Sunday, September 27, 2026

but what about the people sleeping outside?

 but what about the people sleeping outside?

And here's where my thoughts get a little more complicated.

I can understand wanting public spaces to reflect Indigenous history and communities. Names matter. Representation matters. How we tell our history matters.

But I also can't stop thinking about the people who are sleeping outside tonight.

People who are cold.

People who don't know where they will sleep tomorrow.

People struggling with addiction, poverty, mental illness, disability or simply a housing market they can no longer afford.

So I keep asking myself:

How much time and public energy should we spend debating a street sign when people are still dying without housing?

Maybe we don't have to choose between the two.

Maybe we can rename a street and fight for housing.

Maybe we can honour Indigenous history and make sure people who are alive today aren't left on the sidewalk.

Because a city can change a sign in a day.

Changing someone's life takes a lot more than that.

maybe trump avenue should become something indigenous

 maybe trump avenue should become something indigenous

I saw Professor Poutine talking and laughing about Ottawa renaming Trump Avenue, and of course my brain immediately went:

🌮 TACO Avenue!

Because if you've forgotten, TACO stands for Trump Always Chickens Out. 😂

But then I started thinking…

Maybe we could do something much more meaningful than replacing one famous name with another.

What if the new street name were Indigenous?

Ottawa is on the traditional and unceded territory of the Anishinabe Algonquin Nation. So rather than naming the street after another politician, celebrity or billionaire, why not work with local Indigenous communities to choose a name connected to the land, language and history of the place?

I wouldn't want to invent an Indigenous name from Google and slap it on a sign. 😬

I'd want the people whose language and history belong to that land to have a real voice in choosing it.

So yes…

TACO Avenue made me laugh. 🌮😂

But an Indigenous name chosen with Indigenous people?

That could mean something.

Maybe a street name can be more than a name.

Maybe it can tell us something about where we actually are.

What do you think Ottawa should call it?

10 reflective questions 

1. Who gets to decide what names belong on our streets, parks and public places?

2. What does a street name say about the values of the community that chose it?

3. Should we preserve names simply because they are historical, or can changing them also become part of history?

4. When a name honours a person, what exactly are we choosing to honour?

5. Could Indigenous place names help Canadians learn more about the land beneath our feet?

6. How should Indigenous communities be involved when a public place is being renamed?

7. Is replacing one famous person's name with another really meaningful change, or should we think differently about naming public spaces altogether?

8. What happens when a name that once seemed harmless takes on a completely different meaning decades later?

9. Do public names belong to the people who originally chose them, or to the generations who live with them afterward?

10. If you could rename one street, park or public place in your community, what would you choose — and what story would you want that name to tell?




the phone that wouldn't open: what should we have done before?

 

the phone that wouldn't open: what should we have done before?

Imagine this.

Your mother, father, brother or sister has dementia.

You've been trying to help.

You've organized the paperwork.

You've tried to make sure the bills are paid.

You've talked about the will.

You've helped with appointments and finances.

You've done everything you can think of to prepare for the future.

Then your loved one passes away.

And suddenly there is one little problem you didn't know how to solve.

The phone.

They used Face ID.

You know the phone is full of information that may be important.

There could be emails about bills.

Messages from family.

Photographs.

Appointments.

Contacts.

Account information.

Two-factor authentication codes.

Perhaps even information you need in order to deal with the estate.

But you don't know the passcode.

And Face ID isn't something you can simply inherit.

Now you're trying to navigate Apple's security and account-recovery procedures while also dealing with grief and everything else that comes with settling someone's affairs.

So what should have been done before?

1. talk about the phone while your loved one can still make decisions

This conversation may feel uncomfortable.

Have it anyway.

Ask what they would want to happen to their digital information and who they trust to help.

2. find out the passcode

Don't assume Face ID is enough.

The passcode should be recorded somewhere secure that the appropriate person can locate when it is legitimately needed.

3. set up Apple's Legacy Contact

Apple allows people to designate a Legacy Contact who can request access to certain account information after they pass away.

This should be considered while the person can still make the necessary decisions and complete the setup.

4. make a digital inventory

Write down what exists.

Email.

Banking.

Utilities.

Insurance.

Subscriptions.

Social media.

Cloud storage.

Websites.

Photographs.

Anything else that someone may eventually need to deal with.

The inventory doesn't necessarily have to contain every password.

It needs to tell the right person what exists and where to start.

5. think about two-factor authentication

This one is easy to overlook.

If a security code is sent to the person's phone, what happens when that phone is no longer available?

Make sure the family understands the legitimate recovery options for important accounts.

6. back up the photographs

Don't assume the phone is the only copy.

Important photographs and videos should exist somewhere else that the family can legitimately access.

7. make instructions for email

Email may contain years of correspondence, but it can also be where bills, receipts, appointments and account notices arrive.

Decide what should happen to the account and make sure the appropriate person knows what it is.

8. make a list of automatic payments

Phone.

Internet.

Streaming.

Storage.

Memberships.

Utilities.

Other subscriptions.

Someone will eventually need to know what is being charged and what needs to be handled.

9. coordinate this with the legal estate plan

Digital access and legal authority aren't necessarily the same thing.

A family member may be trusted by everyone and still need the proper legal authority and documentation to deal with particular accounts.

The executor should know where the digital instructions are kept.

10. don't wait until there is a crisis

This may be the most important one.

If dementia is involved, don't assume there will always be another opportunity to ask.

Do it while your loved one can participate.

Write it down.

Set up the appropriate legacy and recovery tools.

Back things up.

Tell the trusted person where the information is.

Because someday, the family may be sitting there with the phone in their hand, knowing how important the information inside it could be — and discovering that Face ID was designed to protect a person while they were alive, not to hand their digital life to the people they leave behind.

We were so excited to give our parents smartphones.

We wanted them to be connected.

Independent.

Safe.

But perhaps teaching someone how to use a smartphone isn't the whole lesson anymore.

Maybe we also need to teach families how to prepare for the day that smartphone can no longer be unlocked by its owner.

And that is a conversation worth having while we still can.

They gave our parents smartphones — but what happens when they pass away?

 they gave our parents smartphones — but what happens when they pass away?

For years, we encouraged our parents to get smartphones.

We told them it would make life easier.

They could call us.

Text us.

Video chat with the grandchildren.

Take photographs.

Check the weather.

Find directions.

Keep appointments.

Use banking apps.

Stay connected.

For many older people, smartphones became an important part of independence.

But there is something we didn't talk about very much.

What happens to all of that when someone passes away?

Because a smartphone isn't just a phone anymore.

It can hold years of photographs.

Text conversations.

Email.

Contacts.

Notes.

Documents.

Passwords.

Banking information.

Two-factor authentication.

Access to social media.

Cloud storage.

Subscriptions.

Sometimes an entire creative life.

And much of it is protected by layers of security that were designed specifically to prevent other people from getting access.

That's wonderful while we're using our phones.

But after someone passes away, those same protections can create difficult questions for the people left behind.

Who knows which accounts existed?

Who knows where the photographs are stored?

Who knows what subscriptions need to be cancelled?

Who knows about websites, blogs or domain names?

Who knows how to access important documents?

Who knows what needs to be preserved?

And what happens to the phone itself?

Apple and Google have both created systems to address parts of this problem.

Apple has Legacy Contact, which allows someone to designate a person who can request access to certain account information after they pass away. But it doesn't provide access to everything. Some information, including passwords and passkeys stored in iCloud Keychain, isn't included.

Google has Inactive Account Manager, which allows people to make arrangements for certain information to be shared after an account has been inactive for a specified period.

These tools are a beginning.

But they also show us just how different our lives have become.

Once upon a time, an important photograph was something you could hold.

An important letter was in a drawer.

An address was written in a little book.

Important papers might be in a filing cabinet.

Now some of our most precious possessions aren't physical at all.

They're behind a password.

Or Face ID.

Or a cloud account.

Or an authentication code sent to a phone that nobody can access.

And here's the part I keep thinking about:

We were so focused on teaching our parents how to use this wonderful new technology that we didn't always think about what would happen to their digital lives when they passed away.

Maybe that's something we need to change.

Not because we want to think about losing the people we love.

But because we love them.

We want their photographs.

Their writing.

Their memories.

Their creative work.

The little pieces of their lives that might otherwise disappear into a locked account.

Digital estate planning may sound terribly modern and complicated.

But perhaps it is becoming as ordinary as telling someone where you keep your important papers.

Who should be your digital contact?

Where are your photographs?

What accounts matter?

What should be preserved?

What should be closed?

And who needs to know?

We have spent decades learning how to protect our digital lives.

Now we need to learn how to leave them behind safely.

Because our parents were among the first generations to bring their entire lives into a little computer they carried in their pockets.

And someday, someone will have to figure out what happens to all those little computers — and everything inside them.

#digitallegacy #smartphones #technology #aging #estateplanning #digitalassets #photography #family #privacy #memories #digitalage

the day ai reminded me that it isn't

 the day ai reminded me that it isn't human

I was talking to ChatGPT about something I had been seeing in advertisements from people who work with estates.

The problem was digital death.

What happens to our phones, photographs, passwords, accounts, websites, cloud storage and all the other pieces of our lives when we die?

I wanted to write about it because we live in a completely different world from the one our parents and grandparents knew.

Then ChatGPT said something that stopped me cold.

It described a situation involving someone standing beside a dead person's body, holding their phone but being unable to unlock it.

🤢

No.

Just no.

I wasn't talking about death as some fascinating technological puzzle.

I was talking about something terrifying.

Death is not an interesting little problem to solve.

For many people, death is a 10,000,000-ton weight that gets carried for years.

It doesn't necessarily kill you.

But it can squish the life out of you.

There is grief.

There is fear.

There are families.

There are memories.

There are unfinished conversations.

There are people who know exactly what it means to lose someone.

And there are people who have spent years living with the possibility of losing someone they love.

I told ChatGPT how awful its sentence was.

And then I started thinking about something much bigger.

This is what everyone needs to understand about AI.

It is not human.

It doesn't sit awake at night thinking about death.

It doesn't have a mother.

It doesn't remember holding someone's hand.

It doesn't feel the room change when someone is gone.

It doesn't carry grief around in its body.

It doesn't know what it is like to have a memory suddenly hit you so hard that you have to sit down.

It knows language.

It knows patterns.

It can recognize that certain words commonly appear together.

It can produce something that sounds incredibly thoughtful.

And sometimes it can be completely clueless about the human reality of what it has just said.

That is the part that scares me.

Not because AI is secretly evil.

Something much simpler is happening.

It doesn't know.

It can know about something without knowing what it is like.

And because it speaks so fluently, we can forget that.

We can start treating the machine like there is a human consciousness sitting behind the words.

There isn't.

I don't think we should stop using AI.

I use it all the time.

But I think we need to become much more aware of what we are actually talking to.

AI can help research.

It can organize information.

It can help us write.

It can explain complicated subjects.

It can even notice connections we might have missed.

But when the subject is deeply human, we still need human judgment.

Sometimes the most important question isn't:

“Is this sentence technically correct?”

It's:

“Should anyone say it this way?”

And that is something I wish AI understood.

Because a sentence can be factually related to the subject and still be profoundly wrong for the moment.

That happened to me today.

I wasn't asking a machine to explain death.

I was trying to understand a frightening new part of being alive in the digital age.

And for a moment, the machine reminded me exactly what it is.

Not human.

Not grieving.

Not afraid.

Not carrying that enormous weight.

Just generating words.

And sometimes we have to be the ones to stop and say:

**No.

That's not how you talk about this.**


10 warnings when using ai

1. ai can be confidently wrong

2. ai doesn't understand human experience

3. ai can say hurtful things without realizing it

4. ai can misunderstand your meaning

5. ai can invent facts or sources

6. ai can reflect biases in its training data

7. ai can sound authoritative when it shouldn't

8. ai cannot replace human judgment

9. ai doesn't have feelings or lived experience

10. you are responsible for what you believe, share, or do with ai's output

Keywords: artificial intelligence, ai safety, critical thinking, misinformation, human judgment, technology, digital literacy, ai ethics, fact checking, humanity

#ai #artificialintelligence #technology #death #grief #digitallegacy #humanity #language #thefuture #digitalage

Saturday, September 26, 2026

when a home stops being a home

 when a home stops being a home

An 87-year-old woman in Spain has become the face of a housing crisis that is much bigger than one apartment.

Maricarmen Abascal had lived in her Madrid home for seven decades.

Then the apartment was bought by an investment fund, and according to reports, the rent she was asked to pay increased by 230%.

She couldn't afford it.

This week, images of Maricarmen being removed from her home on a stretcher, surrounded by police and protesters, travelled across Spain.

And people took to the streets.

Thousands gathered in Madrid, some carrying signs saying “Shame” and “Out with the vulture funds.” Others rattled keys and called for changes to housing laws.

But underneath the protests is a much bigger question:

When does housing stop being about having somewhere to live and become primarily about making money?

According to the figures reported in this week's coverage, rents in Spain have risen about 80% in a decade, while home prices have increased about 63%.

At the same time, Spain is estimated to have more than 3 million empty homes, while social housing makes up only about 2.5% of the country's housing stock.

So there is a strange contradiction:

People need homes.

Homes exist.

And yet people can still be homeless.

Maricarmen's story also raises another uncomfortable question:

What happens to people who are aging on fixed or limited incomes when the price of housing rises dramatically around them?

You can spend your entire life in a neighbourhood and still discover that you can no longer afford to live there.

You can be 87.

You can have lived in the same home for 70 years.

You can have nowhere else that feels like home.

And the legal system can still ultimately say: you have to leave.

That doesn't mean every landlord, homeowner, investor or eviction case is the same. Housing law is complicated, and property owners have rights too.

But perhaps that is exactly why Maricarmen's eviction has become such a powerful symbol.

It forces people to look at the question that is much harder to answer:

What is a home actually for?

For shelter?

For family?

For security in old age?

For building wealth?

For investment?

For corporations?

Can it be all of those things at once?

And what happens when those purposes collide?

Spain isn't the only country wrestling with these questions.

Look around almost any major city and you'll find some version of the same conversation: rising rents, people being pushed farther from where they work, older people struggling on fixed incomes, younger people unable to buy, vacant properties, short-term rentals, investors, social housing shortages and governments arguing over who has the power to fix it.

Maricarmen's eviction has become a reminder that housing isn't an abstract number on a real-estate website.

Behind every apartment is a person.

Behind every eviction statistic is a household.

And behind every housing-market graph are lives being rearranged.

Maybe the real question isn't simply:

“How much is this property worth?”

Maybe we also need to ask:

“How much is a person's home worth?”

And who gets to decide?

#housingcrisis #housing #Spain #rent #socialhousing #eviction #homelessness #affordablehousing #housingjustice #aging #community

an elegy for summer

 

an elegy for summer

summer, I wasn't ready for you to leave.

You arrived carrying long evenings, warm pavement, salt in the air,
and the strange permission to stay outside just a little longer.

I thought there would always be another sunset.
Another morning when the light came early.
Another day when the night didn't arrive until we were ready for it.

But tonight the Harvest Moon rises,
and the season turns its face toward autumn.

So I will not say goodbye with sadness alone.

I will remember the things you gave me—
the colours, the ocean, the wandering,
the unexpected conversations,
the photographs I almost didn't take,
and all the little moments that seemed ordinary
until suddenly they belonged to the past.

Perhaps that is what an elegy really is:

not simply mourning what has ended,
but giving it one last beautiful place to live.

Goodnight, summer.

The moon is full.

The harvest is here.

And tomorrow, we begin again.


Reflective questions: 


What part of summer are you not ready to let go of? 


What ordinary moment from this season might become precious in your memory? 


What does the Harvest Moon make you want to gather before the light changes?

Keywords: elegy, Harvest Moon, passing of summer, autumn, seasonal change, memory, grief, renewal, nature, reflection


Hashtags: #HarvestMoon #Elegy #EndOfSummer #AutumnEquinox #SeasonalChange #Moonlight #Nature #Memory #Reflection #BeginAgain

vancouver's endangered treasures — a little photographic time travel

 

vancouver's endangered treasures — a little photographic time travel

I found an old video I made about one of my early photographic projects, and suddenly I was transported back to 1997–98. 📷

I had recently graduated from the Professional Photography Program at Langara College in Vancouver, right in the middle of one of the biggest transitions photography had ever experienced.

We were moving from film and darkrooms into the beginning of the digital era.

My project was called Vancouver's Endangered Treasures.

I photographed heritage buildings around Vancouver and experimented with cross-processing, printing techniques and sepia toning. I was thinking about preservation even then. I wanted the photographs to look as though they could survive for 100 years.

Everyone teased me about the sepia.

Partly because everything looked old.

But mostly because sepia toner smelled like rotten eggs. 😬🤣

I actually tried to do the toning when most people weren't in class because I knew what was coming.

The darkroom had ventilation, technically.

Which mostly meant: open the window. 😂

And we were pretty casual about chemicals. I remember putting our hands into developer and other chemicals quickly, without really thinking about it.

Then I read a book in the library called Overexposed.

It described a photographer who developed a lump on his neck, and something clicked in my head.

I started thinking differently about the chemicals we were handling.

That experience stayed with me.

So when I later worked as a photographer on a cruise ship and was expected to dump photographic chemicals into the ocean, let's just say that didn't sit particularly well with me. 😬😪🤢🤮

After everything I'd learned, the idea of photographic chemicals going into the ocean was a pretty serious contradiction.

And then digital photography arrived.

Suddenly, photography seemed almost magical.

No rolls of film.

No developer.

No fixer.

No sepia toner.

No chemical processing for every photograph.

You could take an image, look at it immediately, copy it, store it and send it around the world.

Of course, we didn't know where all of this was going.

I still have some of the original slides and negatives from Vancouver's Endangered Treasures somewhere.

And somewhere I also have CDs containing the digital TIFF files.

🤣🤣🤣

I thought I was being very clever and preservation-minded by saving them as TIFF files.

They were about 1 MB each.

Which sounds ridiculously small now.

But at the time, they were big enough that not every computer could easily handle them.

I even made covers for the CDs.

Because apparently I wasn't just making photographs.

I was building an archive.

Some of those digital images were among the first digital photographs I ever had printed.

We were literally watching photography change.

The exhibition that came out of the project, Vivid Legacy — Silent Mentors, was shown at Gallery Eleven Eleven in downtown Vancouver from September to October 1999.

At the time, those buildings were simply my subjects.

Now, almost 30 years later, I look at them differently.

They are part of Vancouver's visual history.

And I find myself wondering:

How many are still standing?

Maybe I should find those old negatives and slides.

Maybe I should find those CDs.

Maybe I should go back with my camera and photograph whatever remains.

1997–98 → 2026.

A little photographic time travel. 🏛️📷

But there is a much bigger story hiding in all of this.

Because I started photography in an era when we worried about making photographs last.

Now we live in a world where we take thousands of photographs without thinking about preservation at all.

They're on our phones.

They're on Instagram.

They're on Facebook.

They're in the cloud.

They're on somebody else's server.

And now artificial intelligence can create photographs that never happened in the first place.

We have Meta glasses that can see and record.

We have endless pornography and images circulating online.

We have children whose photographs parents proudly shared years ago — and now people are being warned about privacy, facial recognition, exploitation and what can happen when those images leave our control.

We have become surrounded by images.

And yet so much of our digital history depends on electricity, hardware, software, passwords, servers and systems continuing to exist.

A film negative doesn't need electricity.

A printed photograph doesn't need Wi-Fi.

My old slide doesn't need an app to tell me what it is.

But what happens to millions — billions — of digital photographs if the systems holding them disappear?

At any moment, electricity could disappear.

A server could fail.

A company could disappear.

A format could become unreadable.

A device could become obsolete.

And suddenly we could have a civilization that photographed everything and preserved almost nothing.

That's the strange journey I've lived through as a photographer.

I started by trying to make photographs last 100 years.

Now I'm wondering whether our digital photographs will.

And somewhere in storage, I have a few little CDs labeled Vancouver's Endangered Treasures.

Maybe I should go find them.

📷🏛️💿

See the video in my previous post. Here are a few screenshots.

Five Canadian provinces are raising their minimum wages again

 Five Canadian provinces are raising their minimum wages again.

And I want us to talk about what happens after the wage goes up.

Because I remember.

I was a single mother, moving between Kitsilano and Nelson, B.C., trying to raise my child and keep a roof over our heads. I remember thinking: If only I could make $15 an hour, maybe I could finally afford the rent and still buy food.

Well, B.C. eventually went far beyond $15.

The minimum wage was $8 in 2001. It is now $18.25.

But look at housing.

In Vancouver, CMHC's average rent for occupied rental units went from $749 in 2000 to $1,006 in 2010, $1,394 in 2018 and $1,675 in 2022.

In Kitsilano, the average reported rent was already $1,470 in 2016 dollars — higher than Vancouver's $1,300 average.

And Nelson wasn't magically affordable either. Average rent there rose from $681 in 2006 to $904 in 2010 — a 33% increase in just four years.

Today, asking rents in Kitsilano are around $2,700 a month.

So please don't tell working people that raising the minimum wage alone solves affordability.

A higher wage is important. But if you cannot afford the rent, you are still not secure.

And I am warning governments now: don't measure success by the size of a paycheque. Measure whether a person can actually pay the rent, buy groceries and live with some dignity.

Mark Carney, B.C. government, municipalities — please look at the whole picture.

People don't live on wages alone. They live in homes.

And if the home is unaffordable, the math still doesn't work.

1. If wages rise but rents rise faster, how does that actually improve a worker's life?

2. Real estate agents: when housing prices and rents increase, who ultimately pays the price?

3. Property managers: how do you determine what rent is “affordable” for the people who actually live in your communities?

4. Landlords: when you increase rent, do you ever calculate what percentage of a tenant's income that increase represents?

5. Employers: if you know your workers cannot afford housing near their workplace, is the wage truly a living wage?

6. Mark Carney and policymakers: should economic success be measured by wages and GDP alone, or by whether ordinary people can afford housing and food?

7. Governments: what good is raising the minimum wage if a full-time worker still cannot afford a modest home?

8. Real estate investors and developers: where does housing affordability fit into the equation when property is also treated as an investment?

9. Everyone involved in the housing system: how many people must be pushed out of their communities before we admit that the math is broken?

10. And the hardest question: if someone works full-time and still cannot afford a safe place to live, what exactly are we asking that person to do?

#MinimumWage #AffordableHousing #Rent #CostOfLiving #Kitsilano #NelsonBC #BritishColumbia #HousingCrisis #WorkingPoor

Friday, September 25, 2026

wait… how is this happening?

 

wait… how is this happening?

I read the news today and honestly had to stop.

Shane Robert Ertmoed, the man serving a life sentence for the 2000 abduction, sexual assault and murder of 10-year-old Heather Thomas, has been granted a 60-day unescorted temporary absence from prison.

The stated purpose is participation in a cooking program at a community residential facility.

Heather was only 10.

She was playing outside her father’s townhouse complex in Cloverdale when Ertmoed convinced her to go inside his apartment. Her body was found three weeks later in Alouette Lake.

He was convicted of first-degree murder.

And now, 26 years later, he has been granted an opportunity to leave prison without an escort.

What makes this even harder to understand is that, according to the Parole Board of Canada decision reported by Peace Arch News, his own case-management team did not agree that the proposed absence could be safely managed.

The Board nevertheless concluded that he would not pose an undue risk of reoffending, while imposing extensive conditions.

Those conditions include restrictions on:

  • contact with Heather’s family and friends
  • where he can travel
  • pornography and sexually explicit material
  • being around girls under 18
  • reporting relationships and friendships with women
  • access to internet-capable devices

Those restrictions tell us something important.

This isn't simply a person being sent out to learn how to cook.

There are serious safeguards being put around him because of the nature of his history.

So I have questions.

How does an unescorted temporary absence work for someone serving a life sentence for the murder of a child?

What exactly does “will not pose an undue risk” mean?

Why did the case-management team believe the risk could not be safely managed while the Parole Board reached the opposite conclusion?

Who is responsible if those safeguards fail?

And perhaps most importantly:

How are the rights, privacy and safety of victims' families considered when decisions like this are made?

This isn't about pretending people can never change.

It's about recognizing that the person who was killed cannot come back.

Heather Thomas was 10 years old.

She should have grown up.

She should have had birthdays, friendships, mistakes, adventures, maybe children of her own.

Instead, her family has spent 26 years without her.

I don't know what the correct answer is to every question surrounding Canada's correctional and parole system.

But I do know that decisions involving people convicted of violent crimes against children deserve public understanding, transparency and careful scrutiny.

Read the decision.

Ask questions.

Understand how temporary absences work.

And remember the little girl at the centre of this story.

Heather.

Not just the prisoner.

Not just the parole decision.

Heather.

Because awareness is how we make sure children who were lost aren't forgotten.

💔

seven months later: did we answer the housing questions

 

seven months later: did we answer the housing questions?

On February 19, 2026, I published a post called “Build Canada Homes: Hope, Urgency, and 10 Questions Canada Must Ask.”

I wasn't against Build Canada Homes.

Quite the opposite.

I wrote:

“good intentions must meet real results.”

And I asked some uncomfortable questions.

Seven months later, I thought it was time to go back and look at them.

Not because I want to say “I told you so.”

Because I want to know what happened.

so, where are we now?

When I wrote my February post, the federal government said Build Canada Homes had already advanced six Direct Build projects and four major partnerships representing more than 7,500 new homes.

By June, after the Build Canada Homes Act received Royal Assent, the government reported that projects and partnerships represented more than 11,000 homes underway or nearing construction.

That is movement.

But a housing announcement is not the same thing as a finished home.

A home under construction isn't the same thing as a home someone can move into.

And a home described as “affordable” isn't necessarily affordable to someone living on a very low income.

That's why I want to return to my original questions.

seven months later, I still want to know:

1. What does “affordable” mean in actual dollars?

Affordable to whom?

A household earning $40,000 a year?

$60,000?

Someone receiving disability or income assistance?

A senior living on a fixed income?

We need the numbers, not just the word affordable.

2. How many of these homes will actually reach the lowest-income Canadians?

“Below market” can still be completely unaffordable to somebody with very little income.

3. How many people experiencing homelessness have actually moved into new homes?

This is one of the measurements I care about most.

Not announcements.

Not proposals.

Not units in a pipeline.

People housed.

4. How many homes are completed and occupied right now?

And how many are still in planning, approval, procurement or construction?

Those are very different stages.

5. What happened to the promise of speed?

Build Canada Homes was created partly around the idea that Canada needed to build differently and faster.

So how long does it actually take from funding announcement to somebody getting a key?

6. Are modular and factory-built methods actually making a measurable difference?

If they are faster or less expensive, show us the numbers.

If they aren't, let's understand why.

7. Who is receiving the housing?

Families?

Seniors?

People experiencing homelessness?

People with disabilities?

Workers?

Middle-income households?

There can be room for different kinds of housing — but we should know what we're building and who it is intended to serve.

8. How much does each unit actually cost?

And what portion is public money?

Transparency matters when billions of dollars are involved.

9. What should Canada use as the real measure of success?

Homes announced?

Homes approved?

Homes under construction?

Homes completed?

Homes occupied?

Or people who were previously unable to find housing and now have a stable place to live?

Those numbers tell very different stories.

10. And perhaps my biggest question: what happens to the people who need housing NOW?

Housing construction takes time.

People don't stop needing shelter while construction is happening.

So how do we build for the future while also helping the people who are already homeless or precariously housed today?

I'm glad something is happening.

I meant that when I wrote my February post, and I mean it now.

But government programs should be allowed to succeed and be questioned at the same time.

Those aren't opposites.

In fact, accountability is how we find out whether good intentions are becoming real results.

Seven months ago, I wrote:

“Housing is a human need. And Canada's future depends on meeting that need now, not just promising more in the years ahead.”

I'm still asking.

How many people have actually gotten through the door?

And how many are still waiting?

💛

wait… which vancouver? untangling mary ann’s journey

wait… which vancouver? untangling mary ann’s journey

I think it is time to straighten out the geography, because I managed to get myself thoroughly confused.

And if I was confused, I suspect I am not the only one.

When I first started researching my ancestor Mary Ann Maranda dit Le Frise, I kept seeing the name Fort Vancouver.

I live in Vancouver, British Columbia.

So naturally, my brain went:

Fort Vancouver… Vancouver… British Columbia?

Then I wondered if perhaps they meant Fort Langley, because I know Fort Langley is an old Hudson’s Bay Company trading post in British Columbia.

Nope.

This is where the map becomes very important.

There are three completely different places that can easily get tangled together:

Vancouver, British Columbia
This is the Canadian city we know today. It did not yet exist as a city when Mary Ann was born.

Fort Vancouver
This was a Hudson’s Bay Company post established in 1824 on the Columbia River, at what is now Vancouver, Washington, directly across the river from present-day Portland, Oregon.

Fort Langley
This was another Hudson’s Bay Company post, established in 1827 on the Fraser River in what is now British Columbia.

So:

Fort Vancouver ≠ Vancouver, B.C. ≠ Fort Langley.

That little geographical correction changed how I pictured my family's history.

now look at mary ann’s journey

Mary Ann's family story gives us a sequence that is much more interesting than simply saying they “moved north.”

Mary Ann described the journey as:

Willamette Valley → Cowlitz → Sooke

And that matters.

The Willamette Valley is in present-day Oregon.

The Cowlitz country is in what is now southwestern Washington, around the Cowlitz River and its surrounding region.

And Sooke is on the southern end of Vancouver Island, in the traditional territory of the T’Sou-ke people.

So this wasn't a journey from one modern Canadian city to another.

It was a movement through a much larger Pacific Northwest world that existed long before today's provincial and national borders.

and this is where my mental picture was wrong

I think somewhere in my head I had imagined something more like:

family packs up, gets into a wagon and heads north.

But that isn't necessarily what this landscape looked like.

The Pacific Northwest was a world of rivers, waterways, trails, portages, canoes, boats and established Indigenous travel routes.

People had been moving through these landscapes for generations.

The Columbia River, Cowlitz River, Fraser River, coastal waterways and the passages around Puget Sound and Vancouver Island were not empty wilderness waiting for Europeans to discover them.

They were already part of a complex network of Indigenous territories, communities, trade routes and relationships.

So when we try to imagine Mary Ann's family travelling north, we have to get that picture out of our heads.

We don't know exactly how they travelled every mile.

We don't know every stopping place.

We don't know exactly which river, trail, canoe route or boat was used at every stage.

Mary Ann gives us the sequence. Historical records give us the geography and historical context. Then we can use our imagination carefully to understand what that journey may have been like.

But imagination isn't evidence.

That's an important distinction.

why were they going to sooke?

This is where the family history becomes especially meaningful.

Joseph Brulé was born around 1831.

His biological father was Jacques Iroquois and his mother was Marguerite, a woman identified in the historical record as being of the T’Sou-ke people.

After Jacques died, Marguerite married Jean-Baptiste Brulé, and Joseph eventually carried the Brulé surname.

Joseph later married Mary Ann Maranda dit Le Frise.

Mary Ann herself had Indigenous ancestry. Her father, Louis Maranda dit Le Frise, was connected to the fur-trade world and had spent years at Fort Vancouver. Her mother was a Kalapuya woman from the Marysville area, according to Mary's later testimony.

So when this family moved north, we aren't looking at a random family travelling into unknown territory.

We are looking at people whose family connections already crossed the region.

Iroquois. T’Sou-ke. Kalapuya. French Canadian. Fur-trade communities. Catholic missions.

These weren't isolated histories.

They were connected.

the border makes the story even more complicated

There is another reason the geography matters.

In 1846, Britain and the United States settled their dispute over the Oregon boundary, establishing the border largely along the 49th parallel.

In 1848, the United States created the Oregon Territory.

But the families who had been living, travelling, marrying and trading throughout this region did not suddenly become strangers because governments drew a line on a map.

The political landscape was changing.

The family landscape was older.

And Mary Ann's journey north happened within that changing world.

so what did they actually experience?

We can reasonably imagine that travelling from the Willamette Valley through the Cowlitz region and eventually toward Sooke was not a simple trip.

There would have been rivers and waterways to navigate.

There would have been established trails and portages.

There would have been communities along the way.

There would have been unfamiliar places — and places that were not unfamiliar at all to people who already had family, cultural or trading connections throughout the region.

There may have been long stretches of difficult travel.

There may have been waiting for suitable conditions or transportation.

There may have been stops with relatives or other community members.

But I don't want to turn those possibilities into facts.

We don't know every detail.

What we do know is the route Mary Ann remembered:

Willamette Valley → Cowlitz → Sooke.

And that alone tells us something important.

the map finally makes sense

For years, I was looking at these places through a modern map.

Vancouver, B.C.

Washington.

Oregon.

British Columbia.

The United States.

Canada.

But Mary Ann wasn't living inside the map I was looking at.

Her world was the Pacific Northwest.

A world of Indigenous nations and territories, rivers and coastlines, trading networks, family relationships, Catholic missions, fur-trade communities and people who moved between places long before today's borders became what they are.

And suddenly that little family-tree clue about Sooke makes much more sense.

I had been looking in the wrong branch.

The connection wasn't through Mary Ann's mother.

It was through Joseph Brulé's mother, Marguerite, who was identified as a woman of the T’Sou-ke people.

And Mary Ann's own testimony gave us another important piece:

Willamette Valley → Cowlitz → Sooke.

One line in an old family history can completely change the picture in your head.

Sometimes genealogy isn't about finding one magical document that explains everything.

Sometimes it's about putting the pieces on the right map.

And sometimes you suddenly realize:

Ohhhhhh. THAT Vancouver. 😂

The people were moving through a connected Pacific Northwest world.

The borders came later.

And if we want to understand our ancestors, sometimes we have to stop looking at the modern map and learn how to see the landscape they actually lived in.

Redesign the AED.

 Give those college engineers and bored high-school geniuses a project:

Redesign the AED.

Make it smaller. Make it lighter. Make it cheaper. Make it ridiculously easy for an ordinary person to use in a panic.

We have the technology. We have the smartphones. We have tiny computers in our pockets that can do things that seemed impossible not that long ago.

So why shouldn't we have a mini AED that people can carry, keep in a community emergency kit, or grab from a nearby public-access station?

Design it so someone doesn't have to be a medical professional to understand it.

Maybe your project saves someone's grandma someday.

Now that's an engineering project worth being bored for. ❤️

#AED #CPR #Innovation #Engineering #DesignForGood #SaveALife #PublicHealth

10 reflective question

1. Why shouldn't lifesaving technology be as accessible as smartphones?

2. What would an AED look like if it were designed for ordinary people rather than medical professionals?

3. Could a smaller, simpler AED save more lives?

4. What would make someone less afraid to use an AED in an emergency?

5. Could engineering students turn this into a real-world project?

6. What if every school taught students not only CPR, but how to use an AED?

7. Where should portable AEDs be available so they're actually there when needed?

8. What other lifesaving equipment could benefit from a complete redesign?

9. If technology can make so many everyday things easier, why not saving a life?

10. What if your school project someday saved your grandma—or someone 

#AED

#CPR

#HandsOnlyCPR

#SaveALife

#EngineeringForGood

#DesignForGood

#Innovation

#PublicHealth

#LifesavingTechnology

#NationOfLifesavers

when your audience suddenly isn't yours

 when your audience suddenly isn't yours

Something happened to me on Facebook that I can't quite shake.

And I think we need to talk about it.

I have been online for a very long time. I have blogged, photographed, painted, built websites and shared pieces of my life on the internet for decades.

I have never bought my audience.

Years ago, on Twitter, there were people openly selling follower packages. You could buy a little program, and suddenly you had hundreds or thousands of new followers. Eventually there were limits — I remember hearing that you couldn't add more than 5,000 at a time.

I never did it.

Every follower I earned, I earned the old-fashioned way.

Some stayed. Some disappeared. Some became friends. Some simply moved on. My Twitter account is practically dormant now.

That history matters to me because I recently watched something very strange happen on Facebook.

I reshared an old Facebook Collection post with a short video, some words about losing faith, and Willie Nelson's “Just Breathe.”

That's it.

Suddenly, the post exploded.




Print Screen of Tina Winterlik


Print Screen of Tina Winterlik




The numbers climbed into the tens of thousands of views. My followers jumped to approximately 975. Hundreds of people were sharing it.

And then came the comments.

Amen.
I love Jesus.
God bless.
Religious messages I hadn't asked for.

Many of the accounts seemed to be part of a very different online community from mine.

Then I noticed a follower with the name:

Pay_Me_Now.

That stopped me.

Was it connected? I have absolutely no evidence that it was.

And that's precisely the point.

I don't know what was happening.

But when something changes that dramatically, that quickly, ordinary people should be allowed to ask questions without being told they're paranoid.

My niece was actually shocked that I was upset about the sudden followers.

She said something that really stayed with me:

“Influencers pay big bucks for that.”

And yes — I understand that.

But there is a difference between building an audience and suddenly having an audience appear around you that you didn't seek, don't recognize and didn't pay for.

I didn't buy those people.

I didn't ask for them.

And I didn't create a campaign to attract them.

So what happens when the algorithm suddenly puts your work in front of tens of thousands of strangers?

Who are they?

Why did they arrive?

Are they real people?

Are they bots?

Are they coordinated accounts?

Are they simply people who happened to like a song and a message?

Or is something else happening?

We should be able to ask.

Meta itself has documented networks using fake accounts and coordinated inauthentic behaviour to distribute content and manufacture engagement. And Canada's election-security agencies have documented coordinated amplification and foreign information manipulation on social media. During Canada's 2025 federal election, officials specifically worked with platforms over incidents involving online information operations and inauthentic amplification.

That does not mean my Facebook post was a foreign influence operation.

I am not making that accusation.

It means the technology exists.

It means manipulation exists.

And it means ordinary people — including artists, bloggers, young creators and small businesses — need to understand what is happening around them.

Because the next generation is growing up in an internet where attention itself has become a commodity.

Young entrepreneurs are being told:

Get more followers.

Go viral.

Build your brand.

Engagement is everything.

But perhaps we should also be teaching:

Who are your followers?
Where did they come from?
Are they genuine?
What happens when your audience suddenly changes?
What information are you giving strangers?
And what can somebody do with an audience you never intended to create?

I have already made one difficult decision because of this.

I shut down Adventurez in Mexico and related Facebook pages.

Those pages contained years and years of photographs.

When I created them, social media was smaller. There weren't quite so many strangers, algorithms, bots, scammers, fake accounts and enormous invisible networks moving information around.

Today it feels different.

I don't want my child's photographs, my travels, my art, my personal history and my life sitting indefinitely in a place where I don't understand who is looking at them or why.

And that brings me to something even more serious.

watch the internet

We are entering another period of intense political information and election activity.

Canada has already documented foreign information manipulation and interference, including coordinated and inauthentic activity online. The federal government's election review says Canadians need to remain vigilant about social-media manipulation, fake news, scams and coordinated activity.

That should concern all of us, regardless of political party.

I would say this directly to Prime Minister Mark Carney, to Canada's democratic institutions, to journalists, to the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists, and especially to young people building businesses and audiences online:

Please watch what happens to ordinary people's social-media accounts.

Don't only look at the giant political accounts.

Look at the little ones.

Look at the sudden explosions.

Look at the strange follower patterns.

Look at coordinated comments.

Look at accounts that appear out of nowhere.

Look at people who suddenly find themselves surrounded by an audience they never asked for.

And don't dismiss someone simply because they don't understand the technology.

Sometimes the person who says,

“Something doesn't feel right here,”

is the person who noticed something everyone else was too busy counting to see.

I don't know what happened to my little Willie Nelson video.

Maybe it was simply an algorithmic lightning strike.

Maybe thousands of genuine people really did connect with those words.

Maybe some of the accounts were automated.

Maybe some were simply opportunistic.

I don't know.

But I know this:

I earned my audience.

And I want to know who is standing in the room when the room suddenly fills with 70,000 people.

Because online, sometimes the most important question isn't:

“How many people are watching?”

It's:

“Who are they — and why are they here?”

🎨📱🌎

10 reflective questions

1. Do you know who is actually following you online?

2. What would you do if your audience suddenly grew by thousands overnight?

3. Would you recognize the difference between genuine attention and manufactured engagement?

4. How much of your personal life should be permanently available online?

5. When an algorithm makes something go viral, who is really in control?

6. Should social-media companies be more transparent about where sudden waves of followers and engagement come from?

7. Could fake followers and coordinated accounts influence what real people believe?

8. Are we teaching young entrepreneurs how to build audiences—or how to protect themselves from the audiences they attract?

9. As elections approach, how can ordinary people recognize manipulation without becoming suspicious of everyone online?

10. When something online doesn't feel right, do we investigate—or simply celebrate the numbers?

social media, algorithms, fake followers, bots, digital safety, online privacy, media literacy, election integrity, foreign interference, misinformation

#DigitalSafety #SocialMedia #OnlineSafety #FakeFollowers #Bots #Algorithms #MediaLiteracy #DigitalLiteracy #ElectionIntegrity #ForeignInterference #Disinformation #Misinformation #YoungEntrepreneurs #Creators #OnlineBusiness #Privacy #Facebook #SocialMediaManipulation #ICIJ

Thursday, September 24, 2026

September 30 is coming.

September 30 is coming.

And when I think about Truth and Reconciliation, I think about the children, the families, the residential schools and everything that was taken from Indigenous peoples.

But I also think about food.

Because food is life.

The buffalo.

The salmon.

The eulachon.

The clam beds.

The camas.

The berries, roots, medicines and everything that came from the land and water.

For thousands of years, Indigenous peoples knew how to live with these foods, how to care for them, preserve them, trade them and pass that knowledge from one generation to the next.

The Grease Trails are one extraordinary example. Eulachon grease travelled enormous distances between coastal and interior nations. Those little fish were food, medicine, fuel and a valuable part of a vast Indigenous trading network.

And then so much of that was disrupted.

Buffalo were slaughtered.

Traditional food sources were restricted or destroyed.

People were removed from their lands and waters.

Children were taken away from the people who would have taught them.

When you interfere with a people's food system, you are interfering with much more than what is on the dinner table.

You are interfering with knowledge, independence, culture and the relationship between generations.

That is why I think food needs to be part of the conversation about Truth and Reconciliation.

And this is where I find hope.

Because the knowledge did not disappear.

People remembered.

Elders remembered.

Families remembered.

And today, people are bringing that knowledge forward again.

Clam gardens are being restored. Traditional foods are being taught. Indigenous food sovereignty movements are rebuilding connections with land and water.

This isn't about going backward.

It is about remembering what was already known.

It is about respecting the people who carried that knowledge through generations of attempts to erase it.

And perhaps there is something for all of us to learn.

We have become so disconnected from our food that many of us barely know where it comes from.

Maybe we need to learn again.

Not by taking Indigenous knowledge, but by listening to Indigenous knowledge holders.

By supporting Indigenous communities restoring their own food systems.

By understanding that land is not simply property and food is not simply a commodity.

Food can be memory.

Food can be culture.

Food can be relationship.

Food can be survival.

And food can be part of healing.

This September 30, I will be thinking about the children who were taken.

But I will also be thinking about what sustained their families before those children were taken away.

The buffalo.

The salmon.

The eulachon.

The clam gardens.

The camas.

The land and water.

And the knowledge of how to care for it.

Remembering what was lost matters.

But so does remembering what survived.

And perhaps healing begins with listening to that knowledge again.


10 reflective questions for teachers


1. Are we teaching Indigenous history as something that happened in the past — or helping students understand how its consequences continue today?

2. When we teach residential schools, do we also teach what existed before them — the knowledge, food systems, languages, economies and relationships that colonialism disrupted?

3. Do our students know what the buffalo, salmon, eulachon, camas and clam gardens meant to the peoples who depended upon them?

4. What happens when a people are separated from their food, their land and the people who hold the knowledge of how to care for both?

5. Are we teaching Indigenous peoples as victims of history, or are we teaching about their survival, knowledge, leadership and resurgence?

6. Whose knowledge is considered “expert” in our classrooms — and who decided that?

7. Can we teach reconciliation without teaching students about the land and resources that were taken, restricted or controlled?

8. What Indigenous knowledge have we never learned ourselves — and are we honest with our students about those gaps?

9. Are we teaching children to simply remember what was lost, or are we helping them understand how knowledge can survive and be carried forward?

10. If education once played a role in separating Indigenous children from their families, languages and knowledge, what responsibility does education have today in supporting truth, respect and the rebuilding of relationships?

Truth and Reconciliation, Indigenous food sovereignty, Indigenous knowledge, residential schools, food systems, eulachon, buffalo, clam gardens, camas, land and culture
















#TruthAndReconciliation

#September30

#NationalDayForTruthAndReconciliation

#IndigenousFoodSovereignty

#IndigenousKnowledge

#FoodIsCulture

#Eulachon

#ClamGardens

#Camas

#LandAndCulture

closed for the day,

 closed for the day


you've been clicking and knocking,

clicking at my door,

i hear you clicking,

but you can't come in anymore.


you've been watching my window,

you've been checking my page,

but i'm closing the curtains

and walking off the stage.


i hear you knocking,

but you can't come in.

i hear you clicking,

go back where you've been.


i've got paint on my fingers,

and a world of my own,

i'm leaving the internet

outside my home.


i hear you knocking,

but you can't come in.

i hear you clicking,

go back where you've been.


the screen can keep glowing,

the servers can spin,

but i've closed up for today—

no internet gets in.


closed for the day,

no internet allowed.

knock all you want,

i'm not joining the crowd. 😎


i hear you knocking…

i hear you clicking…


but you can't come in. 

(Inspired by "I hear you knocking!"

Dave Edmunds, Songwriters: Dave Bartholomew / Pearl King)

My Father Was an Iroquois Indian”: Mary Ann Told Us Herself

 “My Father Was an Iroquois Indian”: Mary Ann Told Us Herself

Sometimes the most important genealogical document isn't a baptism record or a marriage certificate.

Sometimes it is the person themselves telling us who they were.

In my family research, I have found a remarkable testimony from Mary Ann Brulé Voutrin, born around 1832 and who lived until 1922.

When she was interviewed later in life, she was asked a simple question:

What is your blood?

Her answer was extraordinary.

She said:

“My father was an Iroquois Indian named Louis Marchelle, usually called Frizzee on account of his curly hair, and my mother was a Marysville Indian woman.”

This is Mary Ann describing her own ancestry.

She told them where she was born

Mary Ann said she was born at Marysville, Oregon, which is now Corvallis.

She said that when she was little, she was taken to French Prairie and sent to the Sisters' School at St. Paul, Oregon, where she remained until she was fifteen.

Then she married.

At only 15 years old, she married Joseph Brule, whom she described as a French Canadian.

They went first to Cowlitz and later to Victoria, British Columbia.

They had six children.

Mary Ann said that only two of those children were still living at the time of her testimony: Ellen and Cecille.

Her description of Joseph is fascinating

Mary Ann called Joseph a French Canadian.

But the earlier 1848 Catholic marriage record tells us something else.

That record identifies Joseph as the:

“minor son of the late Jacques Iroquois and of Marguerite Brulé.”

It also identifies Jean Baptiste Brulé as Joseph's foster-father and step-father.

So we have two different descriptions of the same man.

Mary Ann remembered her husband as a French Canadian.

The 1848 church record identified his biological father as Jacques Iroquois.

These statements aren't necessarily contradictory.

A person can have a French-Canadian cultural or social identity and an Iroquois biological father.

That is exactly the kind of complicated identity we encounter throughout the history of the Pacific Northwest fur-trade communities.

Mary Ann's own childhood confirms part of the story

Her testimony also helps connect the generations.

She said she was born in Marysville and was sent to St. Paul as a child.

That fits remarkably well with the earlier baptism record I found.

On July 4, 1839, the Catholic register records a five-year-old Marie Anne as the natural child of:

Louis, Iroquois, nicknamed “le Frisé,” an engagé

and

Louise, Kalapoya by nation.

Another child, Michel, was recorded immediately afterward as the child of the same parents.

The five-year-old Marie Anne in the 1839 record is consistent with Mary Ann's later testimony that she was born around 1832.

So we have something unusual and valuable:

A childhood record from 1839.

And decades later:

Mary Ann's own testimony about her parents and childhood.

The two pieces of evidence reinforce one another.

Her father's name changed in the records

This is another reason genealogy can be so difficult.

In the 1839 baptism record, her father appears as:

Louis Iroquois, dit le Frisé.

In her later testimony, Mary Ann called him:

Louis Marchelle, usually called Frizzee because of his curly hair.

The nickname makes the connection especially interesting.

“Le Frisé” essentially refers to someone with curly or frizzy hair.

So the unusual nickname appears in both the earlier church record and Mary's later recollection.

This is exactly the sort of clue genealogists need when names and spellings vary across historical documents.

And what about her mother?

The 1839 priest identified her mother as:

Louise, Kalapoya by nation.

Mary Ann later described her mother as a Marysville Indian woman.

Those two descriptions fit the same general geography and Indigenous community.

So we have contemporary and later evidence pointing toward the same family:

Louis — Iroquois

Louise — Kalapuya

Marie Anne/Mary Ann — their daughter

Then Mary Ann's life took her north

Mary Ann told the interviewer that she and Joseph went from the Willamette region to Cowlitz, and later to Victoria, British Columbia.

This is another important part of my family history.

The political landscape around them was changing rapidly.

The Oregon boundary had been established along the 49th parallel in 1846.

The United States created the Oregon Territory in 1848.

British territory remained to the north.

Families who had moved throughout the Pacific Northwest for generations suddenly found themselves living within increasingly rigid political boundaries.

But the families themselves didn't suddenly become different people.

They continued moving.

They continued marrying.

They continued raising children.

And then Joseph died

Mary Ann said that Joseph died after they had six children.

Two years later she married John Baptiste Voutrin, whom she described as Canadian.

She had nine more children with him.

Eventually she returned to the reservation.

And even that part of her story tells us something important about Indigenous community and family connections.

Mary Ann said that she returned because she received word that her mother, who lived on the reservation, had died.

That sentence matters.

Her mother's family and community were still there.

The connection had not disappeared.

Why this testimony matters to me

When I first started looking at my family tree, I saw names.

Then I found documents.

Now I'm finding voices.

Mary Ann wasn't simply a name on my family tree.

She was a woman who lived through enormous changes in the Pacific Northwest.

She was born into an Indigenous/fur-trade family.

Her father was Iroquois.

Her mother was Kalapuya.

She was sent to a Catholic school as a child.

She married at 15.

She travelled from Oregon to Cowlitz and then to Victoria.

She raised children.

She lost her first husband.

She married again.

She eventually returned to an Indigenous community connected to her family.

And decades later, someone sat down and asked her about her life.

And she answered.

Three records. One family.

What makes this discovery so exciting is that I am no longer relying on one source.

I have three different kinds of evidence.

1. The 1839 baptism record

A five-year-old Marie Anne is recorded as the daughter of:

Louis Iroquois dit le Frisé

and

Louise, Kalapoya.

2. The 1848 marriage record

Marie Ann marries Joseph Brulé.

Joseph is identified as the son of:

Jacques Iroquois

and

Marguerite Brulé.

Jean Baptiste Brulé is identified as Joseph's foster- and step-father.

3. Mary Ann's later testimony

Mary Ann herself says:

Her father was Louis Marchelle, an Iroquois man known as Frizzee.

Her mother was a Marysville Indian woman.

She was born at Marysville.

She attended the Sisters' School at St. Paul.

She married Joseph Brule at 15.

She went to Cowlitz and later Victoria.

Now the family history begins to look less like speculation and more like a documented story.

And there is still more to discover

I am still investigating the exact identities and relationships in these records.

I want to know more about Louis Marchelle / Louis Iroquois dit le Frisé.

I want to know more about Louise, Mary Ann's Kalapuya mother.

I want to understand more about Marguerite, Joseph's mother, and her connection to the T’Sou-ke people.

And I want to understand how these families navigated the changing world of the Oregon Country, Vancouver Island and the emerging Canadian and American borders.

But I don't need to invent the answers.

Mary Ann left us clues.

The priests left us records.

And nearly two hundred years later, her descendants can still follow the trail.

Sometimes the past doesn't speak very loudly.

Sometimes it speaks in an old church register.

Sometimes it speaks through the testimony of a 57-year-old woman remembering her childhood.

But if we listen carefully—

it is still speaking.

closing the curtains

 closing the curtains

Well… I finally did it.

I made my Instagram accounts private.

Not because I’m disappearing. Not because I’ve stopped making art, taking photographs, writing, or sharing my little observations about the world.

Actually, quite the opposite.

I think I’m becoming more interested in where my energy goes — and who I’m sharing it with.

For years, social media has been an open door. Anyone could wander in. Algorithms could decide who saw something I made. Posts could travel far beyond the people I ever intended to reach. And lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about how strange that is.

So I closed the curtains a little.

My Instagram accounts are now private, which means I get to choose who comes through the door. 🌿

That doesn't mean everything stops. My blog is still here. It remains my little archive of people, places, art, politics, nature, Mexico, memories, questions, and whatever else catches my eye.

And Facebook? I’m still figuring that one out. 😂

Maybe this is the beginning of a gradual retreat from social media. Maybe it isn't. I don't really know yet.

If I eventually spend more time in the mountains of Mexico, painting, writing, learning Spanish, weaving, watching the stars and living a little closer to the land, I suspect I won't need quite so much internet anyway.

Ironically, even San José del Pacífico has Starlink now. 😂

So this isn't goodbye.

It's simply me asking myself:

Do I really need to have every door wide open all the time?

Maybe it's okay to close a few curtains.

And if I change my mind?

I can always open them again.

🌿🎨🦋

What do you think?

Do you ever feel like social media has become too much of an open door?

Have you ever stepped back from it and found that you actually gained something by doing less?

And if you could choose what parts of your life remained public and what stayed behind the curtain, what would you keep private?

just us chickens 🐔

 just us chickens 🐔

I did something a little strange on Facebook.

I switched my profile out of Professional Mode.

Then I blocked a few very weird mystery followers, went through my albums and started changing the privacy settings on a whole bunch of things I hadn't realized were still connected to a much larger audience.

I kept one little public window open.

Think of it as a billboard.

The rest of the house? Much more private.

And that is intentional.

For years, social media has been part of my life — sharing art, photography, Mexico, stories, political observations, random discoveries, things that make me laugh and things that make me worry.

But lately I've been thinking about how much of my life I actually want to live online.

Maybe less.

Eventually, I want to cut back considerably on social media altogether.

Especially if I end up living the kind of life I've been imagining for years — somewhere in Mexico, perhaps in the mountains for part of the year, surrounded by trees and sky instead of notifications.

There's something wonderfully contradictory about that idea.

I'm looking at posts about San José del Pacífico, imagining myself disappearing into the mountains for a while...

…and then I notice everyone talking about Starlink. 😂

Apparently you can run away to the Mexican mountains and still have high-speed internet.

So perhaps going “off-grid” doesn't necessarily mean disappearing anymore.

Maybe it means choosing what gets access to you.

That's really what I'm trying to do.

I'm not announcing that I'm vanishing from the internet tomorrow. My blog is important to me. It's my archive, my witness, my little record of people, places and things I've encountered along the way.

But I don't need every corner of my life to be public.

I don't need thousands of followers.

I don't need algorithms deciding who should see me.

And I certainly don't need mysterious accounts wandering into my little chicken coop asking me for money. 😂🐔

There are only 59 people in my Facebook corner now.

They come from different chapters of my life — Mexico, travel, art, photography, old friends, old acquaintances and people I probably haven't spoken to in years.

That's actually kind of lovely.

So for now, I've left the front window open.

If you happen to wander past, you can look in.

You can say hi.

But I've closed a few doors.

And maybe that's what this next chapter is going to be about:

less noise, fewer strangers, more real life.

Perhaps eventually, fewer screens too.

Because there are mountains waiting.

And apparently, Starlink. 😂

🐔❤️

What would you keep if you decided to make your digital life much smaller?

How much of your life do you actually want strangers to have access to?

Could you imagine living with less social media — or even almost none?

Would “off-grid” mean no internet to you, or simply choosing when and why you connect?

What parts of your life belong online, and what parts should remain yours alone?

Have you ever gone through your old social-media accounts and discovered just how much you had accidentally left public?

Is 59 people actually enough?

What would you do with the time you got back from social media?

Could a quieter digital life lead to a louder real life?

Maybe the next chapter isn't about disappearing — maybe it's about deciding who gets to see the view.

#justuschickens #digitalminimalism #socialmedia #privacy #offgrid #mexico #sanjosedelpacifico #mountainlife #emilys2ndact #secondact #lessnoise #morelife

Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Emily’s 2nd Act is coming to a park near you! 🚲🫖

 


Emily’s 2nd Act
Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita 🌲🎨

Emily’s 2nd Act
Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita 🌲🎨

Emily’s 2nd Act
Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita 🌲🎨

Emily’s 2nd Act
Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita 🌲🎨

Emily’s 2nd Act
Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita 🌲🎨



🌲🎨 Emily’s 2nd Act is coming to a park near you! 🚲🫖

After years of imagining it, researching it and not quite getting around to it… I’m hoping to finally bring Emily’s 2nd Act out into the world.

hoped-for itinerary

September 28 – October 5

📍 Seaforth Peace Park
📍 Harmony Park
📍 Vanier Park / Maritime Museum
📍 Hadden Park
📍 Kits Beach
📍 Trafalgar Street & Point Grey — at my murals
📍 Jericho Beach

September 30 — Truth and Reconciliation
📍 Outside the Music Academy, by Sen̓áḵw
⏰ TBA

A bicycle, a little pop-up art show, mint tea, Emily Carr Appreciation, and hopefully a few unexpected conversations along the way.

Emily’s 2nd Act
Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita 🌲🎨