On my third day at the farm (10/5), the sun was shining, so Lori told me to borrow the car and go do some sight seeing right after breakfast. So I packed my camera and an extra jacket, and left for Cathedral Grove.

Cathedral Grove is actually one of the most visited sights on the island. Since the highway from Nanaimo to Tofino and Ucluelet goes right through the tiny park, it’s easy to just turn in on the parking lot and take a quick turn among the old, big Douglas firs. Luckily for me, the park is only a fifteen minute drive from Lori’s farm.

As I arrived at the park early, I was the only one there. I could walk around for an hour all by my self, before the other tourists started dropping in.

It was a really small park. The trail was barely long enough to even call what you did there for a walk. But the trees were beautiful, and the river next to the park was glittering in the morning light.

The biggest tree in the park is a Douglas fir. It’s more than eight hundred years old, nine meters wide and 76 meters high. Since I was the only person in the park, I was a bit perplexed to start with. How would I get a person into the picture to make the impressive size of the tree obvious? With the timer in the camera, of course! Beautiful things that my camera can do. So here I am, admiring the magnificent tree.

Next to the park lies Cameron Lake. Beautifully blue and still in the morning.

My first day at Whiskey Creek Farm, Lori had me working in the butcher shop. Because Lori doesn’t only raise chickens and have a big garden, she also has a small farm butcher shop where she butchers mainly chickens, but also ducks and turkeys, two days a week. Farmers come with big crates full of birds, and leave with boxes full of meat.

It was kind of a shock, starting the work there. Not necessarily a bad one, though. More that it took a while to get used to. The smell of cleaner and raw chicken meat, the chilliness of the place, the humidity. Everything being so clean.

I didn’t work with the actual killing. That was done in another room. What I did was to take the butchered, head-, foot- and featherless bird and pluck possible feather ends from the skin. Then, I handed the bird to the next person, who would empty out the innards and cut off the neck. Last, the birds would go to the meat inspector, who checks so that the chicken is big enough and seems healthy. Inbetween the different stops in the process, the birds lie in big tubs of cold water.

I’m not squeamish. Handling still warm, dead chicken doesn’t bother me, even when I hear their last screams in the room next door. Even when considering that I might have been feeding this particular bird, chasing it into the barn, just the day before. It just the way of life. Didn’t know that I would feel this way, but it feels kind of good knowing that I can handle death in this very concrete sense.

What eventually started making me feel slightly uncomfortable was the smell and the strain on my hands. Lori’s chickens are big and fat, carrying them and turning them to find all the remaining feather ends does put a strain on your arms and hands, especially after seven hours of work. When the last bird was finally plucked, I was exhausted.

I was later told that this wasn’t a normal day. Usually, they butchered about two hundred birds a day. Today, they had had to do four hundred, due to some double bookings. That’s why Lori had asked me to help in the shop. Normally, she wouldn’t have wwoofers there. But really, I liked the experience. I will never become a butcher, but having worked for one day in a butcher shop, I atleast have that experience. For one day, it was exciting.

There are so many strange things here. Like the old shoes you find in the flower beds, with leaves sprouting out of them. Mr. P thinks that this is a really original way of gardening. Thumbs up for Lori. As for Mr. P, he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, so his career as a gardener won’t be long.

Finally, I’ve arrived at my present location. So let me start by giving you a tour of the place. Whiskey Creek Farm.

Lori, the owner of the farm, doesn’t need a lawn mower. She’s got Tango, who freely walks around on the property, together with the chickens and the turkey.

Sparky, Lori’s mother Vi’s dog, might be the fattest dog I’ve ever met. Vi is 86 years old and forgets when she’s fed him, so she feeds him again. And there just isn’t any arguing with her. Of course she knows best. She’s the oldest!

You never know what you might find on this farm, in a bush or on the wall of one of the many many sheds. Old bikes, shoes with plants growing out of them, a hen lying on a nest, or art. One thing is for certain: walking around on this property, you will at least not get bored.

And there are chickens everywhere!

In order to get the rental car back in time, we had to leave Ucluelet before seven thirty on Monday morning (7/5). I had the first driving shift. The road was narrow and winding and I’m prettu sure that at one point, I was the only person who was awake in the car. At another point, Karin claimed that she saw a baby bear by the roadside. I didn’t look though, I was too busy keeping my eyes on the road. My driving school teacher Ivan would have been so proud of me. I still hear him, somewhere in the back of my head, telling me to look in my rearview mirror and to keep a safe distance from the car before me.

Halfway to Victoria, I turned off the highway and stopped at Whiskey Creek Farm. There, I unloaded my green monster backpack and my plastic bag with bagels and tea. I said good bye to the girls and then they drove off in the Dodge. I was alone again. At my new WWOOFing farm. With the chickens picking in the flowerbeds around me.

Me and the Dodge

The first time I saw this sign in Ucluelet, I got really suprised. But, as I got acqainted with the area around Ucluelet and Tofino, I noticed that they have these signs put up in every cross-roads.

Isn’t that interesting? Necessary, obviously, since they’re on the eastern edge of the Ring of Fire, the earthquake prone and volcano encircled coasts of the Pacific Ocean – but as a geography student, we often get to read about how ill equiped many modern societies are for different kinds of natural disasters. But here, they even have traffic signs. I think that’s so cool.

Speaking of geography, I just heard from Elin that the geography programme at Stockholm University, where I’m studying, was given the highest mark at the recent government inspection. Of all the universities that have geography in Sweden, only three programmes managed to get the highest mark. And I’m studying at one of them. That feels good. I made a good choice, three and a half years ago, when I decided to stay in Stockholm for my university education. It feels reassuring.

They sell it alot here, this unsweetened coconut water. Some people don’t like it, and sure, it tastes a bit special – but both Mr. P and me love it. It’s refreshing and just sweet enough and just delicious.

Growing up, I traveled alot with my dad. And early on, I learnt that there was one circumstance when I did best to let him be: when he was watching the glitter on the ocean from the afternoon sun, with his Ray-Bans on and earphones in his ears. Then, I knew he was listening to music and being filled up by the light. That was his church. The glitter in the water. That was his time.

But now he doesn’t get to see the wide open sea very often anymore. So here is some glitter for him, from the Pacific Ocean.

At the super cute supermarket in Victoria, fully stacked with local, organic stuff, I found a box of tea made of something called honeybush. Somehow I got the idea that it was produced locally and thought it would be nice to try.

Later, when I read the text on the box closer, it turned out that the actual honeybush grows in South Africa (of course, all good teas grow in South Africa) and that the tea was only packaged locally. By then, I had already tried it and really liked the soft, honey-y taste of it, so I didn’t mind the misunderstanding.

But, another thing that I found on the tea box was these short, cute messages written all around the edges of the box. Messages like:

make tea for a friend * recycle * jump in a puddle * ride your bike * throw a frisbee * hug someone * love & gratitude * sing aloud * do what you love * buy local * peace to all beings * abundance * honour mother earth muleh or recycle this box

Isn’t that just the cutest?

Trying the standard East Asian pose. Looking cute isn’t as easy as it may seem…
(Kate, Marit and me)