself, cost him about $9,000 from start to finish.  Many, however, demand a considerably larger outlay of money.

“Among restorers and collectors, the really old cars are losing their value,” he says. “They’re not as drivable as newer models, even models from the 1950s, which have smoother rides and are often air-conditioned.  People want some of their creature comforts when they’re on a long road-trip to a meet.”

McLaren is a past-president of Valley Vintage Wheels Car Club, an organization that has been going since the mid-1970s.  As with other car clubs in the area, VVW vehicles, including some of the exotics, like McLaren’s McLaughlin-Buick and a Stanley Steamer, are regular participants in local parades and tours, as well as the annual Comox Nautical Days Car Show, which takes place this year on the BC Day long weekend.  VVW can be reached at 250-338-2366.  The other major restoration car club in the area is Comox Valley Classic Cruisers, which concentrates more on the hot rod genre.  Find out more at cvclassiccruisers.com.  This year their 25th annual Graffiti Bash and Cruise is on July 23 and the Show and Shine is happening in Downtown Courtenay July 24.

Vancouver Island, says Tim “Skippy” Miller out fossil hunting at a local river, is a virtual treasure chest of fossils with everything from dinosaur teeth to ancient crustaceans. All over Vancouver Island, remains of ancient life lie frozen in the rocks.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

The photo Tim ‘Skippy’ Miller selected for his Facebook profile is certainly not one that I would choose for myself.  First of all, he is upside down.  His hair is messy, his eyes are bulging and his tongue is sticking out.  It’s hard to tell whether he used Photoshop to rotate his image or the photo was taken while he was skydiving or falling off a cliff.  With Miller, anything is possible!

What I do know is that ‘Skippy’ is the ultimate extrovert.  This Courtenay-based amateur paleontologist has more than 600 kooky self-portraits like this one on his Facebook page—who knew the human face could contort in so many different ways?—and close to 3,000 ‘friends’ from around the world who know him as the fun-loving fossil freak from Vancouver Island, British Columbia.

While he has always been gregarious and goofy, Miller’s fascination with fossils did not start until 1993, while he was tubing down the Puntledge River with some friends. “I stumbled across my first fossil by accident,” explains Miller.  “It was just a little fossil but I was fascinated by it.”

It was on a subsequent Puntledge River tubing adventure that Miller found his next fossil.  This one, he says, literally rolled down an embankment and fell into his hands.  The 80-million-year-old heteromorph ammonite—a fossilized squid-like sea creatures that looks a bit like a snail—measured about 10-centimetres across and had lots of pattern and glitter.  The rest of the Miller’s story, quite literally, is ancient history.

Prior to that, explains Miller with a twinkle in his eyes, “I was ‘famous’ for a number of other diverse activities such as: riding my bicycle around Downtown Courtenay with cockatiels on my shoulder; raising money for YANA by hosting the scariest Halloween House in town with the Haunted Pathway on Tull Avenue; being a spicy chicken wing eating champion; a winner of belly flop contests; and nude bungee jumping… to name a few!”

When asked how he got the nickname ‘Skippy,’ Miller starts to laugh.  “Oh, I am not sure we can put that in a magazine,” he says with a chuckle.  “Are you sure you want to know?”

I urge him to tell me the story behind the ‘Skippy’ moniker.  He is right.  The story is not suitable for publication.  You do not need to know.  Trust me!

Before I learned more about Skippy’s over-the-top fossil fixation, I wanted to discover more mundane facts about him.  How, for example, does he balance being a father with being a self-professed fossil freak?  What does he do for a living?  How does his wife put up with his ever-expanding ‘rock’ collection?  And how, exactly, does one progress from nude bungee jumping to hard-core fossil collecting?  (Actually, that may also be more information that necessary!)

Miller explains: “I was born in Germany in 1966.  My father, Charles ‘Dusty’ Miller, was a firefighter with the Royal Canadian Air Force.  So, that makes me a military brat.  My family moved to CFB Cold Lake in 1967 and then to CFB Comox in 1973.

“Dad was a great sports fan and he loved the Canucks,” adds Miller.  “He also had a great spirit of adventure.  For example, he went parachuting for the first time at the age of 72 and, for his 80th birthday, we went skydiving together.  During the 45-second free-fall and landing he cracked two ribs… but we had a blast and it is a memory I cherish since he passed away on March 21 this year.  He was 82.”

As Miller tells me about his father, it becomes obvious that he inherited his wacky sense of humor and zest for life from his dad.  He explains that his mother, Leona, may not have always liked the “screwball adventures” they went on but supported Dusty and the boys as long as they were having fun and trying to stay safe.  For the record, Miller points out, his brother Percy Miller is a freak, too. “But he is a fishing freak,” he adds with a laugh.

Miller spent his formative years in the Comox Valley and graduated from GP Vanier Secondary School in 1985.  He met his partner, Bryanna Hayton, soon after.  The couple has three beautiful daughters together: Miranda (13), Mariska (8) and Talisha (6).  They also have a couple of rambunctious mixed breed dogs—Tessa and Tolkien—and a cat named Lucky Stotan.  Miller found Lucky during a fossil expedition on the Puntledge River, near Stotan Falls.  “The day I found the cat under a bridge I also found three great ammonites,” recalls Miller.  “Since the cat brought me luck, I just had to bring him home.”

In order to fund his fossil excursions and provide for his family, Miller has worked as a roofer for Nelson Roofing for more than 20 years.  He has also worked the nightshift in the warehouse for Canadian Bread for about nine years.  Bryanna is a homemaker, an Epicure products representative, a Scout leader—all three of the girls are enrolled in Scouts—and, quite likely, a woman with the patience of a saint.

When he’s not working or being a family man, Miller can be found searching river bottoms and rocky shores or hiking on the mountainside cliffs, road cuts and quarries of Vancouver Island and the Gulf Islands.  Outfitted with protective goggles, a hammer and chisel, and an effervescent sense of excitement, Miller looks forward to weekly outdoor excursions in search of the next great dinosaur discovery.  Often, his girls and the dogs join him for the adventure.

“I love fossil hunting because with every tide change on the beach or heavy rainfall and subsequent erosion along a riverbank or mountainside, there is always the possibility of new fossil remains being uncovered,” explains Miller.

In the last 18 years, Miller has discovered thousands of fossils.  Every single one is carefully analyzed and identified.  Since his wife has declared a moratorium on any more ‘rocks’ coming into the house, he now has a storage locker filled with paleontological treasures.  He loans the fossils to museums, trades them with other fossil collectors, and uses them for demos and displays.  Miller adds that although it is not illegal to sell fossils, it is considered unethical.

Miller explains that Vancouver Island is a virtual treasure chest of fossils with everything from dinosaur teeth to ancient crustaceans (hard-shelled aquatic animals).  The waters around here were once home to eight different species of pre-historic crabs, three types of lobsters, dozens of ammonites that ranged from loonie-sized to more than a metre in diameter, and much more.  Miller says that some of his friends once discovered an impression of a huge ammonite in a riverbank at a “secret location.”  When they went back for a second look the river had washed much of it away.

This sentiment, of Vancouver Island being a fossil paradise, is echoed in Miller’s favorite fossil book, West Coast Fossils. The book explains: “Contrary to popular belief, fossils are not rare. Large, complete, and well-preserved fossils are definitely uncommon, but small fossil shells, bones, teeth and plant remains occur widely in sedimentary rocks across Canada.  However, here on the west coast, most residents and visitors are unaware that important and beautiful fossils are preserved in the sedimentary rocks that lie literally beneath our feet…  All over Vancouver Island, remains of ancient life lie frozen in the rocks.”

According to the British Columbia Paleontological Alliance (BCPA) fossils comprise a critical record of past life forms and, therefore, have important scientific, heritage and educational value.  Fossil collecting activities, by both professionals and amateurs, should be undertaken in a responsible manner—that is, suitable for subsequent scientific study and where collected materials receive proper curation, as described in the BCPA Standards and Ethics for Scientific Collecting.  (For details visit  www.bcfossils.ca/collecting.html)   Fossil collectors are urged to obtain permission from landowners or government authorities before venturing out and to practice ‘environmental etiquette,’ leaving each site as found.  All significant finds, like the Elasmosaur skeleton discovered in the Comox Valley in 1988, must be reported and excavated by a paleontological team.” (See sidebar next page.)

Always interested in learning more, this self-taught, amateur paleontologist says his that West Coast Fossils is his reference “bible.”  If he finds something that he cannot identify, he heads down to the Courtenay & District Museum to consult with experts there.  He also uses the Internet to network with other amateur and professional paleontologists from around the world.

In 2010, accompanied by fellow fossil freak and former sidekick, Peter Bryant, the duo video recorded 19 Fossil Freak Show episodes and posted them on YouTube.

Exposure on the Internet has garnered Miller a network of cyber-space connections and supporters, many of which send him odd and unusual free gifts.  “A guy from Australia once sent me a dehydrated kangaroo scrotum!” exclaims Miller.  “Look!” he says as he jumps up to point it out amongst a myriad of other cherished possessions proudly showcased in a glass curio cabinet.  Other prized gifts of appreciation/admiration include a fossilized dragonfly from Germany, a pinecone from Argentina, and a whimsical piece of art that depicts Miller dancing on a beach in the moonlight.  His #1 fan, Minneapolis, Minnesota-based artist Mike Menasco, painted it.

“As a direct result of the Fossil Freak Show videos, I have standing invitations to go fossil collecting to locations around the world,” adds Miller proudly.

Last summer, Bryant and Miller were invited to take an all-expense paid trip down the Athabasca River, Alberta, sponsored by Darcy and Shirley Zelman of Grand Rapids Wilderness Adventures.  They traveled by jet boat from the City of Athabasca 150 miles downriver to Grand Rapids.  No amazing discoveries were made but they did collect a few small artifacts and fossils, saw a lot of wildlife, enjoyed the scenery, had plenty of fun, and were able to create several YouTube videos of their adventure.

This year, Miller is going solo and branching out with his own unique brand of fossil fanatic photojournalism.  With the assistance of volunteer webmasters and videographers Michelle Salmon and Shane Eigler, he has new videos in various stages of production and has recently launched a new website: www.skippysfreakyadventures.com.

Miller dreams that one day Skippy’s Freaky Adventures will be “discovered” and that he could become the next reality TV sensation, like Survivorman or Mantracker.  “That would be just freakin’ AWESOME!  Wouldn’t it?” exclaims Miller.

Until then, Skippy Miller will continue to scan the beaches of Vancouver Island for pre-historic starfish and dream of stardom.  He will gather fossils in a bucket, fans on the Internet and hundreds more Facebook friends.  And I guarantee you he will be having fun!

Learn more about Skippy Miller at: www.skippysfreakyadventures.com

Learn more about Vancouver Island fossils… recommended reading: ‘West Coast Fossils: A Guide to the Ancient Life of Vancouver Island’  written by Rolf Ludvigson and Graham Beard

British Columbia Paleontological Alliance (BCPA) is a union of professional and amateur paleontologists working to advance the science of paleontology in the province by fostering public awareness, scientific collecting and education, and by promoting communication among all those interested in fossils. www.bcfossils.ca

But we generally do carry on as usual, perhaps making a donation or attending a fundraiser, and somehow the disturbance in our hearts eases as the mass media moves on to other topics.

As heartwrenching as it can be, “It’s an honor to be doing this work,” says Linda Weech, at home on Denman Island.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

Linda Weech, however, is an exception.  Six years ago, when the news came out about the Rwandan genocide spilling over into the Congo, she truly did drop everything and devote herself to reaching out.

Weech had no idea what she would do—she just knew she had to act.  That passionate commitment has evolved into the Children’s International Peace Project (CIPP), founded and run by Weech, aided by a wide circle of supporters.

Taking as its starting point Mahatma Ghandi’s oft-quoted statement, “If we are to have real peace in the world, we must begin with the children,” the CIPP reaches out to the children of Central Africa and Central America, supporting their well-being through expressive arts, multicultural wellness training, and peace and environmental education.

The Children’s International Peace Project has become the driving force for Weech’s life.  An artist and art educator by profession, Weech now channels those skills to her international work.  She spends her days and evenings researching, networking, and developing curricula.  She has travelled to Guatemala, Burundi, Kenya, and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), where she visits schools, orphanages, refugee camps, rescue centres, and other hotspots of need, sharing, listening and facilitating programs.

So that all this can happen, Weech has simplified her life.  “It truly is chop wood, carry water,” she says.  She has scaled down her paid employment to the bare minimum to make time for her aid work and readily admits that ‘financial stability’ is non-existent in her life.

Weech is not complaining about any of this.  On the contrary, she says she has never felt so alive.  “I’m up at 5:00 am every morning, energized, motivated, tremendously excited about my day.  It’s an honor to be doing this work.”

It is also deeply painful.  “Over-the-top heartwrenching” is how Weech describes the trauma she has witnessed.  An orphanage full of children who all have been accused of “witchcraft,” raped and often tortured.  A four-year-old orphan with bones like sticks who can’t walk due to life-long malnutrition.   Girls as young as eight facing severe health problems—not to mention psycho-emotional trauma—from genital mutilation and early forced marriage.

The work is also over-the-top heart-warming, as Weech gets to meet the “angels on the ground,” as she calls them—the brave and hardworking people who, like her, have dedicated themselves to healing and change.

But it was the wrenching of her heart that moved Weech to action.  Weech had spent two years in the DRC prior to the conflict there, travelling and working in community development.

“I was so moved by the beauty of the people and nature there.  I travelled 350 kilometres by foot for 22 days, seeing remote communities, way out where people didn’t even have a candle or a piece of paper.   It seemed the farther away from a city or town we were, the more people were integrated with nature and each other.  The luminosity in their eyes moved me so much.”

When the civil war started in the mid 2000s she was back home (she lives part-time on Hornby, Denman, and Vancouver Islands), and was profoundly affected by what she was hearing.

“I was literally lying on the floor of the rainforest, wailing and wailing.  I couldn’t stop the tears,” she says.  “I could not understand how this could be happening— 5.6 million people have died in this conflict, and 1,200 die each day, mostly women and children, from preventable causes like malnutrition, diarrhoea and malaria.

“A turning point came for me when a friend warned me that I needed to regulate my emotions or else I was in danger of getting sick.  That galvanized me.”

Weech plunged into research, learning about conditions in the Congo, studying the work of various aid organizations, and learning about people working on the ground in Central Africa.  And she asked herself: What can I do?

The immediate answer to the question came from the many photos Weech had taken during her time in Africa.  These photos documented the spirit and beauty of the people and place which was now being devastated.  Weech produced a set of photographs which she began selling locally.  Naturally, this piqued people’s curiosity and engaged them in the issue.  Friends, family and community members began raising funds in support of Weech’s work.

As a result, Weech sent just over $8,000 to SOS Children’s Villages, a well-respected aid organization.  This was satisfying, but she still felt a strong calling to be involved directly.  She knew that her background in development work and art education could be valuable, but also she felt she needed more, so she went to study multicultural healing techniques with Dr. Patricia Cane.

A group of young Congolese Pygmy refugees in Burundi. “They are known as one of the world’s most peaceful societies,” says Linda Weech, yet “they are now living in desperate situations.”

Photo by Linda Weech

Cane teaches traditional healing techniques from cultures around the world.  She began over 20 years ago to provide people in Central America with tools to care for themselves in the midst of trauma, violence, poverty, and the effects of natural disasters.  The practices are now used in more than 30 countries in North America, Central America, South America, Indonesia, Africa, the Middle East and the Caribbean.

With training under her belt, Weech had a variety of resources to offer, and she had a groundwork of local supporters.  It was time to head out.  But to her own surprise, Africa was not her first destination.  Instead, in 2008, she went to Guatemala.

“It seems like this whole journey has been guided by something beyond me and it works best when I just surrender,” she explains.  She ended up in Guatemala because she saw a photograph of a lake on the internet and somehow knew she needed to go there.  When she stepped onto the plane to Guatemala City she knew she was stepping out into the unknown.

“I had no idea how dangerous it could be to land in Guatemala City at night,” she says.  “Luckily for me, a Maya elder sat beside me on the plane.  It was quite incredible.  Outside the plane the sky was pitch black and she started to ask me questions:  Is anyone meeting you at the airport?  Do you speak Spanish?  Do you know what you’ll be doing in Guatemala?

“I said no but that I was looking for some kind of sign to guide me.  She said well, look out the window.  There was a huge lightening storm out there.  Beyond worrying about our safety—here we were in this piece of metal flying through an electrical storm—I was in awe at the beauty, majesty and power of nature.  I’d never been inside a lightning storm before.  She said that in her culture thunderstorms were considered a very good sign.

“It turned out that this woman teaches Maya cosmology and peace studies all over the world, and she has a centre in the highlands which she invited me to!”  With this auspicious start, the whole trip unfolded almost magically for Weech.  Within days she was taking part in a five-day fire ceremony on the banks of Lake Atitlan, sacred to the Maya—the very lake she’d seen on the internet back home.

Weech shared art, storytelling and healing practices at schools, an orphanage, and refugee centre, and she met many inspiring people working tirelessly to improve conditions and promote social justice.

She also listened and learned.  When she returned home, she brought a camera full of photos, a profound appreciation of Mayan culture, and some wonderful new ideas and resources for her future work.

And more than anything, she brought home a deepened awareness of the need to connect with and love nature, and of how much we have to learn from Indigenous people.

Weech, now relocated to Denman Island, shared the art she brought, created by Guatemalan children, with local children and began moving forward with an idea that had come out of her trip: an Eco-Peace Kit that could be distributed to educators, caregivers and activists all over the world, providing guidelines and tools to work with children.

The kit, which is near completion, includes a cornucopia of resources.  Various sets of laminated cards provide ideas and structure for storytelling and theatre: there are animal cards with simple drawings of bees, anteaters, elephants, and more; values and virtues cards with words such as kindness, humor, faith, respect and service; and a set that Weech calls “Heroes and She-roes.” These cards each contain a few paragraphs and a photo telling the story of someone who stood up against injustice.  The teaching manual that goes with the kit gives many ideas of how to use these resources.

These and other teaching aids come in a colorful cloth satchel, which is hand woven and sewn by Mayan families in Guatemala, thus providing income for these people.

Masai children help plant a sack garden at an orphanage in Kenya. The gardens, designed to work in their drought climate, accommodate up to 70 plants and help feed an entire family, as well as bring in some income.

Photo by Linda Weech

In 2010 Weech travelled to Africa, visiting Kenya, Burundi and the DRC.  She had a list of places and people she hoped to connect with, but little idea of how to find them.  “There are generally no phone numbers or addresses for these places.  The amazing thing is once you get there the doors just opened, as if I was being led to exactly where I was meant to be,” says Weech.  She doesn’t worry too much about logistics of travel and accommodation but instead trusts that things will show up, which they do.

“There have been a lot of guardian angels guiding me,” she says.  One of these angels is Mama Feza, who works with the Congolese Pygmy refugees in Burundi.

“The Pygmies have been recognized by international specialists as the world’s most marginalized indigenous people in this time.  Thirty three per cent of the Pygmy population of Rwanda was murdered in the genocide but we never hear about it.  They were chased out of the rainforest by rebel groups, after living there sustainably for thousands of years, and they are treated like non-people.  They are hungry, persecuted in school, and excluded from health care.  One Pygmy man was killed for sport while I was visiting.  Locals say that raping a Pygmy will cure your backache.”

And yet they have so much wisdom to offer, she says.  “They are known as one of the world’s most peaceful societies, resolving conflict mainly through humor and group consultation.  They know many of the natural medicines in the rainforest and have a profound love and respect for nature.  They are now living in desperate situations.”

Weech vividly remembers visiting a Pygmy refugee camp in Burundi after the Chief had invited her to lead the children through some art-making activities.  He had told her to expect 150 kids; she prepped for 450 but there were even more.  “They surrounded me so eagerly.  We had to snap all the crayons in three so everyone got one, and they were so excited!”

Weech asked the Pygmies what they most needed, and they answered food and education.  So she worked with them to establish a peace garden with nutritional and medicinal plants and trees, as well as a traditional beekeeping project.

The education component is also coming on-stream as Weech recently found a donor to fund a simple schoolhouse.

Weech also connected with the Masai people, another rich ancient culture facing extreme persecution.  Again, she learned that gardening could provide a key means of support, but it had to be adapted to the severe drought climate.  She responded by helping plant sack gardens at an orphanage and school, something she continues to support by spreading information and sending funds.

A sack garden costs next to nothing and can include up to 70 plants, not just helping feed a family but also bringing in some income.  “This is ideal for communities where there is not enough energy—even if there were enough water—for a full-scale garden.  I’m talking about communities devastated by drought, AIDS and famine, where many households are headed by grandmothers or children.”

Weech has also inspired others to take her ideas and materials on their travels.  Although she is undoubtedly the driving force behind the Children’s International Peace Project, her vision, and the way the project is growing, is very much decentralized.

“There are no passengers here on spaceship earth; we are all crew, to quote Buckminster Fuller,” she says with a laugh.   She feels she receives as much, or more, than she gives.

“These children as so amazing, so tuned into their intuition and spirit in ways that we have often forgotten.  Their strength and resilience is so incredibly inspiring.

“I remember Jorge, a street orphan in a Guatemalan village,” she continues.  “His grandma supports the family by making friendship bracelets.  He’s a growing boy, and he never really gets enough food.  One day I managed to give him a muffin.  I have never seen anyone bite into something with such urgency.  You could see he was ravenous.  We were walking along and there was a tiny toddler in the middle of the path with red hair, a sign of malnutrition.  Jorge’s face lit up and he kneeled down in front of the boy with his hands out and offered half the muffin.  The toddler took it, then Jorge wrapped his arms around him and said with great pride, ‘Linda, this is my cousin.’ What a teaching about generosity, connectedness and compassion!”

Another beautiful and moving moment came at a centre for homeless children in Guatemala.  “One evening, I told the kids there a bit about what was going on in the lives of children in the Congo.  The next morning I got up and went outside and all the orphans were there, singing and dancing for the children of Africa.”

Weech is currently home on her trio of Islands, putting together the final touches on the Eco-Peace Kits, sharing her photos and stories, and staying in touch with her increasingly large network of supporters and partners, open to whatever happens next as things unfold in wondrous ways.

She draws strength from the incredible beauty of the natural world around her and the amazing support of the many people who have contributed to her work.  “I want to express my profound gratitude for the love, encouragement and support from family, friends, students and colleagues,” she says.  “The reason I do this work is to bring realization of our oneness.  It’s all about loving and connecting to nature and honoring the connection between all of us.”

For more information, to get involved, or to book Linda to give an audio-visual presentation about her work, go to www.LindaWeech.com or email lindaweech@mac.com.

For more information about Human rights abuses in the Democratic Republic of Congo:

• www.unicef.org/infobycountry/media_57796.html
• http://www.hrw.org/en/world-report-2011/democratic-republic-congo

For good sources of global humanitarian news:

• www.irinnews.org
• www.trust.org/alertnet/

For information on child soldiers in the DRC:

• www.child-soldier.org/child-soldiers-in-drc

For information about the Congolese Pygmies:

• www.trust.org/alertnet/news/drc-displacement-and-discrimination-150-the-lot-of-the-bambuti-pygmies

For the opportunity to sponsor a child in the DRC:

• www.child-sponsorship.com/

“Research—and common sense—tells us that children need the continuity and security of having ‘roots’ and family traditions,” says Lee Bjarnason of the Comox Valley Child Development Association. In 2006 there were more than10,000 grandparents raising 6,600 grandchildren in BC.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

When Sandra and Frank Spencer* said their wedding vows they knew that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. It was 1978 and the starry-eyed newlyweds had visions of owning a home and raising a family. They fantasized about growing old together, having grandchildren to spoil and the time—and financial resources—to be able to head south for a few weeks in the winter.

For the first 20 years of their marriage everything fell into place according to plan. They bought a home and adopted three beautiful children. Frank had a good job that held promise of a great retirement. All of that changed in the late 1980s when their daughter, the eldest of the three children, started running with a bad crowd and exhibiting behavioral issues beyond their control. By the age of 16, she had run away from home, was addicted to drugs and then became pregnant.

Emotion sweeps across Sandra Spencer’s face as she explains how it felt to get that phone call from the Ministry of Children and Family Development about 15 years ago. Considering that they had lost touch with their daughter for a few months, and were not even aware that she was pregnant, the phone call came as a complete shock.

The caseworker explained the urgency of the situation. When it becomes necessary to remove a child from a living situation where they may be in danger of abuse or neglect they don’t mince words and waste time. Family members can’t sit down to review their budget, figure out sleeping arrangements and then decide if they can take charge of the minor. The immediate protection of the child is a priority.

The Spencers were given two choices: One: Come to the mainland to immediately take custody of their infant grandchild, or two: Allow their first grandchild to enter the foster care system and possibly disappear from their lives forever.

Despite the fact that they had two children under the age of 12 still at home, the Spencers knew in their hearts that they really had no choice but to accept this responsibility. They drove to the mainland and welcomed the newest addition to their family. Sadly, in addition to drug addictions, their daughter had been diagnosed with mental illness. Her addictions and illness rendered her incapable of making good decisions. She would give birth to two more children over the next seven years. Eventually all three children would come to live with Grandma and Grandpa Spencer full-time.

Now in their early 60s, the Spencers find themselves living a scenario that never would have imagined. There is no hope that Frank can retire any time soon. While they are still helping their youngest son through college, they also have three grandchildren under the age of 15 living with them. So, instead of gearing up for retirement, they are shuttling kids to various sports practices and birthday parties. They are getting up at night to comfort and console sick children. To add to the challenge, the children have all been diagnosed with various health problems, such as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Tourette’s Syndrome, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD) and other mental and physical illnesses directly related to their mother’s addictions. It is a routine that leaves them both exhausted at the end of every day. And sadly, over time, it has also left them out of touch with other people their own age.

From the outside looking in, the Spencer’s life may seem extraordinary but it is their reality. What is really alarming is that they are not alone. Grandparents raising grandchildren without support of the parents are part of a social phenomenon that has been described as an ‘underground network of childcare’. Sometimes it is the separation, divorce or death of the parents that result in grandma getting custody of the grandkids. It may be because a single parent is recovering from illness, is off at school or required to work away from home for long periods of time. Sadly, more often than not, it is a result of mental illness and/or substance abuse and addictions that result in child neglect. This is a societal problem that is affecting people from across Canada, from all socio-economic groups, all races and religions.

Statistics Canada reports that in 2006 there were more than 65,000 grandparents raising some 40,000 grandchildren in Canada. Two-thirds of them are single women. In British Columbia alone there were close to 10,000 grandparents raising 6,600 grandkids. Bear in mind that statistics do not include multi-generational families—where one or two grandparents live in the same home as the parents. These are homes where the parent(s) are absent and it is the grandparents who are tucking the kids into bed every night and attending parent/teacher conferences. Nor does it include situations where the grandkids are not legally registered with their grandparents as the legal guardians.

It is interesting to note that if a grandparent, aunt, uncle or other extended family member secures legal custody of a child in this situation they receive very little financial support from the government. Foster families receive much more funding.

About three years ago the impact of this new parenting paradigm shift started to become increasingly apparent to community support workers at the Comox Valley Child Development Association (CVCDA) and the Transition Society. Often, a home visit from a support worker or an appointment at the CVCDA office would be a grandparent’s only regular social contact.

“The grandparents we were working with reported feelings of shame and judgment amongst their friends and neighbors… and they expressed feelings of both mental and physical fatigue,” explains Lee Bjornson, an Infant Development Consultant at the CVCDA. “Very often, unexpectedly accommodating a full-time grandchild— or two—required a major lifestyle change and, in almost every case, was a financial challenge. It is enough to live on a pension without the added expenses of raising a child.”

“Many grandparents also said that they were forced to put off their retirement plans and that they faced social isolation,” adds Heather Ney, executive director of the Transition Society. “Combine that with feeling ‘out of sync’ with current parenting practices and issues, coping with their own health problems plus the health and developmental problems of the grandchild—problems that often stem from the parents’ addictions. We knew that many of these grandparents were sinking into depression and self-doubt and that something had to be done to help them.”

To respond to this growing need, in 2006 the two organizations partnered to create the Grandparents Raising Grandchildren Support Group. Meetings are held every Monday morning from 10:30-11:30 at the Child Development Association, 237 Third Street, Courtenay. There is no fee to attend, free childcare can be arranged if needed, and a referral is not required. About 15 to 20 people attend the meetings facilitated by Lee Bjarnason from the CVCDA and Diana Paige from the Transition Society.

For Sandra Spencer and the other grandparents who attend the support group meetings, this has become a welcome addition to their weekly routines. Having somewhere and someone to share both their unique frustrations and triumphs with has been a blessing.

Some weeks, she explains, the room is filled with laughter as they share funny stories. Other weeks it is filled with empathetic tears when they relay stories of sadness, frustration and disappointment. Someone usually brings cookies or snacks—occasionally a full lunch—to share with others. Sometimes they bring in guest speakers to address a specific topic but, most often, they just take time to talk and to listen in a non-judgmental and supportive environment where everyone feels respected and appreciated.

Sandra explains that one of the biggest emotional struggles shared by members of the support group is that their role as grandparent is dramatically different than ‘normal’. In their unique situations, they have taken on the role of the disciplinarian. The parents— if they are in the picture at all—often flit in and out of the children’s lives. Everyone, she says, talks about how difficult it is to watch how excited the children get when a parent shows up, only to be disappointed when he or she then forgets to call on a birthday or isn’t heard from again for weeks. Usually, it is this kind of excitement—without the subsequent disappointment—that is reserved for Oma and Opa.

Another tough challenge is the on-going fear of what will happen to the children if something happens to them. “This is something we all worry about,” says Spencer. “In our case, my husband and I are still in relatively good health. In the event that we were unable to care for the kids, our eldest son said he would look after them. While we are grateful for his commitment, we hope that we never have to take him up on the offer. Not all grandparents raising grandchildren have someone to rely on. Then, of course, there is always hope that one day your adult child will be in a position to take back the responsibility of raising their own child.”

Spencer lowers her eyes and takes a pause for thought. “It is heart-breaking,” she says quietly. “This is not what I ever imagined being a grandparent would be like.”

Bjornson adds that coping with the challenges of raising grandchildren is often especially difficult for men. They are often not able to attend the Monday morning meetings or doctor/therapist appointments due to work commitments. It would be ideal, she says, if an evening support group could be set up to provide people who are still working full-time with a place to go for support. The barrier, of course, is lack of funding. While the Transition Society is grateful for the current funding provided by the BC Association for Charitable Gaming, they would love to find another source of funding that would allow them to have an evening support group.

Despite the day-to-day challenges, Spencer says that there are many benefits of having grandparents raising grandchildren– beyond the obvious of keeping them out of an overburdened foster care system and the disruption of being placed in multiple care situations. On the up side is the companionship and unconditional love that a child provides to the senior, as well as the satisfaction in knowing that your grandchildren are living safe and happy lives.

“Research—and common sense—tells us that children need the continuity and security of having ‘roots’ and family traditions,” says Bjarnason. “They need to hear stories about and see pictures of their parent(s) and they need to feel safe, loved and cared for. Although they may feel rejected by their parent(s), they do not feel rejected by the entire family and that is really, really important.

“A recent study in the US found that children placed in the care of extended family members [as opposed to the foster system] have as good an outcome in health and behavior as children raised by both biological parents. Studies of aboriginal families found less suicide amongst children taken into care by family members. Grandparents raising grandchildren are giving an incredible gift to both their adult child and the grandchildren and they should not have to feel like they are alone.”

“If I had to, I would do this all over again,” says Spencer. “My grandchildren mean the world to me. I know they love Frank and me very much and that they are grateful that we are providing them with a home.”

For more information on the Comox Valley Grandparents Raising Grandchildren Support Group contact: Lee Bjarnason:

250-338-4288 or lee@cvcda.ca

Diana Paige: 250-897-0511 or cvtc-ed@shaw.ca

Similar support groups have been established across Vancouver Island. There are chapters in Victoria, Duncan, Nanaimo and Port Alberni. A new group is being started in Parksville. For more information on these groups call toll free: 1-877-345-9777 or check www.parentsupportbc.ca

*Note: Names and some details of the family featured in this story have been changed to protect their privacy.

“I make the Bees’ Nest kind of a metaphor for recovery,” says Lise Carignan, who with partner Rod Braun, aims to help their residents get back on their feet. “Change is never easy.”

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

Rather than fostering a helpless and possibly ‘wounded’ child, Lise Carignan took on a small group of metaphorically wounded adult men and gave them that haven. A haven that has, in its two-and-a-half years of existence, become a kind of metaphor for ‘safe’ recovery for a number of men. Welcome to the Bees’ Nest.

What Carignan—who is frank and honest about the fact she is a recovering alcohol abuser with a number of years of good sobriety—realized as a virtual inspiration one day during a time of quiet meditation was that if people were given the opportunity to occupy a safe, sane and sober dwelling during that perilous period of early recovery, then they might stand a much better chance of returning to the realm of productive and sane citizenry.

What she appreciated was that people coming out of a recovery facility often have no safe place to go. While the clients may have had 28-days (or more) of structured security while they travel through their first stage of recovery, there is a huge paucity of safe and inexpensive housing for these people as they move into their second stage of recovery. The lack of affordable housing in the Comox Valley (and other communities) is a grievous social ill and is yet to be solved.

Carignan, however, had a house that she was either going to move into (possibly with that foster child), or that she might rent out, or that she could use to fill that safe housing gap in her own community. Fortunately for many, she chose the latter and she, her residents and the community gained as a result of that decision.

“I offered up a prayer in which I actually asked what I should do with the house,” she says. “The foster child idea that I seriously considered was something that would enable me to help teen girls, and to maybe act as a mentor for the girls. When I think of my own teen years and how difficult they were, I know my life might have turned out differently if I’d had a strong female mentor.”

But, the idea of being a single foster parent, she came to realize, was too daunting a prospect for somebody who was working full time at a stressful job. So, from that she moved on to the idea of helping people through second stage recovery.

“I was growing in experience in my own recovery,” she says, “and I felt a sense of obligation to the community. This was especially true after the homelessness study was published and I realized how dire the problem actually was. So, here I was, sitting on a house and trying to figure out what to do with it. The answer became an obvious one.”

Carignan also candidly admits that in choosing the road that she did, it hasn’t been an ‘easy’ bit of traveling.

“But, I make the Bees’ Nest kind of a metaphor for recovery,” she says. “Change is never easy, and if they think they can come out of CVRC (Comox Valley Recovery Centre), say, and then will move into a nice and simple life, they would be wrong.”

Carignan says her goal with the Bees’ Nest is to aid the residents in getting steady on their feet.

“Stage one recovery, in a facility, is baby steps,” she says. “This isn’t to demean it, because those baby steps are vital to the process, it’s just to suggest that a person at that stage has just begun, and if he doesn’t want to do the hard stuff—and there is a lot of hard stuff—then he is going to fail. It takes guts and perseverance. But, if the person is physically in a safe place, it can make a world of difference.”

Carignan is candid about the fact she entered the Bees’ Nest venture quite oblivious to the trials and tribulations that were going to manifest. And manifest they did, with a vengeance, it seemed at the time. The first big test stemmed from something as prosaic as lousy weather and a bad drainage system in the less-than-new Courtenay house that had only recently become the Bees’ Nest.

So, the drains backed up and it was a hideous mess that ruined the flooring in the ground floor area where the residential rooms were located. She was heartsick at the mess and wondered if she’d made a grievous mistake with the venture. She was in debt and knew she had taken on an onerous, possibly even impossible, task. And those were just the physical realities of the venture and had nothing to do with the residents per se.

Just who are these ‘strangers’ she was letting take up residence on her personal property? They are males aged 19 or older who have either successfully completed chemical dependency treatment within the previous 30 days, or who have 60-plus successive days clean and sober. They must have a recovery plan in place and they must be doing all that is needed to maintain their newfound sobriety, such as attending 12-Step meetings and are totally abstinent from any and all drugs and alcohol. About this last point Carignan is adamant and unwavering.

“It’s one strike and you’re out,” she says. “You use, you lose.”

It has to be that way, she says, both for their stage two recovery, and also because any hint of use is distressing to other residents. Furthermore the residents, if they are not advancing their education, must be actively seeking employment. Added to which they must be able to participate in house activities and are responsible for their part of the rent each month.

Carignan says she thought long and hard about many aspects of bringing the Bees’ Nest into being. While she had the house, there was still to be huge costs involved with needed renovations to render it a suitable dwelling for multiple tenants. She wanted grace and comfort within, and nothing resembling depressing squalor, because too many prospective residents came from such less-than-adequate accommodations.

And then there is the unanticipated, such as the flooding and the expenses that dumped in her lap. Finally she was (at that point) going it alone and that led her to feeling a keen sense of isolation at different times. Those were the times when she wanted to just pack it in, but her resolve, her faith and her own recovery kept that from happening and she soldiered on despite adversity.

“When I started the Bees’ Nest it was similar to my experience in recovery in that I initially wanted to be invisible,” she says. “I shortly learned that would be impossible. In setting up I realized I now had a certain obligation to the community, but at the same time I couldn’t ‘not’ make mistakes. They would happen and I would have to deal with them. At least I was willing to learn.”

Carignan readily admits that it hasn’t always gone smoothly, but she suffered no delusions that it would. She knows what the recovery process, with all its pitfalls, is like.

“You bring in some people and within a couple of weeks you wish you hadn’t,” she says. “These are the ones for whom when it gets hard—and it will get hard, that’s a guarantee, especially at the beginning—they go back out. It’s frustrating and sometimes I feel like a parent who has, she thinks, created a perfect environment, so why would anybody want to reject that? But, that’s the way it works and I know that.”

And it is a pleasing environment with five comfortable and clean rooms, a good kitchen, a nice living-room lounge and meeting area replete with big screen TV, stereo and virtually anything most people would want.

To Carignan’s delight her rather solitary and frustrating quest to make this thing work to the advantage of everybody, changed much for the better. A man with whom she’d long been acquainted came into her life, not only as a partner in operating the Bees’ Nest, but also as a life partner. She couldn’t be happier about that, at many levels.

“I couldn’t be happier at the role Rod (Braun) has played in this for the last year,” she says. “Now that there is a couple running the house it gives it more credibility. Now, every Sunday evening we all, Rod and I and the residents as well, meet for Sunday dinner and to discuss what is going on in the house. We talk things out and it has made a huge difference to the operation.”

While Carignan has huge praises for Braun, she also has no small praise for her facility being in the same community as CVRC, the residential 28-day facility on Menzies Avenue in Courtenay that has long been a feature of the Comox Valley and is deserving of accolades in its own right.

With Carignan’s strict criteria for admittance to the Bees’ Nest, Comox Valley Recovery Centre’s clients are made-to-order and she says the facility has cooperated with her wants and needs in a mutually beneficial way. “I’d be dead without them,” Carignan says of CVRC. “They feel fully confident in sending people my way because they know that I follow the fundamental CVRC rule of one strike and you’re out. That’s the way it is there, and that’s the way it is with the Bees’ Nest. I must adhere to that, both because I believe it’s realistic, but also because it is essential for CVRC to trust me.”

In respect to a program that some might see as too rigid, Carignan defends the stringent standards of the Bees’ Nest. “It’s not as much about control as it is about the comfort and safety of the other residents,” she says. “If somebody is using and lying about it, it upsets the tone of the place and the other residents are often stricter than I am about this. And why not? This is their home for however long they want to make it their home. A breakdown in morale impacts everybody and then the place starts to lose credibility.”

Why Bees’ Nest? In one respect that is due to a personal bit of philosophy Carignan has adhered to for a number of years, and she figured that the metaphor worked at a few levels, so she went with it.

“The bee has long been my symbol,” she says. “It’s based on the idea that I went for a long time being a human ‘do-ing’ rather than a human ‘be-ing’. So the bee represented a transformation within me. At the same time, with the Bees’ Nest I am definitely not the Queen Bee, nor are the residents my drones.”

How long can residents stay at the facility? Carignan says that when she established the Bees’ Nest she set a cap of a year, working from the assumption that by the time a year was completed in complete sobriety and with a good recovery program, clients should be in a position to move on and let somebody new utilize the space.

Today the duration of residency depends on the circumstances. She still holds to a year if the client has secured a job.

“If you’re working, then it’s time to move on,” she says. “However, if you are upgrading your education in order to improve your employment opportunities, then you can stay longer than a year. I have one resident who has been there for two years. He’s actually a huge asset. He’s at NIC and he also has such good recovery that he can act as a mentor for new residents.”

She reiterates the fact that strict adherence to the zero tolerance of the house is the one thing that can keep the whole thing going.

“For the residents there must always be that element of trust,” she says. “It also means that former belief systems must be set aside as residents enter that new world of sobriety. In the ‘using’ world you would never rat somebody out. In the recovery world you must, or all will fall. It’s as simple as that.”

Carignan says she hates expelling a resident, but she is realistic about it. While she feels for their pain, she also is piqued by the fact that she loses the money they would have been paying to stay. After all, it is a business.

“I lose money a lot,” she says. “They relapse and I don’t get their rent. But, if they straighten out and get sober again they can return after 60 days. So they always retain the option of coming back.”

As far as money is concerned, the Bees’ Nest has been a huge investment on her part and she can only express delight in how generous the Comox Valley community has been in helping her keep the place going. The testimonial list she would like to create would be huge, she says. But, as it stands she is overwhelmed by how the community has banded together to play a part in helping to solve two serious problems—addiction and the lack of safe housing—in the Comox Valley.

In that, she cites the case of one group of businessmen who made an anonymous donation of $1,000 for the facility.

Over the two-and-a-half years of the Bees Nest help of many kinds has also been received from (in no particular order): Pilon Tool Rental, Home Depot, ReStore, the Salvation Army, Torry & Sons, AHERO, Wachiay Friendship Centre, Alano Club, Shamrock Veterinary Clinic, Comox Valley Recovery Centre, Bob (The Builder) Dehaas, Mike Claire, Tracy Forbes, Corix Water Products, Lee Gingrich and SD 71 students, Second Chance Recovery Centre, Ronni Lister (Remax), Grasshopper Graphics, Andrew Sheret Ltd., Bartle & Gibson Co., Complete Auto Care, Highland Precast, residents of the Bees’ Nest, the Comox Valley Homelessness Commission, Rod Braun, Ian Lidster, Gary and Stan Pawlak, and numerous volunteers and anonymous donors. “The Bees’ Nest wouldn’t have continued to exist without the help of all those mentioned,” Carignan says.

For more information on the Bees’ Nest project contact Lise Carignan at 250.218.1602; liselight@shaw.ca

“People haven’t heard the last of me—the best is yet to come,” says Sue Medley, at home in Comox.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

Known for her rich, soaring voice, accomplished guitar playing and natural gift of song-writing, Medley resists tidy classification in a single musical category.  Although she’s sometimes been called a country singer, she sees herself in a broader light.

“Instead of defining what I do by a name of a genre, I’d rather say something like… well, let’s say if you take a bit of Melissa Etheridge, a touch of Sheryl Crow and throw in a handful of Bonnie Raitt, you’d get me,” she says, laughing.

“Just put it all in a blender, mix it up, pour it out and shoot it back!” she adds, sounding like the lyric-writer she is.

In classic rock’n’roll style, Medley’s journey has had its up and downs.  The peak, she says, was singing alongside John Mellencamp at the Bob Dylan tribute in New York in the early 1990s.  “To be up there on stage at Madison Square Gardens and look out and see that crowd—that was hands down the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever had!”

The lowest point came about 10 years ago in Los Angeles.  She’d moved there in 1998, after signing on with a new manager who was based there.   Things started out promisingly; Medley released an independent CD, her third, called Velvet Morning, and shot a video, but without the promotional power of a major record company (in a time before Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube), it had met only a modest response.  The 15-year long whirlwind of touring, recording, and performing had lost its momentum, leaving her somewhere she’d never been—among the crowded ranks of underemployed musicians.

“For the first time ever, there were no venues, no record deals, no tours, no money,” she says.

Medley says she went through “quite a few” dark nights of the soul during this period—but she doesn’t regret a thing.  The tough times pushed her inexorably toward transformation, and she emerged from the dark with a new way to use her talent, and a realization that it was time to go home.

“I did a lot of soul searching and reassessing of what was important to me, and realized that what I wanted most was family and community.

“I’d been based in the States 19 years—in Nashville, in Bloomington, Illinois, and in LA.  But my family was here—my parents and both my sisters.  After those many years, I’m now living within walking distance of all of them,” says Medley.

“And Courtenay is such a great community.  People are so supportive of my music.  I’m connected to old friends, and making new ones, and I’m just loving where I live.”

Sitting across from me on an overstuffed couch, leaning back on a pile of comfy pillows, she gestures toward the big picture-frame window that opens onto a stunning ocean view.   “Look.  This is a far cry from my little apartment in LA.  Can it get better than this?”

I get her point.  Although Medley says her move was tough, she seems to have landed on her feet—in paradise tucked away in Comox.  Just a few hundred metres off Comox Avenue, just past the Filberg Park, is a secret driveway that winds down toward the ocean.  At the end there is a property that feels distinctly rural with sun-dappled meadows, aged fruit trees, grazing fawns, and a handful of charming little seaside cottages.  Known as the old Stubbs farm, this acreage has recently been bought by the Town of Comox to be preserved and eventually made into a park.

One of these cottages is Medley’s home base, where she has not only been connecting to her roots but also spreading her branches—in particular, launching her teaching business, Kids Rock.

During her tough times in Los Angeles, Medley’s passion for music stayed as strong as ever, even as the performance opportunities and record deals were dwindling.  Luckily she was able to find a new outlet.

“Just when I was at the point where I was asking myself, ‘Now what am I going to do?’ a friend suggested teaching.  At first I thought, ‘Who, me?’ but I got one student by word of mouth, then two, then more and more, all by word of mouth, until pretty quickly I had 17 kids,” she says.

“It was an interesting clientele—these were the sons of the rich and famous.  I’d be going to these big estates, being let in past the big gates… I even taught Glenn Frey’s son.  But I quickly came to realize that kids are kids regardless of whether they live in mansions or cabins.”

Sue Medley.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

Rather unexpectedly, Medley found she loved teaching.  She enjoys the relationships she forms with the kids and loves helping them to grow both musically and personally.  “I especially enjoy it when I see the growth in their confidence level, especially with the singing.  What I teach is not just technical.  It’s how to connect the voice to the brain; it’s how to put feel and emotion into it.  It can be tricky getting them to get their real voice out.  But it happens!  At first there’s this wispy, shy little voice, and then all of sudden it emerges—their real voice.  When I can help them find that, it’s incredibly rewarding.”

Teaching music allows Medley to make full use of her career skills and experience.  “My only training as a teacher is my experience—and I have plenty of that,” says Medley.  “For instance, I can offer these kids my years spent on stage.  This isn’t something you can learn at university.  I can teach them how to develop stage presence, microphone technique, how to place your body on stage whether you’re in a coffee shop or a big stadium.”

Because Medley knows just how exciting performance is, she makes sure her students experience the challenge and thrill of playing live on stage as part of a band.

“I organize recitals, with me on guitar and a professional bass player, so the kids get first-hand experience, and the parents get to see how much their kids have learned.

“It’s a blast.  At the end we bring everyone up—imagine 17 kids aged eight to 16, all with their electric guitars plugged in playing a rock classic, something like Bachman Turner Overdrive’s Taking Care of Business.

“It’s a fantastic evening for everyone—myself, the parents, and the kids most of all.”

Medley has no problem relating to the kids—after all, she herself started out as a music-crazy pre-teen.  “Music was always my calling,” she says.

She started out with a drum kit at age 11.  In Grade 7, while attending Courtenay Junior School, she took up guitar.  When she was 16, she joined the Comox band Punch.  “That was a great way to start out, because the other band members were 10 years older and really great musicians—they still are; they still live here.  It was a really great catalyst for me,” says Medley.

“Once I graduated from high school, there was no question for me of what to do next.  It was full tilt music.  I played in a few different versions of Punch around the Island, then moved to Vancouver and ended up singing in a top-40 cover band, Renegade.

“That was definitely a harsh dose of reality.  I learned exactly what it was like to be the ‘chick singer’ in the band, dealing with some of those guys… one in particular”  She rolls her eyes and grins with remembered exasperation… “I put up with a lot of crap, boy oh boy!”

Following that she did a 180 degree turn and played with a jazz quartet for a while.  “And after that I joined a Vancouver band doing a country-style thing, but really rockin’ it up.  It was the early days of KD Lang.  It was a fun time to play around with country.”

It was in that period that Medley started writing her own songs.  “It happened pretty simply.  One day I just thought to myself, ‘I’m tired of singing other people’s stuff.’ So I sat down with my guitar and started writing,” she says.

In 1989, Medley released an independent country single called Cryin’ Over You.  “That was way long ago,” she says now with a laugh.  “Back then you sat down with a stack of your 45s, put ‘em in envelopes, stuck some stamps on and mailed then out to the radio stations.  We actually got quite a lot of airplay that way.”

The single garnered her five West Coast Music Awards, including best vocalist of the year and best country vocalist of the year.  It was followed by Angel Tonight a couple years later.  By then she had made an appearance at the Big Valley Jamboree in Saskatchewan and on television on the Tommy Hunter Show.

She describes 1989 as the year she was “discovered.  I was playing live at the Commodore at the West Coast Music Awards.   Afterwards, an A&R guy from Polygram Records came up and gave me his card, and the rest was history, as they say.”

This “history” comprised a busy and varied musical career.  There was a self-titled debut CD in 1990, co-produced by Medley and John Mellencamp producer Michael Wanchic, which yielded two successful singles, the number one hit Maybe the Next Time and Dangerous Times, and was followed by a North American tour, including dates with Bob Dylan.

She also became national spokesperson for Ride For Sight, a charity to raise funds for the blind, and co-wrote the charity’s theme song, Born To Ride, along with Bryan Adams writer Jim Valance.

As well as purely commercial tours, Medley also toured for the military in Bosnia and Israel.  “Someone invited me, and I thought, ‘yeah’.  Wow—it was life changing.  You go to places like that and it puts things in perspective and makes you really appreciate what we have here.”

Medley’s second CD, Inside Out, was released in 1992 and was followed by a support tour with the likes of Tom Cochrane and 54.40.  The single When The Stars Fall became a hit on album radio and reached #2 on music industry magazine The Record’s chart (being locked out of #1 only by U2).

And on it went—more tours, another single, a video, placing songs on the TV show Dawson’s Creek, more awards, including several SOCAN (the Society of Composers, Authors and Music Publishers of Canada) awards and Junos for Most Promising Vocalist and Album Art, playing at Farm Aid in Louisville, Kentucky, on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno backing up John Mellencamp, and at the Junos.

She lived in Nashville, then Bloomington, Indiana.  The move to LA happened in part because of a relationship that broke up.  “It was one of those things… he was a musician,” she says, with a rueful, memory laden laugh, adding, this time with a more cheerful laugh, that breakups provide the best songwriting material.

In that case, it was the catalyst to change locations.  “I did a tour of Australia and then returned to Vancouver to do a telethon.  I met someone there who offered to manage me.  I moved to LA because she was there.”

But a couple of years later, the wonderful ride had slowed right down.  “It was scary and downright depressing,” she says.  “Music was all I’d done since I was 15.   Imagine what it’s like when everything you’ve known and done you can’t do anymore.

“There were some very tough times.  Looking back, I can feel grateful, because it was all part of getting me back home, it was growth, but at the time it didn’t feel good.”

Difficult though this period was Medley knew she had a deep well of inner strength to connect to. “I’m a survivor; I’ve overcome a lot of obstacles.  There’s something in me that doesn’t give up.  No matter how hard it is, no matter how painful life gets, I don’t give up.  Because I know that somehow it’s going to be okay in the end,” she says.

The “okay” part of this time began when she started teaching, and culminated with her return to her roots.  Going through this challenging transition has also deepened her playing, singing and song writing, she says.

“When I play and sing now, I’m doing it from a deeper place.  You know that place, way, way deep? I feel I’ve got a direct line to it now.  Before, there was so much pressure.  I needed to sell out the show; I needed to write a certain quota of songs… now when I play, sing or write, I’m doing it because I love it.”

While the decision to move home was liberating, the move itself was challenging.  “The details of it were overwhelming.  And I’d been in the States for 19 years.  It was huge!”

And once she got home, she faced a big shock: for the first time in her life (she’s in her mid-40s) she had to get a day job.

“I’d sure worked hard before, but I’d never had a job.  A job interview?  A resume?  I’d never done any of that.  Never sat behind a desk, or stood behind a counter… no, never done anything like that in my life, ever,” she says.  “But you do what you’ve gotta do, and there’s no shame in that.”

Medley worked in catering for a while and then as administrative assistant at the Filberg Lodge.  “Those were such learning curves,” she says.

Lately, Medley has felt settled enough to put more energy into Kids Rock.  She’s already got a handful of students and recently put up a website.  She finds that in the Comox Valley, as in LA, word of mouth is a powerful marketing tool, and looks forward to a growing roster of students.

“I taught for eight years in LA and it became really clear that this is what I am supposed to be doing now,” she says.  “It was a real transformation.”

However, although Medley did become something new—a music teacher—she never stopped being what she always was—a musician.  Last December she did a three-week cross-Canada Tour, her first in a long time, as part of show called Canadian Country Christmas.  This July she attended and performed at the Vancouver Island Music Conference and then sang a few songs on the big stage at MusicFest.

She’s been writing new music and has plans to release a new CD sometime this year.  She won’t say much about the new material except that it will be more acoustic than most of her previous work, and that the songs reflect the transformation she’s been through.  And that some of what might be the strongest work on it reflects a recent break-up.

“Once I have a new CD I’ll get out there and perform more,” she says.  ”People haven’t heard the last of me—the best is yet to come!”

Her new work also reflects her joy at being home.  Soon after returning she wrote a song called My Town about the Comox Valley.  The video, accessible on YouTube, produced by local company Blue Bamboo, shows beautiful image after beautiful image of the area—eagles soaring over the tree tops, the moon rising over the mountains, the sun setting behind the ocean, children dancing at a festival, snowboarders on the mountain and more.

The song and video speak eloquently: clearly, Sue Medley has come home, and is thrilled about it.

For more information about Sue Medley and the Kids Rock program, go to www.suemedley.ca.

Junior racers Amanda Wakeling and Jordan Duncan get in some practice time on the streets of the Comox Valley.

Photo by Boomer Jerritt

While out and about on the roads and trails around the Comox Valley, you might want to take special note of some of the two-wheeled blurs that flash past—there just might be some champions in that pack of cyclists.

And some of those blurs may very well be members of the Comox Valley Cycle Club (CVCC).  “The Comox Valley Cycle Club is excited to be able to offer programs and support to the cyclists of the Comox Valley,” says CVCC Time Trials Coordinator Andrew Brown, “but we are especially excited about a few of our junior members who are already showing amazing promise.”

“Although Amanda Wakeling, Jordan Duncan and Nigel Ellsay have only been racing for a year, all are regularly competing at the provincial level and winning.  Amanda and Jordan are both are currently the Provincial Time Trial Champions in their age group.”

The Comox Valley Cycle Club is active in road racing and recreation, holding regular group rides, time trials, and an annual series of road races.  Road races are for riders of all ages—the current membership ranges from 10 to 70.  Formal time trials are conducted weekly.  The club also hosts the BC Masters Cycling Association, regional play-downs for the BC Seniors Games, and special events for province-wide junior racers.

Former and current club members include provincial, national and world champions, regular competitors on the international circuit, and Olympians.

The club has been involved formally in competitive cycling since 1986.  “The CVCC has a long history of supporting cycling and bike racing in the Comox Valley,” says Brown.  “Olympians and former National Champions Kiara Bisaro and Geoff Kabush are both past members.”

One of the long standing senior members of the Club, John Bernard, describes the success of the junior training program.  “A couple of years ago John van der Vliet started organizing a training program for juniors—mainly because his son wanted to learn how to race, and his son had some friends who wanted to learn to race.  Amanda Wakeling,  Jordan Duncan and Nigel Ellsay are involved in that—all are about the same age. Altogether there are about six junior riders.”

While the young cyclists are relatively modest about their achievements to date, Bernard says, “John took them to some provincial level races last year, specifically the time trials, and they walked all over everybody else!  They were really impressive.”

Junior members have always been a focus of CVCC, says Bernard, depending on who is organizing the riders, and last year was a particularly good year.  “We did have talent, but not just that—the talent that started it out encouraged other talent to come along too!  And it built on itself.  It was attracting other people, other kids into it.

“We have about 50 members,” adds Bernard, who is also in charge of membership for the CVCC.  “At one point we had more—when we were involved in mountain biking as well, which was a success at that time mainly because we had the parents involved and the grade schools involved.  But when the kids grow older and drop out, the parents drop out, and without the parents it’s extremely difficult to keep going.  Our club is not strictly involved in mountain biking any more—it has started up again under a different organization in Cumberland—though a lot of our riders do mountain biking.”

The CVCC, he says, is basically a road racing club.  “This year we’re doing four race weekends locally—three of those are one-day events, and one is a two-day event with three races in it. The first one is mid-May, then one a month after that ending up in August.”

Bernard considers himself a recreational cyclist.  “I don’t race!” he says, “I can’t keep up with them! Their speed averages in the low 30s I think, for 1-1/2 to 2 hrs.  Right now they are doing a group ride Sundays, and eventually probably three or four organized group rides every week, depending on how keen people are.  They don’t care what the weather is like—they’ll even go out in snow!  Those are basically training rides.”

Most racing in the Valley is on Sunday mornings when the roads are fairly quiet.  “Routes are chosen partly because the traffic is light.  We try to be as careful as we can about the way people race.”

They also offer a “good time trial series,” once a week starting in August. “We have a course that starts at Piercy and Condensory, goes up to the highway, up the highway to Dove Creek Road and back,” says Bernard.  “They do that once or twice around—that’s very popular.”  Bernard notes that some improvements such as road shoulders or smoother pavement would be welcomed by the cycling community.

That community includes the junior members and their families.  “I’ve always liked to ride a bike,” says 15-year-old Jordan Duncan, whose father Kent is vice president of the CVCC.  “But when I first met John van der Vliet, he really got me into cycling as more of a sport rather than just something fun to do.  I was in Grade 6 at the time, about four years ago.  John is the dad of one of my best friends from elementary school, Jake. Jake introduced me to his dad, who grew up here, moved to Australia and turned pro, then raced in Holland, moved back to Australia, married there and then moved back here to the Valley.”

Amanda Wakeling, also 15, got into cycling as a kid to keep up with her brother.  “We ride to school pretty much every morning with my dad,” she says.  “Then a few years ago I got a cyclo-cross bike from Jeff at Trail Bikes, and that just started me road cycling, which got me into the club meeting different people, and got me into racing more.”

Adds Duncan:  “She’s the mountain biker and I’m the road cyclist.”

“But we both do cyclo-cross,” says Wakeling.  “We do all three.”

Cyclo-cross, as a diversion from their other competitive racing, includes all trail surfaces such as pavement, wooded trails, and grass—but notably features steep hills and obstacles, requiring the rider to quickly dismount and carry the bike while navigating the obstruction, then quickly remount.

“Cyclo-cross is kind of crazy,” says Wakeling with a big grin.  “It’s kind of in-between mountain biking—you get up and run over barriers, run up stairs, crazy stuff!”

The bikes, adds Duncan, are similar to road bikes but with wider and more knobby tires for off-road riding.  “You can do it anywhere, that’s the coolest thing about it,” says Wakeling.  “It’s competitive—fast races, like a half hour or 45 minutes.”

Cyclo-cross is what they do when not competing from September to November.  “It’s kind of an off-season, fun thing to do,” says Duncan.  “Keep the fitness level up, but don’t get disappointed if you don’t do well.”

The place in question is—at this point at least—a metaphorical brothel and two locally-connected women ended up having, quite by accident, a connection with that place of business. No—not in a bad way, but in fact in a highly positive way.

One of those women was raised and educated in this community, and the other spent many of her formative professional years honing her craft here.
The first is well-known and equally well-regarded Victoria journalist and community activist, Jody Paterson. The other side of the duo is an astute and talented film director who was once the youngest program manager at Comox Valley Cablenet. She is April Butler-Parry.

The Brothel Project director April Butler-Parry got her start in film-making at Comox Valley Cablenet.

Photo by Photo by Walt Nicholson

Paterson and Butler-Parry are connected via The Brothel Project. This 52-minute film was a feature in the Victoria Film Festival in late January, and is to be shown on Global Television, likely in March. This is where the pairing of Paterson and Butler-Parry takes place, for Paterson is a featured player in the film, which concerns the quest of Paterson and her cohort, Lauren Casey, to establish Canada’s first legal brothel in the sometimes staid BC capital. More about the film and the quest and its reasons later in the story.

Jody Paterson, though born in Saskatchewan, grew up in the Comox Valley and went right through school locally, first at Courtenay elementary, and then Lake Trail. She graduated from GP Vanier in 1974.

“The Comox Valley was a great place to grow up in and I still feel thoroughly connected,” she says. “I even married a Cumberland boy. I still come back because I have kids and grandkids who live here.”

Then, in 1981, she left the community. She had an ambition that she vitally wanted to realize, and that was to be a journalist. She said she’d had a dream of being a journalist when she was a child, and that impulse had never left her.

“It’s quite funny in retrospect, but I was once asked in a questionnaire in high school what my ambition was, and I said I wanted to be a housewife,” she says. And she was that for a few years. She was also a piano teacher for eight years, but the thirst to do more hadn’t left and she knew she had little choice but to act on her childhood dream.

She went to Kamloops to take the journalism program at Cariboo College, and then she stayed on in that interior city for eight more years, plying her newfound trade at the Kamloops Sentinel and Daily News.

Then, wanting a larger paper in a larger community, where she felt her writing would gain more notice, she returned to the coast in 1989 and took a reporting job at the Victoria Times-Colonist. That she did well at that paper would be to state the case mildly. She covered virtually every beat in her early years there and ultimately became managing editor. Starting in 1996 she became a noted columnist, and continues in that realm to this day. But, in 2004 she left her full-time job with the TC and became the executive director of the Prostitute Empowerment Education and Resource Society (PEERS). Therein lies her direct connection to the Brothel Project.

Meanwhile, back in Kamloops there was a young woman who also had journalistic aspirations. That was April Butler-Parry. In one of those little twists of connectedness, or serendipity, if you will, Paterson, near the end of her Kamloops sojourn, was, as an alumna, a guest speaker at Butler-Parry’s journalism class at Cariboo College.

Butler-Parry began a career in community television programming at Kamloops Cablenet. After a brief stay there she moved to the Comox Valley in 1989 where, at age 21, she became the youngest programming manager for Comox Valley Cablenet. She continued with community programming for a number of years in the early 1990s and it was in doing so that she learned many of the skills that were to serve her later in her career, and also enabled her to direct a complex project like the Brothel story.

“I really enjoyed my life in the Valley,” she says, “and Cablenet was a good place to work. I had a home in the Valley and my children were born there. It was good. At the same time I found myself growing increasingly fascinated with the idea of creating documentary films.” More than anything else, Butler-Parry’s experience with Valley Cablenet was a significant learning experience and it granted her skills that still serve her today.

“Cablenet was so volunteer-driven, and that gave me some strong ideas about what people wanted and needed in terms of programming,” she says. “At the same time I pushed volunteers to get involved in directing, and by the time I left we had some excellent volunteer directors. Of course the process sometimes demanded a ton of patience, but it paid off in the end, both for community programming and for my skills as a professional director. For me my job demanded that I be actively involved in the community and it pushed me to up my game. I came to realize in short order that adequate wasn’t good enough.”

It wasn’t all peaches-and-cream in her early days, Butler-Parry confesses. She remembers how late Comox District Free Press columnist and community historian, Isabelle Stubbs wrote a scathing review of her skills behind and in front of the camera shortly after she started in the Valley.

“In those days I wasn’t just behind the camera, but was also in front of it,” she says. “I wasn’t very good in front, let’s say, and that’s what she picked up on. She said I needed to look up more and elocute clearly. It was mainly about my professional poise, which she saw as lacking.”

Not to be deterred by the ‘review’, Butler-Parry took the criticism in the spirit in which it was intended and improved those areas of her bearing.
“I contacted her and we met for coffee,” she says. “She told me I had improved, so that pleased me.”

It was quite by accident that during those years she had the opportunity to create her first documentary. It was a 20-minute documentary that concerned an oil spill that had manifested on the Island’s West Coast, near Ucluelet. She was alerted to the spill by pioneer Valley environmental activist, Ruth Masters. “Doing that resulted in an interesting shift in my thinking,” she says. “I got so much out of it that I realized my goal was to do a real documentary for a larger broadcast TV station. To get what I needed I knew I had to move on. I was reluctant in the sense that I liked my life in the Valley, but I had to go to where there was more opportunity.”

That said, she was to create what she considers her first “real” documentary, and it was one that maintained a Comox Valley theme. That was the Swan Documentary of 1996, which explored the huge proliferation of Trumpeter swans that wintered in the Comox Valley. The documentary ran in conjunction with the then Swan Festival.

The swan documentary was self-financed but she says it was worth the expense because it was a good and “gentle” introduction to the process of making a documentary.

“It was a great learning experience and was very demanding,” she says. “It involved being up at first light when I could access the swans. Now, with the Brothel Project, because it involves sex workers, I have to be available at the other end of the day.”

If the Swan Documentary was the kick-off for Butler-Parry, it has only grown from there. She worked for all the TV networks operating out of Victoria and was also director for VI television news and helped launch that station in 2001. Ultimately she reached the point where she realized she wouldn’t complete her dream unless she left the security-blanket of TV and moved exclusively to directing documentary films. The Brothel Project is the culmination of those efforts to date.

The Force Four production, directed by Butler-Parry and produced by Gillian Hrankowski, is a documentary that vividly captures the quest of Paterson and Casey, and shows dramatically the pitfalls along the way in a thus far vain attempt to change the law of the land regarding love for sale.

“While my connection with The Brothel Project didn’t happen entirely by accident in the sense that Jody let it be known that she and Lauren wanted to make this film, I was just a person who bid on it,” she says. “Fortunately mine was the bid they accepted. Ultimately it proved to be great subject matter, and they were also great people to work with.”

On Paterson’s side of the equation the idea of contracting a documentary seemed like a natural at a certain point in the quest she and Casey had embarked on.
“Lauren and I were considering ways to raise money to help the street sex workers,” Paterson says. “The work we were doing in advocacy was attracting media attention, and that’s a good thing. But the big issue for PEERS is that it’s a non-profit, and like all non-profits, it’s always strapped for cash. Money limitations were keeping us from helping those who desperately needed it.”

Then Casey suggested that she and Paterson should open a brothel, with the irony being that money raised from the escort business could be used to assist those whose lives were pretty wretched. And that was how it all began.

“Lauren said it almost as a joke,” Paterson says, “but there are so many problems for those working in the streets. Most people take jobs out of necessity, and any work can be exploitive, but the streets are more so. It’s a highly dangerous workplace, so I said, ‘What if?’ Maybe we could do that. We could establish a non-profit co-op and have the house fee (the money that goes to the business) funneled back to the outdoor sex workers. We’d be generating revenue and helping the women.”

Two things Paterson and Casey wanted to do were to test the legalities of attempting to establish what would be, by the laws of the land, an illegal business, and secondly to publicize their quest in the hope of getting a sympathetic community ear. So, they decided they must have a documentary to that end.
There were times when Paterson and Casey were caught up in the almost schizoid nature of the project.

“Making the documentary was a pretty rough year for us,” she says. “In a way you feel like you’re actors in somebody else’s story. At the same time, we were suffering no delusions. I had no belief that we’d be able to accomplish anything during that year. I had no thoughts that within a year we’d be able to set up an illegal business.”

So, the question that could be asked of Paterson and Casey would be: Why would you bring in a film crew rather than just going about it quietly.
“It’s designed (The Brothel Project) mainly to promote discussion,” Paterson says. “The Criminal Code has to change to make what we’re trying to do happen. There are bad laws around the sex trade and the current laws harm the people that work in the calling. It’s a thriving industry, yet anytime anyone can be charged, because that’s what’s on the books. So, we wanted to expose some of those legal realities.”

One facet of the year-long process involved those involved with both the project and the film itself, including Paterson, Butler-Parry and Casey going to a country where prostitution has been decriminalized: New Zealand. For the sake of the well-being of those in the trade, this fellow Commonwealth Country decided to move it out of the realm of a criminal activity. The visitors found the results to be commendable for the most part.

“Many things in New Zealand were better for the sex workers,” Paterson says. “For one thing, there was no longer any fear of the police. Under decriminalization, the adult sex trade is considered a workplace and is to be free from harassment. It’s not much of an exaggeration to say New Zealand is a million miles ahead of Canada in its acceptance of a certain reality. Their attitude is that people are buying it, so why are we punishing the people who are selling it?”

In New Zealand there are both brothels and independent escorts. In many cases the women left the brothels and began to work out of their homes, since that was now legal. That was virtually the model Paterson and Casey were seeking in wanting to open their bordello, but that wasn’t etched in stone for them.
“People thought we were trying to promote one particular model, but that wasn’t really the case,” Paterson says. “No blanket statement can be applied to the sex trade.”

In order to understand the business better, about six months into the project Paterson and Casey brought in escort agency booking agent, Harvi, along with escort, Mia. Harvi shared her business acumen—which was astute, Paterson says—and Mia provided the insights stemming from being active in the trade.
Harvi’s perspective was invaluable and she also provided Paterson and Casey with some insights into the reality of the business. She is possessed of an astute business sense, Paterson says, and she was able to indicate the pitfalls they would face. Eventually, however, Harvi would depart from the project when she realized that she was under threat, due to the excessive exposure, of being closed down and losing all she’d gained in her years in the business. She began to question why she was collaborating with the two in their quest.

“I’d love a reason why I need you,” she says of Paterson and Casey in the documentary. She has begun to see it as a case of them needing her more than she needs the Brothel Project team. At the same time, escort Mia begins to question why she needs to be involved in a brothel at all, and tells Harvi she doesn’t want to give a house fee and declares, during a clothes-shopping expedition, that she really likes working as an independent. This leads to Harvi severing the connection between the two.

With support for an indoor brothel seeming to crumble, Paterson also realizes, especially when they were told by both their legal advisor and a spokesman for the Victoria Police Department, that what they were attempting was illegal, and the Criminal Code denies anybody the right to establish what is referred to as “a common bawdy house.”

Escort agencies get around the law quite simply by not suggesting any sexual transaction takes place, and what transpires in an encounter is strictly a contract between the escort and the purchaser of ‘services’, whatever those might be. Escort agencies are governed by local bylaw and they are not established under a roof anywhere.

“I realized that by publicly talking about it we were jeopardizing sex workers and putting escort jobs in jeopardy,” she says. “We were inflaming the issues and that was exactly what we didn’t want. That seems like a pretty lousy win, to me. So, we’ll continue to quietly work with people in the industry, and we’ve come to realize that decriminalization is a bigger conversation. That discussion is just not going anywhere per se. The best bet at some future point would be a constitutional challenge.”

At the same time, Paterson says she wouldn’t have missed spending the time, effort and money to attain what they did—increase public awareness. And on Jan. 31, the showing of The Brothel Project at the Victoria Film Festival gave the ticket-buying public (incidentally, it sold out) a chance to see what it was all about.
“I thought it was a fascinating journey,” Paterson says. “As a journalist I was welcomed into a world that journalists are not normally welcomed into. Now we carry on.”

For Butler-Parry the association with Paterson, Casey, Harvi and Mia has only served to enhance her career as an independent maker of documentaries.
“I hope when people see the documentary they will see it as a group project, and I couldn’t have done it without those individuals being the players,” she says. “They were wonderful.”

In similar context, she is effusive in the praises of producer and scriptwriter Gillian Hrankowski, without whom none of it would have been possible, she says. This was the person, Butler-Parry says, under whose guidance they were able to take 100 hours of footage and reduce it to a powerful 55-minute documentary.
“Gillian was really integral to making a great story,” she says. “And the narration by (actress) Carly Pope couldn’t have been better. We had to have somebody who believed in the project to do the narration, and Carly did.”

The learning experience, she says, was vital to the success of the documentary. There were some basic ground rules to be followed, including making certain they did not show the location of the brothel. In fact, Butler-Parry’s own home does double duty as a stand-in in that regard. Furthermore, she learned as she worked with women in the sex trade that even though they might have had friendly interactions during the filming, it was taboo for her to show any recognition of the escorts if they were to run into each other on the street.

“It was important to the success of the documentary that I didn’t make anybody uncomfortable,” she says. “And it worked out really well. Harvi and Mia were terrific people to work with.”

Meanwhile, she reminds the viewing public that even though they missed the Jan. 31 showing of The Brothel Project, it will be broadcast on Global Television in the spring—likely in March.