L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.

As I write tonight there is a welcome chill in the air after the hot days of July. I flip the calendar page to August and realize it is time to start thinking about the year ahead and making plans.  I have been talking about going back to school and using my experience as a veterinarian along with my business experience and people skills to help other veterinarians build amazing careers and lead balanced lives outside veterinary medicine. Something that is finally on the collective minds of our profession and is sorely needed. I truly love being a vet and the thought of building a new career to help other vets find the joy and satisfaction I have experienced in my profession excites me BUT… There is always a “but” isn’t there? Getting my executive coaching certification, while not impossible to do while vagabonding around the world, will be more difficult. Staying put in Canada and working towards this goal would definitely make things easier.

Over our favorite craft beer (at the Rossland Beer Company), we talked it out and tried to come up with a “plan” for the year ahead.  As I looked into the red/gold liquid of my Helter Smelter Amber Ale, the words from a song by Noah and the Whale started playing in my head.

“On my last night on Earth, I won’t look to the sky

Just breathe in the air and blink in the light

On my last night on Earth, I’ll pay a high price

to have no regrets and be done with my life.”

“L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.

You’ve got more than money and sense, my friend

You’ve got heart and you’re going your own way”

I thought back to April 2016, Rob and I were bouncing across a flat plain in Botswana on our first trip to Africa. We were on a budget camping safari and loving every minute of it. With a hot wind in our faces, we had the tunes blaring as we shared a set of earbuds and watched the surreal scenery unfold around us.

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We still owned our veterinary practice and the management pressure and workload was weighing heavily. I needed to make a change, hire a practice manager or commit more time to management and less to being a vet. I was struggling with how to move forward and honestly struggling to figure out what I wanted from life. L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N was playing and as I listened to the lyrics I realized it was time for us to stop putting off the things we want to do. What an amazing journey to build a small practice from nothing into a business and vision we could be proud of. To be part of a great community and to be able to provide a livelihood for several families in that community. But what did Elaine really want, on her last night on earth? That’s the kicker? What are my regrets and what can I do to reduce any regrets going forward?

My biggest priority has always been my family. If I am honest, it wasn’t always easy being a wife, mother and a veterinarian. The pressures of running a business, managing staff and client demands, being on call and also being present for my husband and children left me feeling like I was running on empty some days. Which seems crazy because I also had a supportive business and life partner, who I know felt the same way most days! Being in it together and having each other’s back, helped us survive those crazy times. Perhaps it is one of life’s great ironies that once you finally have more time and are able to enjoy each moment, your children suddenly don’t need you as intensely. They’ve grown and moved on to their own lives, which is as it should be.

What I do know moving forward is that my family is still my biggest priority and I want to be their biggest fan. I want to be there for the big moments. I want to have the time and make the effort to be a part of their lives while giving them the space they need to become their own people as they figure out this next phase. I also know I want to keep pushing my fear aside, trying new things, meeting new people and not let my fear of looking or sounding foolish hold me back. So if I don’t pursue a coaching career will I have regrets? Probably. When I am at end of days, looking back on my life will I regret not taking another year to bugger off, travel, volunteer and see more of this big beautiful world? Definitely. Decision made. Now I just need to stick with it and quit the second guessing.

Pretty great life, to be sure. If you are feeling envious, don’t be, instead be inspired. Ask yourself what you want, what’s holding you back and make a plan. Face your fears and do what you need to do, in order to find the joy you deserve. No regrets.

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The Incident with the Outhouse

While wasting time scrolling through Facebook and thinking about finishing a blog post on our time at Carriacou Animal Hospital, I came across an event I am sorry I will miss, the Best of White Buffalo Storytelling. Inspired by the infamous Moth storytelling group in New York, a group of people in my hometown are reviving the art of storytelling, West Kootenay style! Three separate events were held this winter inviting people to come together for a cosy evening of storytelling. All stories had to be short, true and delivered from the heart. In November, just days before leaving on this adventure, I decided to give it a try.  The theme for the evening was “War and Peace”. Kind of a heavy theme but I decided it was time to step outside my comfort zone, bare my soul and share a story about my past which was very personal, a little dark and not easy to tell. Despite being surrounded by friends and my community, I was nervous. I managed to tell my story and by the end, the room was unnaturally quiet or perhaps it just seemed quiet in contrast to the sound of my own pulse reverberating in my skull from my high level of anxiety! I was surprised and also thrilled to learn I was picked as one of the storytellers to share a tale at the final event, The Best of the White Buffalo. As we are still on the road, I will not be able to attend the event but I thought I would share my story here instead.

I am a sensitive person and wear my emotions on my sleeve, just ask anyone who knows me. For a long time it was embarrassing, how easily I can cry and often over the silliest things. At the same time, I have an tough exterior, I get shit done, have the pain tolerance of a rhino and can push myself harder than what is considered healthy by most people. While my family likes to tease me about this, I’ve learned to accept, if not embrace, my soft and squishy center. I have never thought of myself as a storyteller, but after my first White Buffalo event, I want to do it again. Telling a story is a bit like writing this blog and at times, the whole thing feels a bit narcissistic. Who really cares, Elaine? Just do your shit, enjoy your life, no one really wants to hear your stories or weird insights on life. But still, there is something about storytelling that I enjoy and I want to become better at it. The act of telling a story entertains us, connects us with our past and hopefully makes us feel a little less alone as we struggle through our imperfect lives. The theme for the Best of the White Buffalo is “Family” and this is a true story from my childhoood (at least as true as my memory recalls). Hope you like it!

I grew up on a working family farm in Alberta. Key word here is working. No organic kale, cute little goats and free range chickens, that people today might call farming (please note, I mean no offence if you grow kale, goats and free range chickens, this is a story about MY childhood folks and sometimes you have to take creative license). Our farm was located in prime, black dirt Central Alberta land. My 3 siblings and I were raised to work hard, play hard and if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing right! 

Growing up in Alberta in the 70’s, like many farm families, we had an outhouse. Smelly in the summer and frosty in the winter, it was situated a short dash from the house and mostly used for emergencies, like when dad was enjoying a morning cigarette and sit and you just could not WAIT! I believe it was built back in the 60’s when my parents, freshly married and building a house of their own, constructed the outhouse as a necessity, until the plumbing was done. The outhouse survived into my teens by which time it was pretty much condemned. With a rotting floor, precariously tilted platform to rest your bottom and 20 years of buildup below, you were taking a pretty big risk if you went in!  And so it sat, for many years, sadly neglected and a relic of days gone by.

Every season on a family farm has an associated chore, winter was calving, spring was seading, summer haying and fall harvest. Obviously, this over simplifies things as there are many other chores required to meet the farms main objectives of growing grain and beef. Our farm never employed hired hands, a family farm was worked by the family. As kids our summers were spent working on the farm, with occasional breaks for camping and fishing trips. We drove tractors, baled hay, built miles of fences and shelled wheel barrow loads of peas. We worked hard because, well, that’s what we were taught and while I cannot speak for my siblings, also because I wanted my father’s approval and was more than a little terrified of him.

As the farm prospered, my dad was able to slowly replace the old wooden graineries, with shiny new steel bins. These silver, space age storage units were a sign of a successful farmer on the prairies. To us kids, they were a welcome addition, as the circular steel bins, with no corners and crooks to capture the grain, were much easier to clean and less attractive to mice, than the dusty old wooden graineries. One summer when I was around 14, we tore down many of those old wooden grain bins as well as miles of old corral fences, that had been replaced to expand the feedlot. As the hot days of summer progressed, nails were pulled out of the old wood, in order to prevent flat tires (and punctured gum boots which would then require the use of bread bags to keep your feet dry) and the the pile of old wood grew.

Late summer arrived and with it harvest, filling those shiny new bins with golden barley and red-brown canola. For me, this was always the most stressful time of year. A season where the entire years work could all be lost due to mother nature’s fickle temperament. The pressure to get the grain into bins, while the temperature was right and the weather was holding, created stress and with it tempers ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. At this time of year, I never seemed to move fast enough, asked too many stupid questions and was usually in the wrong spot when it came time to meet the combine and collect a load of grain. I longed for harvest to end, the days to shorten, and the first hard frost to cover the ground.

The arrival of fall, meant not only a reduction in the chores that I wasn’t very good at but also going back to school, something I was good at. It meant the weather was finally right for a bonfire. One weekend afternoon, Dad decided it was time to light up the old grainery wood we had piled behind the quonset, but a few final preparations were still needed. He started up the old John Deere 60 and proceeded to tip over the old outhouse, attach a chain and drag it towards the wood pile. Somehow, the rotten old shitter managed to remain intact and was piled atop the massive stack of wood, laying on it’s side, with bottom end tilted slightly upwards, towards the sky. The four of us kids waited in anticipation. This was gonna be good. There was a lot of old dry wood waiting to burn and this was going to be the best bonfire EVER! Then Dad yelled at us to go find a jug, fill it with diesel fuel and bring it over. “And hurry up, we haven’t got all day”. Like most farms, we had two big fuel tanks, one diesel and one gas, side by side in the yard. We’d been taught the difference between these fuels, knew which vehicles used gas and which ones used diesel and we knew diesel was the safe choice to get a fire going. As we searched around for an old gallon jug, Dad decided the kids were too slow and muttered, “Never mind, I’ll get it myself”.  Full jug in hand he returned to the pile and proceeded to liberally soak the wood in fuel. This wasn’t a quick or an easy job, as we’d worked hard that summer and created quite a massive stack of garbage wood. Dad climbed up the pile, pouring fuel as he went until he reached the top where, like a hillbilly wedding cake topper, sat the old outhouse. Perched on the top of the pile, in a direct line with the end of the outhouse, Dad through threw the last of the fuel into it and paused at the open end of the shitter. Time slowed down and like a scene from a movie, the match was struck and in one fluid motion, was thrown into the end of that old outhouse. We all watched, slack jawed and in shock as in the next moment, Dad was shot out from the open end of that old outhouse, like a stuntman from a cannon. In that split second, my siblings and I looked at each other. We all realized he’d accidentally filled the jug with gasoline and in that same split second I knew my siblings were thinking the same thing as me… thank god I didn’t fill that jug.

If you happen to be in Trail, BC on April 27, 2018, get a ticket to the Best of  White Buffalo Storytelling at the Muriel Griffiths Room, Charles Bailey Theatre and help keep the art of storytelling alive!

Never trust a fart and other travel tales

It is midday in a crowed market place in downtown La Paz, Baja California Sur when I realize what started as a feeling of being “slightly off” this morning is quickly turning into a tsunami in my bowels.  The smell of meat in the open air butcher shop is not helping my condition. I swat away the flies buzzing around both the hanging sides of beef and my head and suddenly, it hits me.  I need a bathroom and I need it NOW! I am too embarrassed to say what happened next, but I am sure you can guess.  As the saying goes, shit happens!

It was 1994 when two prairie farm kids decided to take two months off work and travel from Alberta, Canada to the tip of Baja California on motorcycles.  As kids, our family holidays consisted mostly of camping trips, ski holidays and trips to the big city of Calgary for back to school shopping.  International travel, was either outside the family budget or outside the family comfort zone.  Looking back, it no longer seems like such an epic adventure, but what we did not realize, is how pivotal that trip would be in our evolution both professionally and personally.  As veterinarians, leaving a mixed animal practice for two months to travel, was not done and, in hindsight, it was the first nail in the coffin of our failing partnership.  Leaving that prairie partnership, while terrifying, became the first step towards creating a life that was the right fit for us, rather than trying to make ourselves fit into the life we thought we should live.  From crashing my bike on a winding, mountain road in the northern California redwoods to stripping down to our swim suits so we could wash ALL our clothes in a small town laundromat, while the locals laughed at the crazy gringos, that trip left me wanting more. it changed the way I viewed myself, how I viewed the world and the way I viewed travel.

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Fast forward several years. We own our own practice, now have two small children and have finally managed to book a locum for a glorious two week holiday. We decide, it is time to have an adventure. The plan is for Rob to drive our Toyota truck, loaded with camping gear and supplies to San Diego.  I will stay and work for a few extra days, then the kids and I will drive 2 1/2  hours to Spokane, Washington (the nearest major airport) and fly to join Rob. From San Diego we will head south to Baja to recreate that epic trip, this time with two children in tow.  Finally the exciting day arrives.  Rob has made it to San Diego, enjoying 2 days of driving and blissful solitude along the way. The kids and I are on our way to the airport.  Suddenly a moment of inattention leaves me standing on the side of the road beside a crumpled car with two small, nicely shaken children.  A short ambulance ride and set of X-rays later and we determined to be intact and are discharged from the hospital . We once again I find myself standing beside the side of the road, holding a small pack filled with snacks and activities for the airplane as well as the hands of two small, nicely shaken children.  It is at this point my son, James looks at me and asks “Mom, what are we going to do now?”. I bend down, lean in and say in a cheery mom voice “Well, we are all okay and so we are going on this holiday.  I guess we will just have to hitch hike “.  Unknown to me, the driver who towed our car into town overheard us and quickly realized I was not kidding.  He kindly took pity on us and offered a ride.  It was an unfortunate start to what turned into an amazing trip.  From learning to do the stingray shuffle on the beach at Baja Conception to petting gray whales in their calving grounds at the Bay of San Ignacio, it introduced us to the joys of traveling with children. Seeing the world through their eyes, sharing adventures as a family and expanding their world, was for me, worth every episode of “shit happens”.

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The reasons for travel are as unique as the individuals who decide to take a journey. For us, travel was always a way to escape the pressures of our hectic life. To escape the internet, school pressures and just be together as a family.  An opportunity to realize the world over, humans wants and needs are the same and happiness is not necessarily dependent on money or status.  Then life moves along and the reasons change. Now there is no stress awaiting us upon return and the experience or journey becomes more important. We have discovered that having a community to connect with enriches the experience and working with organizations like the Maun Animal Welfare Society has allowed us to meet amazing people, interact with the local community and get a better sense of what life here is really like.  Tomorrow we head to the community of Shakawe a village in the northwest corner of Botswana where we will do daily outreach clinics over the next week. It will be hot, dirty and hard work but also a fun adventure, a chance to make new connections, see a new part of this country and, of course, to see what “shit happens”!

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