Maxed Out

By G.D. Maxwell I’d like to take this opportunity to personally offer a warm welcome to each and every one of this year’s batch of fresh-faced suckers, er, workers. Welcome to Whistler. Got skis? Got boards? Good.

By G.D. Maxwell The days are golden at Smilin’ Dog Man’r. Birch and poplar, having fought pestilence all summer long, are finally blazing yellow in the lengthening rays of a waning sun.

By G.D. Maxwell The nearest commercial centre to Smilin’ Dog Man’r is 100 Mile House. A former stagecoach stop on the Cariboo gold trail, 100 Mile is a "tween" kind of town.

By G.D. Maxwell Maybe it’s silly to get swept up in local politics at a time like this.

By G.D. Maxwell There’s this famous experiment in the annals of learning. It involves a jar, a banana and a monkey.

By G.D. Maxwell The Canadian Senate, that moribund public patronage trough for aging political bagpersons and defeated politicians, has sung its own song of freedom, its own redemption song - Don't Bogart that Joint My Friend, Pass it Over to Me.

By G.D. Maxwell It’s hard to think there will ever be, a fruit as perfect as the rasp-ber-rie. It’s harvest time at Smilin’ Dog Manner. Push has come to shovel and we’re about to test the limits of friendship.

By G.D.

Sustainability in practice, Cariboo-style

By G.D. Maxwell Ah, the sounds of summer. I'm doing my best to be pragmatic about the chainsaw screeching next door. It's a temporary aberration. I'm sure it'll stop sooner or later.