A Walk at Maplewood Flats – Part III

This blog post is a continuation from Part I and Part II.

Origins of a Field Trip

But what about the site’s history before heavy industry took hold of the coasts along Burrard Inlet?

Some Colonial History

Charlie Kosk caps a 65 m high Douglas Fir in 1918. Photo by Leonard Frank. Click for link to The Great Cut Exhibit at North Vancouver Museum

The early 1900s saw some of the most pronounced colonial activity on the North Shore. This period was marked by early forestry activities that razed the coastal slopes and bluffs of the immense stands of Douglas fir, hemlock and cedar that once soared all along the BC Pacific coast.

This great cut was a once in a thousand year cull. While this seems extreme to modern thinking, back then, it likely really did appear to the early settlers that the forests went on forever, providing an endless bounty for the taking.

Unfortunately, they were wrong.

Though forests can be harvested sustainably, the clear-cutting methods used by the early colonialists, and by the timber industry for decades after that, has led to losses on many levels. Ecological loss includes: erosion and associated soil degradation, adverse effects on streams likely used for spawning salmon and other aquatic life, terrestrial habitat loss, and the loss of who knows how many plants and animal species.

Culturally, this great cull was a loss as well. Without travelling to places with some of the remaining stands of old growth forests, people in my father’s generation, my generation and my daughters generation–and for several generations to come–have been deprived of knowing what it would be like to live alongside these majestic forests that once formed a solid ribbon along the Pacific Coast. As I write this I am reminded of the stumps of these early giants that my colonial forefathers razed that one often comes across while hiking along the North Shore mountain trails. And when I think about this I feel this as well as a loss. Personally. Emotionally.

And there, for me is a mindful indicator. When something triggers an emotional response, be it positive, or like this one, negative, it says, “Hey, pay attention to me. Do you know where I’m coming from.” And to me that is part of the long and winding road of mindful practice. Once you’ve gone through practicing clearing your mind, and dealing with a lot of issues you find there in the first place, there’s this ongoing journey of discovery of self-discovery. And part of that process, it stopping once you find something that triggers an emotional response to see whether you’re owning it.

Having lived in the forest in central BC for a time as a child, I spent large chunks of time in solitude with trees. Never any as majestic as were on the coast (and if I think about it, maybe the forest where I lived in near Cariboo Lake had also been logged), but tree enough for me. But the trees were just the start of it. I saw moose, black bears, and thin snakes that flashed like silver through mossy rocks in the stream by our place. I could set my watch by a beaver who swam by daily in the lake. Porcupines. And ever so many birds. I never saw a grizzly bear. About that, I was glad.

Once the forest companies were done, industry moved in along the coast, and that’s when the area of the flats was taken over by industrial activity. There is a black and white archival shot of the site of the mudflats in 1950 when it was Deeks and McBride Sand and Gravel Company on p. 8 of this paper done by John Barlow (towards an ecological restoration degree). If you want to know why the site was called a ‘brownfield’ site after this time, that photo will give you a clear idea.

Of Artists and Squatters

From about the 1920’s on, in areas that were abandoned or overgrown, an unconventional community grew up along Burrard Inlet in this area, made up of squatters, artists, and people avoiding the war. They built ramshackle and stilt houses along the beaches, and made a life. Among the people who lived along Burrard Inlet during this time, was Malcolm Lowry, the colourful British author who wrote the novel, Under The Volcano, which is listed as the 11th top English novel of the 20th century. The manuscript was nearly lost to a fire of their squatters house near Dollarton, rescued by his wife, while many of his other writings went up in the blaze.

Lowry’s home was not the only squatter’s cabin along Burrard inlet to go up in smoke. The other homes along the Maplewood Flat area, largely wooden, like the one below, were set ablaze in the early 1970’s when the City of North Vancouver forcibly evicted the residents, as detailed in a photo news story from the Vancouver Sun.

Residents Joyce and Peter Williams of Maplewood Mudflats in North Vancouver on the last day before they are forced out on March 27, 1973. Photograph by: Dan Scott, Vancouver Sun. Click for source.

There is still a memento left at the site to the alternative inhabitants of the flats who were turned out in the form of miniature wooden houses.

Art instillation of houses on stilts

These days, the mudflats lie largely silent of human drama. People using the park are expected to stay on the trails to not damage its sensitive ecosystems, which meant I would not be doing digging into the mudflats. So to get ready, I just got together my camera, binoculars, some boots, bug spray, and notebooks. Backpack. Check.

Next thing I knew I was on my way. Below some of the scenes I captured of the sights along the way. Based on the views and the serenity, you would hardly know that it was ever any different.

Pacific chorus frog

A green Pacific Chorus Frog catching some afternoon sun in the brambles.

View from Maplewood Mudflats

The view from the beach of the Maplewood Mudflats.

Panorama from Maplewood Mudflats

Panorama shot from Maplewood Mudflats across Burrard Inlet.

Forest Trail at Maplewood Mudflats

Woodland trail at Maplewood Mudflats beckons to be walked.


Slow Writing. Slow Reading.

Renoir – “Two Girls Reading in the Garden”, 1890. Click image for Renoir gallery.

The Slow Movement

Some things are worth the time it takes to make them. Like slow food.

Case in point. The croissant. There is nothing quite like a croissant fresh from the oven, made lovingly by hand with prime ingredients. The slow food movement has taken this idea, that there are some things worth taking the time to produce them, and built out from its origins in Italy to spreading to about 150 countries worldwide, including my own backyard here in BC.

This taking it slow concept is part of a wider slow movement that translates over to other areas as well – like writing and reading. And the slow thinking that goes with it. Even as I write that sentence I realize that ‘slow thinking’ brings up negative connotations, of being a dullard.  But, just like tai chi makes for a more mindful and skilled warrior when push comes to shove in real time, I’d argue that slow thinking, reading, and writing makes for a more skilled reader and writer when the heat is on and you have to produce on time and on budget.

A Slow Blog

This taking time to do something is part of the impetus of this blog, as a bit of a mindful experiment in slowing down to write again, not on time, and not on any budget. I am as guilty as anyone in recent years for becoming too busy for my own good. There was a time where I meditated more often, did yoga more often, even just sat doing nothing in the sun more often. There was even a time where meditation pulled me out of some pretty tight spots, so I’m quite aware of its merits. However, in the last few years, things have sped up, mostly in my work life, and I’m seeing the need, for my health and well-being (and those around me who have to put up with me!), of taking up some practices I’ve left by the wayside again. So this blog is a place where I can put on the brakes, not necessarily to produce perfection in writing, but to delve into aspects of writing I haven’t had the time to investigate in a while now.

There are so many blogs and news outlets that give fast, pithy bits and bites of info, and like many people online, I scan and read them myself when I get a chance to stay on top of my corner of the information deluge that we face every day. My own twitter feed is an example of this.  I find many of these fast thought sources lacking thought. They provide info bites. Great. Now I’m more informed. But of what? Even blogs on zen and yoga I find falling sway to form over content, such as in the “Seven steps to enlightenment, including one weird trick, that anyone can master!’ approach, which seems to be spreading like a virus across the interwebs. Sure, we are generally busy, and don’t typically have time to wade through long thought pieces, and efficiency, clarity and a punchy hook and sinker to a blurb/blog/book have all have their merits.  However things like – Definitions. Word smithing. Context. Original. Content. Value. – these are important, too.

I’ve found that there are few things as refreshing as taking the proverbial breath and practicing slowing down my own thinking to focus on one thing at a time. As Thich Nhat Hanh says, “Instead of always multitasking we must learn to unitask. Mindfulness needs some training.” (Art of Power)

So, one thing at a time. I try. At least sometimes. Aside from general mindfulness I do this in my reading, taking time to delve deeply into some poetry or literature I’ve been safe guarding on the shelf. Taking time for reviews and definitions of the same. In my writing, this is about ceasing neglecting some ideas I’ve kept stashed in the back of my mind, and giving them a bit of fresh air, researching and reflecting on them. And this blog is a place where I can record some of how this approach unfolds.

Of course there are the classic arenas of slow writing. Books, for example. Books are ideal vessel for a coherent body of information. Journal articles are also essential to a systematic, high quality approach to research topics. Sure, some of these are produced in a hurry, but the classic notion of the writing process is of the author or scholar taking the time out in order to produce such work.

Yet, sometimes I find myself wanting something in between, that is thoughtful, careful, and engaging, but in a manageable size. Perhaps like an old newspaper editorial from the 1970s (I’ve seen some from my local paper that were a full 2-page spread with hardly any ad content – crazy), or like the work of the old essayists. Yet, also not necessarily with the fully polished, packaged, popping arguments behind the central thesis approach either. Rather, tracking the exploratory ground to get there in the first place, while hopefully enjoying the ride along the way. Journaling, does this, but I find journals usually a bit messy for show and tell.

So, something in between then.

Slow Writing & Slow Reading

A few Google searches reveals that I’m not the first by far to think up slow writing by any means. Here are some other articles on the topic:

The words of Reuben Brower below from Reading in Slow Motion above are remarkably contemporary:

In the age of the New Stupid (a term Aldous Huxley once used for the age of mass literacy), nearly everyone has a reading habit of some sort. Everyone runs through the morning newspaper or Time and Life strictly as a matter of daily or weekly routine. Each social group has its “great readers,” a term of admiration used to cover a wide range of activities that have little more than the printed page in common. There is, for example, reading as anodyne, and reading as extended daydream. There is reading as pursuit of fact or of useful technical know-how, and reading that may or may not be useful, when we are interested solely in understanding a theory or point of view. Still more remote from immediate usefulness comes reading as active amusement, a game demanding the highest alertness and the finest degree of sensibility, “judgment ever awake and steady self-possession with enthusiasm and feeling profound or vehement.” Reading at this level–to borrow Coleridgean terms a second time–“brings the whole soul of man into activity.” Coleridge was speaking of the poet and the power of imagination, but his words describe very well the way we read when we enter into, or rather engage in, experiences of imaginative literature. I say “amusement,” not “pleasure,” to stress the play of the mind, the play of the whole being, that reading of this sort calls for. I am hardly suggesting that literary experience is not a “good,” that it is not in some indirect and profound way morally valuable. But if is to do us any good, it must be fun….Active “amusement” is the reading habit I am concerned with here…”

– Reuben Brower’s, Reading in Slow Motion

Chinese scholar in a meadow. Song Dynasty.

Brower goes on to discuss the role of the teacher in fostering this kind of experience of ‘active amusement’ in his or her students. His essay goes into lofty Platonic realms and language that may ring rather elitist today, but the main point is quite humble. That, for a practice to stick, there must be a sticking point. And I agree with Brower, that for engaging with the written form, it is that sense of play, or amusement, or full engagement, that is the guiding light to whether you’re on the path or not here. The experience, the satisfaction itself, when you’ve got it right, makes it so worth taking the time.

But to obtain the experience, you need to take the time in the first place to cultivate it. But the question is, how much time?

Some in the bullet links above argue that taking time for slow writing is actually a luxury that normal people can’t really afford. Something that the nobility of old enjoyed on the backs of labourers toiling in the sun. Like the aristocrats of Jane Austen in their lavish sitting rooms or lounging in the garden while the servants do all the meaningful work. Or the scholars up on the hill, taking the time to gaze into their navels all day, on the dime of other people, doing real work.

The social political argument is well taken. And let’s not get too nostalgic about it all either. But if nobles had too much time to engage in slow pursuits, does that mean that these should then be then deprived to everyone as a bad thing? I would argue that while the aristocratic and scholarly classes of old may have indulged in such activities, such pursuits were also inequitably denied to those in the service classes, making having the time for such pursuits as even falling within the realm of a human right. The right to take the time to sit in the meadow and read a book, or dilly dally on the porch to mindfully write. At least sometimes. Daily? Weekly? Monthly? How essential is this to your life? Is a life without such pursuits, for those who have managed to cultivate a taste for such things, as worthwhile?

So, what balance seems to work for people between taking the time to recharge our slow writing and slow reading batteries, and then going on zipping about again?

In Defense of Carving Out the Time Required

There certainly is an argument for time being necessary for some worthwhile endeavours. Time is needed for the yeast to rise in the croissant. Time is generally needed to establish trust between friends. Time is needed to train ourselves to do our professions. Time is also needed for children to learn. This learning can include connecting with nature through meaningful, extended, unsupervised play in nature, as espoused by Richard Louv in his book Last Child in the Woods. The value of a child taking this time was also recognized by the poets of old, like Whitman, who’s poem starts Louv’s book:

There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day,
or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird…

– Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1900

This object of the lilacs, and the grass and the clover that a child beholds, then becoming part of the child, is similar to what Brower speaks to in the above quote. It is the experience, the spending time with, that connects the child to the experience of the thing, through “the play of the whole being” as Brower puts it. And, in this way, the external thing goes from object to subject, and becomes encoded as part of that child’s own thinking, their very physiology, their very heart.

Modern research is catching up with the perennial wisdom of mindfulness. Studies indicates that we do, in fact need downtime from the information torrent and interruptions that meets us on a daily basis. In particular, our children are, in their developing state, vulnerable to deficits from the lack of this kind of time.  And we adults need to take more downtime ourselves in order to even perform basic tasks of committing new thoughts to memory. Our very ability to think, and recollect the past, needs time and attention.


So, what is the verdict? I noticed that in spite of the several articles listed above on the merits of slow writing for instance, and initiatives to start a slow writing movement, that slow writing is still not included on the list of various slow movements around the world.

Is slow writing just a recent gimmicky word for what is actually an already recognized and  perennial practice? Or is there something distinct in the concept of slow reading and writing that we could benefit from focusing more on in our modern lives?

I for one know that regardless of syntax, there is some sort of a value add here for myself, the process being intrinsically motivating. I am working on making an effort (even when I don’t have it, like tonight as I burn the midnight oil) to carve out, even just a little bit, of time and space for mindful thinking, reading and writing. I don’t know though if I would say that I would classify this value as primarily ‘amusement’ that motivates me, in the way Brower does. Engagement? Yes. Focus? Yes. Lingering spaces in between to connect the dots between thoughts? Yes. Satisfaction. Definitely.

I find that, even if I lose a bit of sleep, in the long run, that taking the time for a slow reading and writing process is more than just worthwhile. It appears to recharge a battery that I had left latent, and then proceeded to forgot how important it actually is. Because of this, I may even be in the camp that would say that life without slow writing and reading, just wouldn’t be the same, and would actually be somehow less. Like a world without birds. Or a world without children with the time to play in grassy fields and develop eyes to observe them and wonder what it is to fly.



A Walk at Maplewood Flats – Part II

This blog post is a continuation from Part I.

Origins of a Field Trip

For a course in sustainability I took last semester, one of my assignments involved a wetland field trip. We could pick any aquatic system, so I visited Burns Bog first, as this is the most famous bog in BC’s lower mainland. After a bit of trekking around, and being frankly bummed out about the highway being so close, I decided to choose a place closer to home and a bit further from the beaten path (or so I thought).

A wildlife biologist friend of mine at work suggested I check out the Maplewood Flats Conservation Area, which is a little park in North Vancouver along Burrard Inlet. Located just east of the Second Narrows Bridge, Maplewood Flats supports great views and many trails, but not many people outside of local residents and birding enthusiasts know about it. I had not even heard about it myself, but when I went there on a Sunday evening (October 6, 2013) to see if it was a good fit, I saw the sight in the picture below and knew this was the patch of mud for me.

West view from flats
I found out that I could plan my field trip to correspond to the timing of a nature walk hosted by Al Green, of the Wild Bird Trust (WBT). Every second Saturday of every month they lead a free interpretive guided walk through the park. (Yes – free! They also host free 8 am birding walks once a month that you can find out more info on at the WBT link above.)

But before I headed out to the field, I needed to do my homework.

Field Prep: Digging into the History

A good field trip starts with a solid desk study. Though there isn’t a lot of material easily available on the history of the Maplewood mudflats, once I got started, the research trail led me down a rather long rabbit hole into a past that I didn’t fully expect.

Maplewood Flats is the largest intertidal estuarine marshland on the North Shore, and all that’s left of a wetland system that once pretty much circled Burrard Inlet. The casual user of the trails through the 75 acre park would not guess that the all the lovely trees and vegetation are actually the result of the reclamation of an old brownfield site that is still undergoing restoration.

Lovely pathways

We in Vancouver are used to thinking of Burrard Inlet as home to some substantive industry and shipping routes due to the Inlet hosting the many trade activities of the Port of Vancouver. All the industrial effluent discharge and shipping activity in the Inlet has also led to poor water quality that is of concern due to, among other things, high PCBs in sediment in many areas, which thankfully seem to be declining. The pictures below show some of the current urban settlement and industrial activity around the Inlet.

Urban development to the east of Maplewood Flats.

Petrochemical plant on south shore of Burrard Inlet in Burnaby.

Petrochemical plant on south shore of Burrard Inlet.

But it wasn’t always this way.

First Peoples  

Tsleil-Waututh art. Click on image for source.

Before European settlers came to the North Shore—bringing their industries with them—the Tsleil-Waututh, trans. “People of the Inlet”, inhabited the area that is now home to the mudflats.  The Tsleil-Waututh, who are also part of the wolf clan, are one of many different groups of Coast Salish peoples who first inhabited the Pacific Northwest. Some people may recall their symbolic wolf logo to the left, which was prominent at the last 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics.

I have a small percentage of First Nation ancestry mingling with my largely English, French and Scottish heritage (my Aboriginal background is alleged to a great-great-great-great (and so on) grandmother way back on my mother’s French side in a time that’s shrouded in family mystery); however, I wouldn’t consider myself qualified to say too much about the history of the Tsleil-Waututh and their lands around Maplewood Flats. So I would encourage you to click the links above and below to learn more from the band itself about their history and vision of where they are headed.

The forward thinking Chief of the Tsleil-Waututh is now Justin George. Chief George’s grandfather was the Canadian icon, Chief Dan George – check out this CBC footage of him and Dustin Hoffman from 1971, and his moving Canada Day speech to the nation in 1967.  Justin George’s father, Chief Leonard George, is also locally well known for seeing some challenging projects to fruition, like the Raven Woods development, which has helped  bring positive transformation to their band.

A map of the Consultation Area of the Tsleil-Watuth shows their asserted territory running as far as Langley in the southeast to Alice Lake and Garibaldi up past Squamish in the northwest. During the time when the band traveled freely across these lands, they had a saying, “When the tide went out, the table was set.

A clam shell, some green algae and driftwood at the mudflats.

The Maplewood mudflats were once one of the many coastal wetland systems that were hosts to a veritable marine feast. Sadly, this is no longer the case. An overall gradual decline in the abundance of species, as well as toxicity factors leading to food safety issues of seafood in Burrard Inlet in general has meant the flats have closed shop for human consumption. The frequently posted harvesting prohibition warning signs (such as the one I saw during my trip below), are a brash reminder that it is definitely no longer safe to eat shellfish gathered from the flats.

An unfortunate sign of the times at the Maplewood Mudflats.

Personally, looking around at the waters in and around the flats, I wouldn’t really want to eat anything from this area these days either.

Green algae and detritus in the water column at Maplewood Flats

In my next post I explore some of the local colonial and industrial history that led to the state the flats are in today. Stay tuned…

Beginning again

My first ventures in social media in 1991 started on a Bondwell computer, like this one.

Blogging is my on and off again romance. And, it looks like we’re on again.

There are many barriers to starting something. Especially if you’ve tried it before. In particular, if you feel maybe it didn’t work out that well.

I’ve been using online social media for more years than I’d like to admit, ever since I took the virtual plunge in 1991 (or was it ’92?) to host a forum I called Mimi’s Café on a Canadian system called Suzy (for which all credit really goes to my polymath father [yes dad, I called you a polymath; how do you like them apples?] who connected us to the system in the first place). It was crazy amazing to me then, and to the people who were part of it, that we could gather from across the country and globe to have a virtual coffee and chat about what was going on in our lives.

Since those early days, I’ve seen the rise and fall of various social media platforms like bulletin board systems (BBS) and chat rooms. I have also blogged over the years on different topics such as: science (i.e., climate and ecosystem services), social justice, and more personal ventures in creative writing, photography, music, and visual art. In starting these blogs I usually had the intent to make it last, or even build them into a real world project, but times change and time also gets tight. Some of my content was lost because the platform shut down, other blogs and web pages I closed down as I couldn’t justify paying the fees to support sites that I was basically ignoring. Others I closed because the platforms had become annoying (i.e., MySpace). But mostly, as my life progressed I just got busier, to the point where I stopped blogging altogether in recent years, as well as engaging on most social media platforms.

To illustrate, since 2008 I’ve had a twitter account. It used to be a thriving space where I would post information daily, and engage with a growing number of pretty darn cool people. I even got to chatting on a somewhat regular basis with the likes of several movers and shakers who have since become social media moguls, like Kyle Lacy, Amber Naslund, Liz Strauss, and Chris Brogan—who helped me directly or indirectly with their warm advice to go from not really even ‘getting’ micro-blogging to using it as a rewarding tool for information (sourcing and dissemination) and engagement.

But as time went on, Twitter grew into this Gargantua that lost some of its earlier charm, and I got so busy with my ‘real’ life commitments that my time on twitter dropped to near nil. Partly because I had to. Partly because I let it. And it is a similar situation with my own websites and blogs. My disengagement from these online forums has led me to lose relationships with people along the way—interesting, engaging, funny, inspiring, informative, caring, witty, and smart people. It used to be that if I tweeted or blogged about something, I’d typically have several people responding within a matter of minutes to a day. Now, I’m lucky if I get any response at all. [Except for a couple of die-hards who didn’t go away. You know who you are, and a big thanks also for not giving up on me.]

Well, I’ve been nursing my twitter account back to life recently, and it’s certainly taking time and work to pick up the ruins, salvage what’s good, and rebuild. But, I believe that this actually is time well spent. So much so, that I’m also willing to take the extra time off the corner of my desk to pilot yet another blogging venture—this one. The plan right now is to stop spreading myself too thin, and use this blog to cover any compelling topic that comes along into this one space, the binder being a mindful approach. Stepping back, asking questions, delving deeper, appreciating more. From the inner (i.e., personal) to the outer (i.e., societal, political, environmental), creating mindful content. I have a hunch that if we are going to create a more sustainable world, mindfulness is going to have to have something to do with it, and I’m following that lead.

So, as this new blog has this mindful component, here’s a valid question. Why? Why bother blogging again to pursue this lead when time is already so tight, and I’ve been through this all before and know all the (very real) risks? Why not do more volunteering in my neighbourhood, practice mindfulness in a local community, or spend my time writing a book?

The answer lies within something I’ve gleaned during my recent general hiatus from the Internet. I’ve been busy doing the things that makes an old-school “normal” life busy. Mostly, I’ve been taking care of business. I became a single mom years ago, and as most people know, that means a lot of work was in store for me. So, I have been doing things like work, work, work, and some more work (largely in to my day job involving long hours of writing and editing) to provide the necessities of life for myself and my family and pay off student loans, and studying towards meeting various professional goals. I’ve also been taking time to look after my three beautiful daughters, and spend time with my significant other, as well as family and friends.

Well, what I’ve noticed, is that in the spaces in between these busy hours over the last couple of years, a realization has been creeping up on me. The realization that I miss it.

I miss blogging!

So, again. Like a three year old. Why? Why do I miss blogging?


Ok. I miss the writing outlet. Yes, blogging is such a convenient writing outlet with a great final looking format. But wait. If I think about it more deeply, it’s not just that. I can start up creative pursuits like music, drawing, or, namely, writing, at home, which would also be an outlet. People have been doing this kind of thing for centuries. And I am also, concurrently, also pursuing some of these things offline in my own time as well.

So what else do I miss? (Thinking again…)

I guess I also miss the Internet interface. Well… if I think about it some more, no, its’ actually not that. I’ve had access to the info, entertainment, email and all those other normal useful and distracting features of the Internet all along.

If I really think about it, what I miss about blogging is engaging with the people of the Internet. (If you are reading this, that would be you! [Unless you are a troll.])

So there it is. I miss how blogging provides a forum for reflection, sharing, and making connections, as well as discovering and exploring new possibilities. All of this because of the people on the Internet who make blogging such a rewarding and interactive experience.

So, thank-you WordPress for still being around (even though you cost more now). Thank-you Apple for making my computer, which is still working after all these years.

And thank-you to all the great people out there who make blogging such a rewarding experience. Thank-you.

I’ve missed you.

Why? Well, we are down to the physiological experience of feelings now. And my feeling regarding blogging is that it has been a rewarding and authentic experience for me. It’s not just just some fuzzy notion of ‘virtual engagement’. Blogging can involve a real meeting of minds, with specific, discernible and measurable effects. Effects that I miss, because, obviously, I’m not getting them otherwise. A blog puts you directly in touch with people who are really into what you are into. It gives you a forum to develop ideas interactively, giving more direct engagement than, say, just writing a book would. This makes blogging as worthwhile and legitimate as any other kind of human engagement that adds value and meaning to our lives. Regardless of what the science is or the stats are to back up this claim, the heart knows what it knows. Especially over time.

So there you go. I’m back. I’m not sure if I’m more of a prodigal daughter, or that evil cat that came back. I’m not sure either exactly how this blog will pan out. But I do know one thing.

It’s good to be back.