The Trouble With Doing Something for Nothing (or why it sucks to be a volunteer)

There are two types of people in the world, those who volunteer and those who don't. I am one of the former, and I've been a former-volunteer many times over.

People volunteer for a number of reasons - it could be that they have a kid on a team, they might have a soft spot for a certain organization or charity, they may choose to volunteer as a matter of principle or to effect change in a certain arena, and some volunteer because they're roped into it.

Whatever the reason is for a person's volunteer status, you can be damn sure that at some point the time will come when that person steps back, dramatically delivers palm to forehead, and asks himself, "What the hell was I thinking?" Sometimes this reaction comes as a realization that the battle can't be won, sometimes it comes out of sheer exhaustion from endless giving, but frequently it comes as a result of criticism - criticism from the people who don't volunteer.

I know this well because time and time again I've been the one shooting palm to forehead, enough times, in fact, that I now bear a concave dent the shape of my miniscule mitt right above my eyebrows. The funny thing about it, though, the thing that really gets me, is that I don't seem to learn! I swear off volunteering, promise myself that enough is enough, decree that it's high time I start trying to make myself happy instead of pleasing everyone else. And for a month, or maybe 6, I skirt around "opportunities" of a voluntold nature.

6 months, I think, is a record, because I'm a Scorpio and that means I hold strong to principle. When I get an idea that something needs to change I act on it. After all, if you don't try to offer a solution you have no right to complain. Right?

Tell that to the non-volunteers, the people who complain about what you're doing, how you're doing it, insist that they could do it better, and then stomp all over your character because you ever had the nerve to even try. These people have become the bane of my existence. It's no wonder that fewer and fewer people offer up their sevices and time for free - not only is it a pain in the ass; you might as well paint a target on your ass, and your forehead while you're at it.

I'd like to say that I'm done. Fini. I'll volunteer no more. And this time I'd like to think I mean it. But there are trails to be built, there are employee rights to protect, there are folks who'd like to learn to ride bikes but don't have resources to pay. There are kids at risk who need decent role models. There are causes that need skills I can provide. And there are lots of people who can't be bothered to offer up anything but their criticism and opinion. We all know that as long as there are plenty of that type, there'll be less and less volunteers exponentially. Eventually even the suckers like me will say "Enough" and unlike the non-volunteers, I can't say I'd blame them.

There are two types of people in the world, those who can't say no and those who won't ever stop. I guess I'm glad to be one of the former, no matter how aggravating and frustrating it can be. I may not be accomplishing much but I'm damn well trying. That's more than I can say for a lot of people, so how about shutting up and letting me do my thing. Maybe we'll both be happier in the long run.

Who are the Real Chickens?

For a city that has a bug up it's ass about being progressive, environmentally conscious and with the times Halifax has made some awfully strange decisions lately. It's one thing to bring your cloth bags to the stupidmarket and turn off your lights on Earth Night, but the real test of environmental respect comes in the hard decisions, things like installing bike lanes to get more people out of cars and letting people grow their own food.

I don't get you Halifax.

First, the chickens. It is against the law for people who live in HRM to keep chickens in their backyard. The reasons? Chickens are smelly and chickens are noisy, apparently.

I have chickens. Fortunately I don't live in HRM anymore so I can own them without fearing the wrath of the bird police. At this very moment I actually own 12 chickens, that's 9 more than most people in Halifax would like the right to keep. Are they smelly? Well, let me tell you, If I happen to track a lump of bird poop into the house it can get a little gross, but I can say the same for my dogs (who, as of yet, are not illegal in Halifax.) I work in downtown Halifax and on a daily basis I encounter far more offensive odors - people walking down the street smoking, women wearing so much perfume I can barely breathe in their presence, car and truck exhaust mixed with rotting garbage, barside puke and Eau de Harbour. The general rankness of any city outranks the smell of a few birds any day.

As for the noise, well, I have 12 chickens and there simply isn't any noise. I live outside the city and I'm frequently awakened by the sound of rain, spring peepers, a neighbour's dog or the buzzing of a mosquito who makes its way into my bedroom. I have yet to be awakened by my chickens (and I have roosters, too...if anyone's going to make noise it would be the roosters.) I guarantee that anyone who lives in the city would never notice the occasional peep of a chicken over the sounds of screaming children, arrogant crotch rockets, drunken partyers straggling home from Pizza Corner and the brain-rattling thud of far too much bass from pimped out Neons. The city is a noisy place already; if you can sleep there as it is, a few chickens are not about to stop you.

Allowing people to raise chickens means they can grow their own food, teach their children about natural processes (eggs really DON'T come from a styrofoam carton), have some control over the quality of what they're eating and reduce the amount that they rely on gas spewing transportation to deliver their food. In short, it's an environmentally friendly educational practice. Hmmm, it MUST be bad. Chickenshit would be the least of Halifax's problems - if it wasn't elected to Council to beak off with ridiculous ideas and by-laws.

So Halifax, you ban chickens and then you let a few business owners convince you not to build bike lanes. WTF? First you seriously consider the idea of charging people to park on residential streets that are near the downtown core (because Halifax has SOOO much awesome and affordable parking as it is). Then you refuse to do something that would encourage less people to bring their cars into the city - you vote against bike lanes on a very busy route that tons of cyclists rely on. I don't know what you're smoking, Halifax, but that just doesn't add up. I guess you figure that if you recycle, you don't need to cycle in the first place.

Halifax needs a serious wake up call. Sometimes life requires getting a little bit of dirt under your nails. If business owners on Herring Cove Road can't accept a bike lane let them move to a shopping mall where all they'll have to worry about are motorized scooters careening down the halls. If Halifax Council doesn't like chickens, that's okay. Next election Haligonians should vote the chickens in and send the turkeys packing.

I believe in karma and I'm pretty sure that with behaviours like these a whole lot of councillors are bound to end up with egg on their face. Hopefully they're green eggs - I hear those go great with ham.

Where did all the Backpackers go?

Last year I went to Iceland. It's a smallish country really, with roughly the same number of people as Halifax. The highlight of our trip was a 4-day backpack with friends on a route known as Laugavegur, a 53 km trek from Landmannalaugar to Thorsmork and by no means an easy hike. The route traverses volcanoes, glaciers, extremely steep climbs and even steeper descents. The scenery is unbelievable but you work for every frigging look, that's for sure.

Carrying backpacks weighing somewhere close to 60 pounds apiece, my husband Troy and I set out at the end of July to complete Laugavegur with our Icelandic friends Sigrun and Bjarki. Getting to the trail involved a 2-hour drive from just outside Reykjavik, and then another 2 hours down a dirt road on a tour bus that traversed glacial rivers and navigated switchbacks I'd be hesitant to ride on my mountain bike. When the bus finally dumped us at our destination, I was shocked to find myself in a mini-city of high-tech fabric, extreme four-wheelers and camping gear that you'll never be able to afford. No really, I'm serious... you won't. Think I'm joking? Imagine paying $120 for a Camelbak bladder (JUST the bladder), $25 for a single dehydrated backpacking meal, $40 for a Nalgene bottle. Yes, it's expensive to be "outdoorsy" in Iceland.

And yet, despite the prohibitive costs, the insanely inconvenient travel to get to the trail head, and temperatures that (we found out the hard way) get down to -5° at night at the end of July, Laugavegur sees an average of 8000 hikers per year. Yes, 8000, you heard me right. Astonishing, isn't it?

Our backpacking trip began with a meeting with a park warden. He warned us about jeans, the "pants of death", informed us that a snowstorm was headed for the area where we planned to camp that night, and wished us luck as I dug my toque and mittens out of my pack and watched bikini-clad women splash in a nearby hot spring. I sensed that this was about to be a very challenging hike, and I was right!

8000 hikers per year. On one trail. Statistically it sounds like a lot. Realistically, it's unimaginable. Every turn on the trail we encountered another group. For four days we could always see people in the distance and people following our steps. Every night we camped alongside at least 30 or 40 tents, not to mention all the people who chose to stay in the huts at each campground. It was like car camping in Nova Scotia, but there were no coolers full of Coors Light, no ghetto blasters fronting Kid Rock, no screaming children, no washer toss. This was serious business. Every night as the sun dimmed (it never really got dark) the campground went silent as exhausted backpackers slid into tents for the night and every morning a routine of eating, packing, lining up for the toilets and departing occurred as hikers set off once again. Although this trail was remote, it was never lonely and always occupied by others with a similar goal. You can't imagine what it's like to be surrounded by so many people who appreciate the outdoors as much as you do. Men and women, young and old, traditionalists in wool and techies in Gore-tex - they were all out there, enjoying the scenery, enjoying the challenge, and enjoying the comeraderie of their fellow explorers in the great outdoors.

That was last year's backpacking trip.

This year, Troy and I decided to tackle something more local. Cape Chignecto is a 51 km coastal route around one of Nova Scotia's most scenic shorelines.

This time we set out in mid-July, a week earlier than our Icelandic journey. We arranged the trip to last four days again, and found the trail to be a little more challenging than Laugevegur - no volcanos or glaciers, but definitely steeper in places, and with a temperature pushing 30° each day and insane humidity, a whole lot more uncomfortable.

Chignecto is touted as one of Nova Scotia's great backpacking destinations, and I always thought that as Canadians, backpacking, camping and wilderness exploration is in our blood. Yet over a course of 4 days we encountered 3 other people on the trail. 3! That's less than one per day! What the hell?

Could it be that video games, movies, Lazy Boys and SUVs are destroying our great Canadian desire to explore the wilderness, rough it in nature, and breathe in real fresh air? Is Canada afraid of the wild, the coyotes, the attack squirrels and the oh-so-fearsome horseflies? Have we been pampered to death? Have we fallen into the seduction of air conditioning and paved parking lots and Rotten Ronnie's and microwave meals? Have we given up on what it means to be Canadian? Alas, I fear that might be the case.

I have words for you, Canada. Words like "beavers", "canoes", "maple", "loons", "wilderness", "stars", "birch bark", "wild", "rugged shore lines", "eagles", "wildlife", "free". Have you experienced any of these words lately? Do you really know what it's like out there? Could you tell the difference between a street light and the Big Dipper if your life depended on it?

If the answer is no, then do yourself a favour. Grab a backpack. Get out of cell phone range. Find out what shit is all about, both figuratively and literally. We were never supposed to be a nation of tv-watching, fast-food-eating couch surfers. If a chilly and treeless nation like Iceland can see the beauty and value in spending time outdoors, then what the hell is our excuse? North Face wasn't made for grocery shopping, you know?

Canada, I'm embarrassed. We have one of the most beautiful countries on the planet and if it wan't for the Discovery channel, you wouldn't even know it. The sights in your back yard are National Geographic material, but you're busy checking out the shootings downtown and the deals on pizza pockets in your stupidmarket flyer. There's a whole world out there that you'll never experience until someone plows it with a bulldozer and puts up a strip mall or subdivision.

Oh well, more tranquility for me, I guess. Enjoy your gridlock, screaming neighbours and Blockbuster fees. If stress is stepping in a pile of bear poop or going a day without texting, I'll take it. You don't know what you're missing, Canada, and I say, "Skål!"

Don't know what that means? I'm sure you can Google it from the comfort of your home office.