July 15, 2007

Powell River

Posted in Uncategorized at 8:32 pm by changisme

I think Powell River must have been the smallest town I’ve ever lingered. I don’t know if it’s any bigger than Yan Shan where my grandparents live. I think it’s much smaller now anyway. We spent about three days there. Aside from playing goalball and teasing each other, we walked around.
The beach was rather interesting. It’s all pebbles and rocks, but quiet and undisturbed. There were a lot of cedars and Hemlocks. I see some Douglas fir, but I think not as much as we did on hiking trips near Vancouver for some reason. Also, because it’s so wild, black berries just go wild. The old people there (because I only met old people there) told me that every August, they would have black berry fest and people would bring out baked goodies and perform music. The whole beach trail in and out of the forest was an open museum of logging trucks and tree stumps. The town is actually qutie young, since 1910, but already half dead because the fall of the industry. We couldn’t help but laughing that they had a sign saying "Stream, the lifeline of the forest" as one of their "exhibition items". LOL
In fact, we saw a pulp mill a day later in the evening. It used to hire a lot of people in town, according to someone we chatted with, but now, a pulp machine needs only six people and a whole bunch of computers. We went into the bar right at the factory, and came right out. It was EMPTY. Outside, against the summernight’s sky, a column of pale smoke stook on top of the mill. On our way there, we saw a "historical" residence, which was once the house of the mill owner, and now looked rather creepy. The gate was vined with morning glories and all kinds of other things. One could hardly see the stairs as they were covered by fallen leaves. Up above, the house stood gaunt. There was a window facing where we were. It looked black and deeply caverned with a pale coloured balcony. I had alternative imagines of a hooded witch and a ash skinned young woman walking out of the shadow.
Past the pulp mill, Ken found THE Powell River, which turned out to be a quater mile long. There was a small dam at th emouth of it. Ken said, "This is the first town which I know named themselves after a river, and then dammed it!" Dammed Powell River…
I have to admit, I’m impressed by how much attendence we were having, considering the small population and the awkward location of our games. (Although, I felt everything in town spreaded out into awkward locations). The people were very nice and enthusiastic, and old.
The games were fun, I also tried archery, which was qutie something. I had someone really patiently trying to tell me what to do, although my hands were every so shaky. This time I got to hang out with Ken and Shane a lot. It was interesting times. I don’t know if I move away from this city, how am I ever goint to find some people like these folks… They don’t just amuse me when they amuse me so much. We hardly saw Doug this weekend, I can understand though.

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