Recently, I’ve been thinking about the fluid nature of time, as well as nostalgia. These things converge nicely if one wants to think about history.  Now, born and raised, as I was, here in BC, our sense of history is very different when compared with some other places in the world–imagine how differently you would feel about time if the view out your kitchen window was of the Sphinx, or if your local had been serving ale to peers of Queen Victoria’s great grandparents? Or what about bricks embedded in your footpath that were originally laid there by ancient Romans?

Of course, permanent reminders may be taken for granted, or require careful stewardship–there are other difficulties when a sense of complacency arises, an idea that the artifacts will always be there, that History is inviolate, it is only our human shells that are fragile. Perhaps the stone edifice is not as important as I think, perhaps it is the story, more precisely knowing your story, that is the most critical thing.

Here on the coast, where we had great, vast forests of old growth trees, where civilization, when it came, came in a fast and furious demand for shelter and society. Hastily built wooden structures were prone to burning down, rotting, sinking into the substrate.

As much as we don’t have Roman roads or Pyramids, we do, of course, have history.  A tradition amongst the indigenous people of the coast Salish territories is to, when called on to introduce yourself, set the context of who you are in relation to who your people are, your ancestors. Our history, then, is an oral one, much more than than one of rocks and brick.

But… what we do have in the form of man-made markers of the passage of time, do seem to be held in high regard. Last summer, I took my offspring for a tour of the Burnaby Museum:

A sweetly recreated village, built around one original farm house and includes an authentic turn of the century (the 20th one, that is) carousel.

And so it is that next week when I am at the DL Conference, I am going to spend a few hours in historic Steveston . I have an ulterior motive but I also like the idea of walking on those same stones, following the steps of people from my past, even if they aren’t Roman. Follow my adventure into the past…(more on my story here: Click)