—
Barely 18 when I left a winter job working for Saskatchewan Parks,
clearing scrubland for new campgrounds at Good Spirit Lake,
earning $1.65 per hour and a pouch of Players tobacco
was less than a buck and Zig-Zag papers were a nickel,
and coffee time in the Atco trailer was full
of smoke rings and the swelling longing to be elsewhere—
exchange a horizon of frozen grassland for a horizon of ocean
with gulf islands, where the water didn’t freeze,
where swaths of coastal conifers replaced the Palliser’s Triangle,
and 80 acres of barley gave way to a lumber mill
in Port Alberni, where I made $4.75 an hour;
on to Nanaimo where a ferry ride got you to Gastown
and Water Street took you to Stanley Park and the Be-Ins
and an amphitheater surrounded by fir and cedar, where
The Collectors and The Dandy Trippers were playing, finally
falling asleep under the all-night lights of Lions Gate Bridge,
our sleeping bags wet with dew and steaming in the morning sun.
Hitching to Buckley Bay, then Denman to Hornby Island,
watching the holidayers come and go and by the end
of the season we’d built a driftwood shack on Tribune Bay,
that perfect ‘U’ of beach that we felt would become our primary
home, and a short walk to the cove with the naked bathers,
welcoming, inviting—our bodies young and lithe
and quick to learn the paths of the sea,
the tireless waves and the rhythm of tides,
and the tumbling sun giving rise to a sacristy of large stars.
And we ate macaroni and matriculated in cooking
oysters in coals, and we swam at midnight,
the phosphorescence outlining the our limbs, tracing
the shape of our spirits, the campfire dying, the moon
stretching over the sea, that thousand-mile, white-silver highway—
imprinting—and like goslings, we followed, and like sparrows,
we took no thought of the morrow,
or of the RCMP escort off the island, giving us a head-start
to Parksville, an Econoline van to Victoria, to sleep
on the floors of communal friends or below the cliffs
along Dallas Road, where I brushed in a few words
on a scrap of packing paper—and it was my very best poem,
for everything that could be said, was said,
by the call of a distant gull against a great wordless ocean.
This morning, my 70th year looming, I step out onto the deck
of our small condo, the foothills piebald under a faint late-fall snow,
the city lights shining halfway to the coast, halfway to the plains,
and in an instant the same feelings flood back: the same awe,
the same startled gratitude, the same vertigo of longing,
the same plunging wonder.
All this, and I haven’t even told you of the lioness
I love, or how I bow at the coronal flights of five kids and
a granddaughter, and break at the news of anyone’s dark night; all this,
and I have yet to mention the deep-red, heart-shaped mole,
on the wee back of my great-granddaughter.
Ah, Stephen, your adventurous spirit, that finds wonder in the far off and in the up close, is one of the greatest gifts you bring to us :). I wish I had lived wilder.
Thank you, Ann, for your kindness. Wilder? Maybe there’s still time. 🙂
Beautiful.
My older brother turned 70 three months ago. He had hair like yours when he was 20.
Happy birthday, Stephen, you magnificent wonder.
Love it, never been called this before. Thank you Laurie.
It’s been grand! A life well lived with generosity, beauty, and love. Many blessings to you on your birthday. Wishing you many more years and adventures! All the best to you Steve!
Thank you so much, dear friend.
Happiest of birthdays to you, although it seems as if every day is a happiest one now. May peace and joy and delight and compassion keep finding you. 🙂
Lovely. Thank you Wenda.
Ah yes. Brought back memories of a cross-country hitch when we road with truckers and a teacher who talked to plants in the back of his stationwagon and a beekeeper who took us home and fed us for 3 days when we ran out of money and food, till we took a job at a sawmill near Revelstoke where I learned how to sling lumber because a burly man took pity on my five foot height, and on and on … hey, I could write a book! 🙂 Thanks, once again, Stephen.
Ha! Thanks for adding to old memories.
Ahh, sweet notalgia mingling with visions of beauty. Thanks for sharing the beginnings of your poetic heart..
You’re so welcome, Kirk. And thank you for your gracious response.
You make me regret nothing on your 70th birthday.
Well then, it’s all been worth it. 🙂 Thanks Tiffany.
Thanks, Steve – but I remember worrying a fair bit about you during your long-hair days! Grateful for your survival and for the theological reflections those days have fostered for you.
Thanks for that Sam. Your worrying obviously helped.
Happy Birthday Steve!
All the very best to you.
Thanks so much old friend!
Love the photo! and the adventurous stories and reflections. It’s what made me want to move to the west coast. The older we get the more we have to look back on – not to live on (the past that is), but to reflect on!
Ah, lovely, thanks for that, Joanne.
I also am in my 70th year. I find it both amazing to be this age and a little frightening at the same time. Although I did not have your experiences, this made me remember and long for some of those moments again. Thank you for reminding me of my youth!
And thank you, Kathi. Amazing and frightening, that’s about right, although I’m aiming at amazing over frightening.
What a fabulous ode to your life! So much wonder… thank you for sharing and Happy Birthday!
Lovely! Thank you, Suzanne.
Lovely reflections. Thank you.
Thank you, Dennis.
Somehow, your words transport me to those places and times with you but also make me reflect on the wonders I have seen. Thank you for sharing this beautiful reflection, Stephen, and a belated happy 70th to you!
Thank you, Dan. Humbled and grateful for your response.
Very Happy Birthday Wishes to you
dear Stephen
how very awe inspiring
that all of the wonders seen
of that young man,
of this
not quite as young man 😉
accumulate
still,
as love
in that deep red
heart-shaped mole
on your great-granddaugher’s
back -^- <3
I do love this. Thank you, Tamara!
Happy Birthday Mr.Berg!
I’m a friend of your offspring ‘M’ who lived in Japan.
Really enjoyed the poem. I see where he gets his musical/lyrical chops.
Enjoy your amazing 70th trip around the sun.
Matto
Hi Matto, and thank you so much for this wonderful response, and for introducing yourself. Truly appreciated, and I think Michael would approve. Cheers!