Posts tagged Editorials
Musing Out Loud...

If I’ve learned anything along life’s road it’s this: The more I know about the human mind, the less I understand. Everyday, news accounts tell us of decisions and events that defy what most intelligent people would define as plain good judgment. (As one sage put it, “commonsense isn’t common”.

I don’t mean human error based on various levels of mis-comprehension or misunderstanding, but decisions and actions that intentionally go against every measure of commonsense and common decency.

Specifically, vandalism—destruction for the sheer joy of it. 

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Musing Out Loud...

Well, another year down of sold-out performances for the Mill Bay/Malahat Historical Society’s Seeds and Salt Theatre. This year’s theme was Dreamers & Schemers, composed of three 20-minute-long mini-plays. 

As the theatre company’s theme is “Fascinating True Stories From Vancouver Island’s Past,” this year’s performances began with Maj. James Lennox MacFarlane’s dream to create a link by road between Victoria and Mill Bay which, at that time, was accessible only by train and boat as the Malahat’s mountainous game trails all but defied overland traffic. 

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Musing Out Loud...

Forensic science. It’s everywhere these days, at least entertainment-wise. 

Every time I scroll through my social media programs of choice, there they are, crime stories from the past—so-called cold cases—brought to the fore to entertain and to enlighten, often generations later. Not to mention, albeit less frequently, in the news when it’s reported that police have solved a decades-old murder case through the combined magic of DNA and, of all things, popular genealogical websites.

I’m not going to try to explain how this works here, that’s not the point of today’s editorial ramble... I write about history, right? And criminal cases are history, right?

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Musing Out Loud...

I’ve never had the patience for filing.

Almost in spite of myself, my personal archives is probably equal in size to the Cowichan Valley Museum. But the unavoidable filing is such a drag...

On the plus side, when I do give filing the time and attention it deserves—needs—I’m sometimes pleasantly surprised with the nuggets that turn up: newspaper clippings, as a rule, that I’ve forgotten about.

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Musing Out Loud...

Some things never change. As sure as summer you have heat, swimming...and tragedy. 

In July 1921, it was that of 12-year-old Donald Smith Hawkins, a student of Duncan Public School and the adopted son of James Hawkins, foreman of the James Logging Co., Cottonwood Creek. 

While his father worked in camp, Mrs. Hawkins and Donald lived at Tyee Siding; but she was away so, Donald was staying with his dad in a floating shack at Youbou, downstream from Cottonwood Creek on the north shore of Cowichan Lake. 

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Musing Out Loud...

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Our winters are mild but they do tend to drag their heels a little.

But this spring was mild. I can attest to this by the fact that—I have witnesses—the “Luftwaffe” was out as early as mid-February. I did manage to down two of the beggars at South Wellington which, experience has taught me, is home to the biggest, fattest, loudest airborne pests on the Island. 

They’re nothing like when I was a lad, of course. 

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Musing Out Loud...

The results of a study of the differences, perceived and real, between Canadians and pre-Trump Americans were once published in the Victoria Times Colonist. Apparently, we're more alike than we think. Oh, we're more polite, more restrained (I'd like to think, ‘mature’ and ‘refined’). But when it comes down to the nitty gritty the study suggests, heaven forbid, that we're more akin to Americans than we care to admit.

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Musing Out Loud...

The results of a study of the differences, perceived and real, between Canadians and pre-Trump Americans were once published in the Victoria Times Colonist. Apparently, we're more alike than we think. Oh, we're more polite, more restrained (I'd like to think, ‘mature’ and ‘refined’). But when it comes down to the nitty gritty the study suggests, heaven forbid, that we're more akin to Americans than we care to admit.

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Editorially speaking…

By now longtime readers realize that I never kid around here on the Chronicles where history is sacrosanct if not, well, always 100 percent accurate. Usually, on those happily rare occasions, I can count on readers to point out errors or inconsistencies. 

Generally speaking, a man just flat out tells you—not always in the Queen's English, but at least you know where you stand. Women are more subtle. Rather than a 2x4 between the eyes, it's more like surgery—they can leave you with such a warm feeling that it takes half an hour for you to realize that it's blood. 

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Editorially speaking…

By now longtime readers realize that I never kid around here on the Chronicles where history is sacrosanct if not, well, always 100 percent accurate. Usually, on those happily rare occasions, I can count on readers to point out errors or inconsistencies. 

Generally speaking, a man just flat out tells you—not always in the Queen's English, but at least you know where you stand. Women are more subtle. Rather than a 2x4 between the eyes, it's more like surgery—they can leave you with such a warm feeling that it takes half an hour for you to realize that it's blood. 

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Editorially speaking…

For reasons I’ve never understood, we Canadians don’t seem to want to honour our heroes.

I don’t mean “celebrities”—our overnight adulation for, say, rock stars—or notoriety. I mean lasting fame and remembrance for achievements that were above and beyond the call of duty or the norm. Personal acts of heroism and accomplishment that have contributed to the very making of Canada.

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Editorially speaking…

Tuesday, April 28th, will mark another Workers Day of Mourning ceremony at the Forest Workers Memorial Park in Lake Cowichan.

The park honours the workers in the forest industry who helped pioneer and develop the communities around the Lake, but has also come to acknowledge all injured and killed forestry workers. 

Lest anyone think otherwise, logging has always been—and continues to be—a dangerous job. 

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