Hey everyone,

My new Ep, "Concrete Daisies" can now be bought right from my mypace page.  A big thanks to Scott at Sought Records for making this possible!

Thanks to everyone who has hung in there!
xo
 

Just letting everyone know that my EP is out and you can now purchase it on my myspace page.  Just click on the BUY NOW button!
Have a great weekend and thanks to everyone who has been so patient!
xo

First Trip To The Northwest Territories

http://www.allisonbarkley.com

When you come across a road sign that reads, "No Gas For 328 Miles", you know that road only leads to one place...adventure.  My first trip into the Northwest Territories was just one of many road trips I experienced living in the north.

After studying that sign many times, I knew I had to go for it.  I had not been to the Northwest Territories before at this point and knew I had to make that opportunity happen while I was living so close in the Yukon.

So, in a split second, it was all decided.  I would boldly go into the unknown, alone.

At the time I was living in the north, I drove a 1976 Chevy 3/4 ton truck.  Originally used as a wood truck on the reserve, I bought the truck for $500.00, basically paying for the rebuilt transmission.  The body of the truck was pretty done in by the time I found it.  Rust was everywhere and there were some other minor problems, but to me, it didn't matter a bit.  I loved this truck.  I loved the huge old steering wheel and the fact that I needed to sit on a cushion to see over the dash.  I installed a cranky old tape player so I could listen to my old tapes of Tom Petty, Neil Young, Michelle Shocked and many more.

I was addicted to my weekend adventures in that old truck.  To me, there was no better sense of freedom than I experienced in that beat up old bush truck.

I packed up all the necessary gear I would need and bided my time through the work week until that magic hour on Friday afternoons, when I would collect my dogs and head out.

On the way out of town, I stopped at the truck stop to gas up my truck, which was equipped with two large gas tanks.  I also filled up some gerry cans, which i threw in the box.

With Tom Petty blaring, I headed "into the great wide open".

I was driving up the Nahanni Range Road, which leads to the mining town of Tungsten.  Located there is the Cantung Mine, which holds about 55% of the world's reserve of Tungsten

There was nothing more thrilling than heading into the Mackenzie Mountain Range and  the Northwest Territories for the the first time in my life.

The Mackenzie Mountain Range, named after Canada's second Prime Minister, Alexander Mackenzie, it forms part of the Yukon/NWT boundary, between the Liard and Peel Rivers.

The Liard River is ancient and it's rugged beauty flows through the Yukon, British Columbia and NWT's.  It drains approximately 277, 100 square km of boreal forest and muskeg into the Mackenzie River at Fort Simpson, NWT and still remains the most incredible river I have ever seen or heard in my lifetime.  A force to be reckoned with, in spring, the massive chunks of ice that form over the winter, move in a slow and powerful dance that is inspring and belittling! It is also considered one of British Columbia's top natural wonders.

After hours of driving and exploring, I found an empty cabin just outside the Cantung Mine where I decided to camp for the night. 

I went in and started a fire inside the woodstove, as it was still cold and damp from the long winter and then went outside to start a fire by the small creek so I could cook up the tarmagon I had shot for supper for the dog's and myself. 

After eating a delicious supper, I settled in for the night in front of the woodstove and drifted off to sleep.  The next day I would check out the mine.

One early crisp spring morning, I arrived at the school in Lower Post to begin my daily routine of opening up the school, putting coffee on for the other teachers and booting up the computer.  I had been employed with the School Board for just over a year at that point.  I drove up in my truck to park in front of the small native grade school, and as I did so, I was unaware that a very young puppy took shelter underneath my truck. I climbed out of my truck and at the same time, a young boy, who was a student at the school, approached me with a worried look on his small face. He was wringing his hands together and looked scared.  Finally after a few minutes of coaxing, he began to tell me about the puppy under my truck and told me the puppy had been shot with a .22 caliber rifle.  Immediately I ducked to see if I could get the puppy out and see if I could see any wound but at first could see nothing.  The young boy proceeded to tell me that the night before, his uncle had been drunk and went around the reserve shooting at the young puppies, who ran wild on the reserve at times.  There is no animal control up north and very few people had their dogs spayed or neutered.  After some time, I was able to get the puppy out from under my truck and was able to examine him more closely.  Sure enough, I found a small entry point in the puppy's neck and I could find no exit point.  Immediately I sent the boy home until it was time for school, left a note for the principal, to tell him what had happened and that I was taking the puppy into town, 45km away, to the feed store, the only place I could think to take him. The only veterinarian was in Whitehorse, a five hour drive away and only came to our small community once or twice a year.I arrived at the feed store before it was open but luckily, the owner lived on the property.  I banged on her door and told her about the situation through my tears. She came out right away to take a look at the puppy, whose breathing by this point was shallow and stuttered.  After she inspected the wound she told me that in order to save the puppy, it would have to be taken to Whitehorse immediately and there was a good chance he wouldn't make the trip.  She also informed me it would cost over $1000.00 for the operation and recovery.  In short, there was very little chance the puppy would survive at all.  She then told me she would take care of putting the puppy down and said it was probably the most humane thing to do at that point.  I was devastated.  How, I wondered, could anyone do such a thing to such an innocent being?  How could anyone be so incredibly cruel?  I cried the entire way back to the reserve.When I got back to the reserve, I decided to go to the Band Office to talk to a good friend of mine who worked there.  She had lived in Lower Post her entire life and had seen many things.  I needed to talk to her desperately to try to understand the incomprehensible.  I burst into her office choking back my tears and she immediately came to me and gave me a hug, asking what had happened.  I began to tell her about my morning and how angry I was.  At that point, she put her hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye and said, "I know, I know, it's hard being a pioneer woman", and at that I let out an exhausted smile and simply nodded. It was time to go back to work.

Adventures Of A White Woman In The North
1st Installment:

In 2000, I found myself freshly out of a long-term relationship and eager to explore more options than the city could supply.  What turned out to be a rash decision at the time, set me on a path of one of the most adventurous, intense and educational times of my life.  Nothing could have prepared me for what was coming my way.  Nor will I ever forget it.  However, let me begin, as they say, at the beginning.

At the time, I was helping out a friend get a fleece business started.  I was doing anything I could for work and trying to rebuild a new life for myself.  It was a painful time, as coming out of a long-term relationship is difficult for us all.  I didn't know what I wanted but knew I wanted to move in a new direction and had always longed for a life in the country.  I was living on Vancouver Island at the time and although I have always loved the island, I did not love the city life and knew it was my time to make a change...but where to start over and how?  How could I simply begin a totally new life in a new place with nothing?

One day at work, while reading the Vancouver newspaper, I came across an advertisement for work in the Yukon Territories.  I immediately felt  an excitement take over and decided to call the number.  It was a very basic advertisement, which stated, full-time work, no experience necessary, housing supplied.  On the other end of the line a man answered who told the the basics of the job and kept repeating, "you know this is in the Yukon, right"?.  I said I would give it some thought and get back to him.

Not five minutes later, a man came into the store looking for some warm fleece sweaters.  One of the first things out of his mouth was, "I'm from the Yukon, so I need some warm clothes to take back with me".  I was stunned.  I smiled and stared at him and told him I had just spoken to someone in the Yukon, not five minutes earlier about a job there.  He immediately asked his name, as the entire population of the Yukon at the time was a mere 37,000 people and he had grown up there.  I told him the man's name and he laughed heartily and informed me that I had been speaking to his brother!  Of course I took this as a sign of positive change and thought that I was being directed to make this change a reality.  I spoke to this man for some time, asking many questions about life north of 60.  He told me many stories and spoke of the incredible beauty that existed no where else.  It was exactly what I wanted to hear.  Imagine, a wild country, a place untouched and unspoiled from mass over population.  I knew this wild part of the country was calling to me.

After he left the store, I immediately called a good friend and told her of the morning i'd had; the newspaper ad, the phone call and then the encounter with the man's brother.  She agreed it sounded like the sign I didn't know I had been waiting for.  I hung up the phone with her and called the man back in the Yukon and just like that, I had set myself on a path where there would be no turning back for the next five years of my life.

Within two weeks of the phone call, I had quit my job, boxed and labeled most everything I owned and had the rest put in storage.  All I had in the world now, was a bus ticket to the Yukon and a few dollars to my name.  There was no turning back and I will never forget the excitement and fear of going into the unknown, naive and alone.  I said goodbye to my friends and family and boarded the bus to Vancouver.  It was spring and I was 30 years old.

It took three days to get to the Yukon...a long ride on a bus for sure but I didn't care.  Everything was so new and different.  I  could feel my old life get further and further away, as I looked out the window of the bus and watched the trees grow smaller and smaller.


My first year in the north was a difficult one and I remember hearing more than once that I would never make it for a year, at which time, one is then considered a local or, "sourdough".  I was a single woman after all, which was almost unheard of that far north.  It's hard work.  People rely on each other, whether for meat or firewood or snow removal.  I was lonely and wondered more than once if I had made a terrible mistake but I was eager too to explore the wide open country and mountain ranges.  So I persevered and made it through my first year, with many blunders.

Another difficulty I faced that year was intense loneliness.  The Yukon is a transient place.  Many people who come are passing through or running away from something.  Therefore, no one trusted me or wanted to take a chance on me.  The women particularly did not like me, as some of them were afraid their partners would leave them for me or have affairs.  There were many variables but the bottom line was, I was completely alone and needed to learn survival skills.

After that first year, people started to warm up to me.  I had offers to help plow my drive, offers of moose meat , caribou and fish.  I had been a vegetarian for fourteen years previously but knew immediately after my arrival that this lifestyle would not fly in the north.  Besides, I had no problem eating meat that was not mass slaughtered and produced.

The first time I tried dried caribou meat was on a small reserve called, Lower Post.  Lower Post is the most northern community in British Columbia, Canada.  It is situated on the boarder of the Yukon and BC. , originally a trading post for the Hudson's Bay Company.  I will never forget that historic feeling of driving into Lower Post for the very first time.

I was introduced to a family in Lower Post, who were sitting around, snacking on dried caribou meat.  They offered me a piece and I accepted.  I did not want to appear rude or inconsiderate.  That first bite was one I will never forget.  It was like I could taste the soul of the animal.  Perhaps this sounds strange but it is the only way I know how to describe it.


Gold Panning and Bear Guns
Adventures Of A White Woman In The North
2nd Installment


Even now, having left the Yukon a few years ago, there are still images and memories which come to mind often.  Whether I'm falling asleep at night, or suddenly, in the middle of the day, I find myself flooded with the poignant impressions northern living has embedded in my very soul, forever my shadow, like an old friend.

One weekend in particular, in the spring of 2002, I accompanied a friend from Switzerland into the Cassiar Mountain Range.  We decided to go exploring through the section of the mountains just north of Jade City, British Columbia.  The drive in on the old mining road, originally developed in the 1940's, was an adventure in itself.  Washouts, logs, and other leftover, natural debris along the steep hills on the narrow road made it only accessible by truck for about 18km.  After that, we had no choice but to park the pick-up and proceeded on foot. The terrain was rough and made up of gravel and loose rock.  It was easy for me to imagine the hardships and defeat people must have experienced during the gold rush, especially in much colder weather. 

We found a flat area near a small creek and set up camp for the weekend.  The creek showed old signs of blasting and we could both see veins of gold peeking through the rock.  This would be our camp and our gold panning location for the weekend. We packed up our guns and supplies for the day and headed into the vast wilderness. 

Almost immediately we encountered a swift-moving creek, too wide and running too fast to cross without rope.  I was happy to be in the company of someone who grew up in the mountains of Switzerland, and soon we were drying off on the other side while we stared in awe at the daunting hill waiting for us.  After the slow ascension we were both ready for something to eat, while we rested at the top of an incredible view I will never forget.  We snacked on fruit, cheese and sandwiches before readying ourselves for a steep climb down. 

For another two hours, we hiked through the mountains, absorbing the vastness around us, singing as we went to avoid the one animal we were about to encounter, the grizzly bear.  We both had limited experience dealing with black bears but as any conservation officer will tell you, grizzlies are another matter and unpredictable at best.

We saw the big female about 40 feet down the mountainside before us, and before she noticed us. We waited, still and silent, hypnotized by her majestic features, and watched as her long snout lifted to the breeze, guiding her every move.  I immediately realized my Bear Gun was too far out of reach to risk with her peripheral vision in mind.  As she turned and acknowledged our presence I focused on the tight fist my friend had around his rifle but not much relief followed.  She let out a low groan and began to move on.  Apparently she had more important things on her mind, and to our relief, held little interest in us.  We both watched as she lumbered off into a world all her own.

We hiked on until we came across a tiny cabin, just big enough for two to sleep in.  We thought of staying there for the night but decided there was still enough daylight to make it back to the camp.  We hiked 27km that day and although it was my first encounter with a grizzly bear, it would not be my last.

L A   C A R B O N E R Í A

quiere invitarle, dentro del ciclo

Música y poesía

El próximo martes, 18 de noviembre 2008,

a las 21:00 horas,

al recital

QUIEN CANTA SU MAL ESPANTA

poemas y canciones

a cargo de

FERNANDO POLAVIEJA

(musicanciones)

sobre poemas de

Pedro Salinas – Luis Cernuda – Federico García Lorca – Pablo Neruda

Rafael Alberti – Carlos Edmundo de Ory – Rafael de Cózar

 

El acto tendrá lugar en C/ Levíes, 18 - 41004 Sevilla.

 

http://www.myspace.com/fernandopolavieja

http://www.allisonbarkley.com
new blog and song.

MAY THE SUN SHINE DOWN ON YOU ON REMEMBERANCE DAY !

THE  FINAL  INSPECTION

The soldier stood and faced God,

Which must always come to pass.

  He hoped his shoes were shining,

Just as brightly as his brass.



  'Step forward now, you soldier,

How shall I deal with you?

  Have you always turned the other cheek?

  To My Church have you been true?'



  The soldier squared his shoulders and said,

'No, Lord, I guess I ain't.

  Because those of us who carry guns,

Can't always be a saint.



  I've had to work most Sundays,

And at times my talk was tough.

  And sometimes I've been violent,

Because the world is awfully rough.



  But, I never took a penny,

That wasn't mine to keep...

  Though I worked a lot of overtime,

When the bills got just too steep.



  And I never passed a cry for help,

Though at times I shook with fear.

  And sometimes, God, forgive me,

I've wept unmanly tears.



  I know I don't deserve a place,

Among the people here.

  They never wanted me around,

Except to calm their fears.



  If you've a place for me here, Lord,

It needn't be so grand.

  I never expected or had too much,

But if you don't, I'll understand.



  There was a silence all around the throne,

Where the saints had often trod.

  As the soldier waited quietly,

For the judgment of his God.



  'Step forward now, you soldier,

You've borne your burdens well.

  Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets;

You've done your time in Hell.'


  ~Author Unknown~ 

Broadcast Date: Sept. 27, 1977

The influence of punk rock's anarchists with their out-of-tune guitars and safety-pinned lips makes its way to Canada. It has been over a year since punk's founding bands, like New York's the Ramones and Britain's the Sex Pistols, started playing gigs. During that time, critics popularized punk while parents spurned it. On Sept. 27, 1977 Canadian basement bands the Poles, Teenage Head and the Viletones play a five-hour show.

Seventeen-year-old girls in their punkish garb come out to watch the gig. They say they're bored with life and show off scars from "slashing" themselves. CBC reporter Hana Gartner takes a look at what's behind punk's hostility, defiance and self-mutilation.
http://archives.cbc.ca/arts_entertainment/music/clips/762/

i'm posting this video in memory of frank kerr, the lead singer of Teenage Head, who died yesterday of cancer at the age of 52