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Finding Kelowna  

The wisdom of generations

I walk with the crowd toward the giant apple at the center of Orchard Park Mall. Around the bronze monolith we are a storm swirling, unmindful of the morphing face of a valley on fire with harvest. I am a leaf in the stream of milling thousands who have passed this way, caught for a moment against this capsule of time. In the sealed darkness memories wait to be judged and woven imperceptibly into the fabric of an unknown generation. Without memory we do not know who we are. And I wonder how well we have listened to those who have come before us.

The babble of shoppers fades while memories of a northern kid on summer vacation surface. Sun-kissed beaches flood my brain. And my smile remembers holidays stuffed to the gills with fresh fruit and the freedom to be outside without a jacket. It is 1962, and my Regatta-stoked family is parked at the Restmore Motel. Across the street my sister and I play in a parched field where the Capri will rise like a forerunner of the changes to come. Regatta and motel now live in my memory like fruit-bits suspended in aspic. And I search for their threads within the fabric of who we have become.

I drive the thronged highway to the center of town, and walk past brick buildings crowned with dates from early past century. How would our ancestors counsel a city threatened with becoming a party town fuelled by drugs and biker gangs? In the hurly-burly to become a four season’s destination we must bend an ear to their voices. If we do not listen we will lose our way, and the forgotten souls inscribed on the fire-hall cenotaph will haunt us in our misery.

Several days later I am waiting for a movie to begin, and catch a glimpse of the future. A family of four children sits in front of me. The father is Caucasian, the mother East Indian. Their children are Chinese, Caucasian, African, and Native Canadian. It is their hands that will open the vault in the apple. And from the past I watch, with anxious uncertainty, a rainbow of fingers sifting the threads we have suggested for their vision of a people.

There is a story of a young hunter who was fascinated by a beautiful tweed coat. He did not have the money to pay for it so he gave the salesman his rifle. The hunter’s wife was very distressed, but he paraded himself before the village believing he had gotten the better part of the deal. When night came, the hunter and his wife were awakened by a hungry bear who wanted to eat them. “What shall we do?! Oh what shall we do?!” The hunter cried out. His wife looked at him and said, “Why don’t you shoot him with your new jacket!”

Let us not trade our rifle for a sport coat. The wisdom of generations waits.

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.



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About the Author

Giovanni is a poet, columnist, interviewer and photographer. His passion for literature and the writing arts began at three years of age when his mother read to him the poems of Giovanni Pascoli.

Finding Kelowna, as he explains it in his website of the same name, is a focus on the ordinary events, people and things that often go unnoticed. Its purpose is to reveal the startling brilliance of everyday life which may be beautiful, tragic or bizarre. Giovanni does this in a creative way that spotlights the sudden encounters, poignant moments and unusual circumstances that pepper daily life.

Through chance conversations and unexpected occurrences, the tone and character of Kelowna and its surroundings is explored. In so doing, Giovanni hopes that the reader will catch a glimpse of himself and of humanity in all its glorious imperfection.

To comment on his columns you may write to him at [email protected]. You may read other articles he has written by viewing his website at www.findingkelowna.com.  You may view his photography blog at www.gioklik.com, and read his poems, stories and perspectives at www.yzed.wordpress.com.

Like Humans of Kelowna on Facebook!  https://www.facebook.com/humansofkelowna



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The views expressed are strictly those of the author and not necessarily those of Castanet. Castanet does not warrant the contents.

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