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My eldest son, Jay, turned 25 in November, a milestone birthday that called out to be marked. That’s how we found ourselves on Gabriola Island, staying on a farm where a clutch of happy chickens roamed a field next to a fenced pasture with a small herd of alpacas. We woke up to fresh eggs in the fridge and an outrageously decadent chocolate panini from the island’s own Slow Rise Bakery we had picked up on a whim on our arrival.
So far, so idyllic, but the real experience was yet to come: unbeknownst to Jay, this birthday we would learn to make cheese. We arrived at another farm for our all-day course to discover it would be just the two of us and our instructor, Paula. All around her spacious kitchen were vats of milk in various stages of processing. These, Paula explained, we would be turning into a long list of cheeses. As she listed them, it seemed improbable: fresh soft cheese, ricotta, mozzarella, feta, farmhouse cheddar, brie… And yet, several hours and a lot of heating, cooling, stirring, straining, and pressing later, most of these were not only ticked off but ready to eat.
There were revelations (adding our own combinations of herbs, salts, and spices to the soft, fresh cheese to make sweet or savoury spreads; producing a ball of mozzarella in a scant 30 minutes that tasted better than anything I’ve bought in a supermarket); and limitations (no, we probably weren’t ready to take on blooming and aging the brie). We did, however, transport the cheddar home to be lovingly dried and turned for a week, before oiling and wrapping and tucking it in the back of the fridge to mature. If all goes well, we should be enjoying it over the festive break.
It’s hardly news that making something from scratch is rewarding. But sometimes it takes stepping out of our routine and learning something totally new to remind us how grounding that process is and how simple things done well can bring joy. In these uncertain times, bringing peace and quiet into our minds and bodies is a struggle—but so worth the effort.
Rebecca Solnit is a fierce forward-thinker whose interests and insights appear boundless. The American author’s latest work is a collection of essays on climate change or, rather, how we think about it. Doomscrolling, she argues, engenders a sense that nothing can be done, so why bother? Hope, on the other hand, creates space for engagement and solutions.
After decades of display inside the National Museum of Scotland, the Ni’isjoohl memorial pole has been returned to the Nisga’a Nation. We trace the many steps (forward and back) in this one journey that could be a blueprint for future returns. Reconciliation is a process with as many setbacks as advances, but holding to the belief that it can be achieved means keeping hope alive.
Other stories in this issue highlight how creativity, resilience, and patience are the bedrock of good work—and offer us moments of joy, whether the personal satisfaction of a volunteer vacation, the precision and pleasure of creating a pair of bespoke boots, or the well-earned pride of British Columbia’s craft whisky distillers as they reveal the results of a decade of hard work and experimentation.
Focus, belief, and hope are all evident in the experience of our cover star, Vancouver’s own b-boy, competitive breakdancer Phil Wizard. His tenacity in the sport he loves is paying dividends he couldn’t have imagined as a teen. In 2024, he will join Team Canada when breakdancing makes its Olympic debut in Paris. We wish him the best of luck.
Read more from our Winter 2023 issue.
