Travels 2015: Bicycle Rights!

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

Travels 2015 is a series of updates I originally posted on Facebook while on vacation. What started as a quick update and a couple photos transformed into a series of mini-essays that I would have posted on this website had it been up and running at the time. This one was written on October 21st, 2015.

After spending a frustrating couple hours maneuvering Portland’s transit system I decidedthat waiting at bus stops was not why I was here and that there were better ways to experience this city than from the bus window. So after dropping off my bags at my AirBnB, I took the bus all the way back downtown to the catch the only bike rental shop in the city still open that night. I arrived at my journey’s weary end, walked up to the counter, and asked for “one bicycle, for three days please.”

“Sorry buddy,” said the young and friendly attendant. “You chose the very worst day of the year. Tomorrow is Bridge Peddle and every single bike in the city is rented out.” At least he was friendly, and suggested an app that was the “AirBnB of bike rentals”. In a last ditch effort to find a ride for the next morning, I texted my AirBnB host. Perhaps they had a bike I could borrow?

“Yes, you could borrow our Schwinn in the garage.” came the unexpected reply. “Just head down the hallway, descend the basement steps, take the red door on your right, screw in the lightbulb, find the bike and helmet, and then leave using the rolling garage door. Oh, and watch out for the cat.”

The bike was far classier than I expected and far smaller than it should have been for my 6.3” frame. It was a great, if sweaty, way to experience Portland. I almost got killed or arrested several times, until I discovered bike lanes and Google Maps cycling directions. How I must have looked struggling away on such a small bike! Especially on the day I tried to transport a box of pastries.

I was on my way to visit Humble Beast’s studios in the far-off suburb of Fairview and thought I would bring a gift of a box of delicious pain au chocolate’s, picked up at the local authentic French pastry shop. Since I planned on taking the bus, there was no need for the paper bag they offered me, so I took the bright yellow box loaded with goods and made my way to the bus stop. But despite my well-timed itinerary, the bus had already left. No worries; I would simply follow the bike route to the metro station. Over rolling, leafy hills, past homes and schools, over freeways and down staircases I bike, controlling the brake peddle with my left hand and holding the yellow box of pastries with my right. I got a few strange looks, but hey, this is Portland!

A sketchy elevator ride to the metro ride and a bus journey later, I had only a short hill to descend until I arrived at the studio. As soon I pushed off, I released something was amiss. During the buss ride the single piece of scotch tape holding the folded box together had burst and its origami design fell apart in my arms, croissants flying and falling. I swore to myself, quickly braked, and gathered what I could. Only two had hit the dust, I noticed as I looked up the hill behind me. These pastries weren’t cheap. Should I not stop and retrieve them?

My mind made up, I retraced my steps, but just then a truck rolled over the crest of the hill, its tire track aiming straight for my pastry. I cringed, but was powerless to stop it. That Pain au chocolate was squished flat as any roadkill.

They guys at Humble Beast said they never had a guest bring such tasty treats. They didn’t noticed I brought one short of a dozen.

Travels 2015: Cello from Portland

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

The first photo isn't the best from my day with Humble Beast, but it captures my experience well. Here I am observing, mostly from a distance, the joy and grind of intense creative collaboration (in the picture are Odd Thomas and JGivens, discussing the excitement of their plans for an upcoming music video release) while awkwardly surrounded and feeling slightly in the way (as represented by the basketball game going on in front and around me).

What can I say? I so admire the work that Humble Beast is doing from a creative and ministry standpoint, but then on a personal level their music has meant so much to me. It truly has been used by God! (I’m tearing up as I write these recalling stories of how God has used them.) They are heroes, and performers, and public figures.

And then today found me running on a quarter tank with energy, after yesterday’s excitement and its resulting very poor night's sleep. So I felt like I wasn't on my best, that I missed opportunities - to take photos, to ask questions, to learn more, and get more involved.

But still. These guys were very generous with their time, privacy, space, and resources. They grind so hard! Such intensity! It's incredible, actually. They take this so seriously, with such craft, and with the weight of the gospel and its implications evident in their attitudes and the use of their time. It was such a joy to be there and see it all. And several of the team members really took the time to share with me and become my friends. Even the rest of the crew, despite in their busyness, were hospitable and offered wisdom and advice when they could. I'm so grateful and sincerely hope I can do more with them in the years ahead.

And hopefully I can share more of this experience soon.

Travels 2015: The Reason I Came to Portland

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

I've been following the work of The Bible Project for some time and today their team was gracious enough to welcome me into their studio. They allowed me to observe their collaboration, and we shared many long conversations on the church in Portland and the creative process. I ate lunch with Tim Mackie (while interviewing him), and got career advice and a long list of recommended reading from Jon Collins. Wow!

I was afraid to admit it (as I thought it this kind of experience would never happen) but doing this was exactly why I traveled to Portland. God is so kind.

(In fact, the way he has encouraged me these past weeks - through my sickness, my sin, books I've read, sermons I've livestreamed, services I've attended, and conversation with new friends here in Portland - is astounding. Remember these moments, Daniel. Remember his faithfulness, even when the way is dark and uncertain.)

Stay tuned! I hope to share lots more from this experience soon.

Travels 2015: A Tale of Two Churches

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

After two weeks of streaming Calvary Grace services while island bound, it was a treat to attend two church services this morning.

I'd heard of Door of Hope through Josh Garrels (who's an elder there) and Tim Mackie (the pastor who taught this morning and who is largely known through his work at The Bible Project). A highlight of that visit was the excellent music, particularly singing favourite songs of my own and being introduced to new songs written by them. It was a joy to worship with such a packed congregation of all ages (this picture was from the comparatively sparse early service). The circumstances of our sanctification seems similar, despite the distance between our cities.

The very first time I came to Calvary Grace, Trinity Church of Portland's pastor Art Azurdia was preaching. His church is also the home of Humble Beast. The gospel was proclaimed during the service I attended with powerfully articulated gratitude. Oddly enough, both sermons this morning m were specifically encouraging for my situation, speaking to my impending fears and uncertainties.

I was particularly encouraged by my long chat with a new friend, Josh Hill. Hearing his story of how God burst his bubbles of pride one-by-one while simultaneously being extraordinarily led to his current ministry was like comparing study notes from two students with the same teacher.. God doesn't waste anything, despite the frustration of my current round-about, circuitous trials.

And speaking of round-about and circuitous trials, that describes my evening on the streets of Portland. Literally. Walking in. Circles. My aunt might be a Canadian orienteering champion, but send this boy into a foreign environment and Maps or now Maps, I am as confused as ever. Maybe that's my just judgment after joining the hoards of grease-worshiping-Americans navigating the round-about and circuitous lineup for a Voodoo doughnut (worth it!) Other observations from Portland:

Everyone other male here has a moustache. Old guys. Young guys. Even video game geeks.
Portland is in the middle of a heat wave which means there are lots of sweaty miserable looking bearded men around.
I too was hot and sweaty. Just not bearded. Didn't need that help.
I was given plenty of moments to yell "bicycle rights!" and "pedestrian rights!”
Both churches had excellent coffee (INCLUDING DECAF!). Trinity even served custom Cemex pour-overs. Calvary Grace, it is time to up our game!

Stay tuned for more updates. I'm pretty excited for what is planned these next two days. Pray these opportunities be used well!

Travels 2015: Pacific Central Station Evacuation

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

I'm assuming the fire alarm and evacuation at the stately and beautiful Pacific Central Station here in Vancouver means my trip to Portland is off to a great start? This fireman just pulled out an axe with a flourish, like some Viking warrior arming for pillage - and then promptly dropped his helmet on the asphalt while his colleague laughed at him.

My evening with Brandon last night was great fun. We ate sausages, smoked pipes, and discussed both the Book of Kells and the book of Leviticus.

I can't wait for Portland! I have some exciting meetings to look forward to.

Travels 2015: A Hornby Island Reader

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

As I shared my summer reading list with my family, I was asked "how much time are you actually planning on spending with us?" (Which isn't fair. They spent just as much time reading as I did. You should see the stack of booksIlona brought!) But true to form, the books along the left ('Select Letters of John Newton', a largely wishy-washy book by Annie Dillard, and 'A Brief History of Thought' [which Tim Keller calls "the one book to read to understand culture"]) have all been untouched. I'll probably get started on one or two of them as I travel.

On my iPhone you'll see an audiobook of Wendell Barry's 'Jayber Crow'. It's been a delightful listen, a story of a small town barber that's full of very real characters, well turned phrases, and an understanding of the human heart that progresses along with the story. It's accompanied many an ocean walk these past weeks.

Tim Keller's book on prayer is almost a compilation of thinking and advice on prayer from throughout church history. Very practical. And every vacation for the last six years has included at least one P. G. Wodehouse. They are the perfect summer combination of witty brilliance and mindless fun.

But my true Honby companion has been 'Music at Midnight', John Drury's fine biography of the English poet-priest George Herbert. It's a guide to bot his life and his poetry. Herbert's richly Reformed Anglican faith was actualized through struggle that resulted in some of the finest poetry in the English language. It was a joy to unpack its depth. It was also fascinating to uncover his life; he has an ambitious and successful academic career in Cambridge before poor health and inner turmoil brought him to lead a humble life as a village parson. I was struck by the way his struggles found their purpose through his writings, which tooka life of their own after Herbert's death, encouraging and building up many, many readers. It was a reminder to persevere in faithfulness, trusting that through Christ we will bear fruit, despite what we may or may not see today.

I hope you enjoy the series of pictures of the various vantages I viewed with this volume in hand.

P. S. Coffee Update: My aunt, who came up by car to visit us for the week, was kind enough to purchase a Moka espresso pot on my behalf, as well as pick up a bag of Fernwood decaf. How kind! My coffee drinking is restored.

Travels 2015: Notes from the Hornby Island Festival

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

Hornby is home to a thriving and varied community of artists, and one manifestation of this influence is the annual Hornby Island Festival. Despite the small size of the island and the family feel to the festival, the event has become a bit of a legend in the world, classical, and folk music scenes, having featured world-renowned artists. I'll never forget Colin Carr's two night performance of the complete Bach's cello suites several years ago.

This year all of the performances I attended were at The Farm, which is first seen at the bottom of winding road that begins high above on a steep escarpment. One then follow’s the road down, onto a gravel driveway decked with colourful flags. The farm's fields roll towards the ocean and are scattered with ancient oak, arbutus, and chestnut trees. The evening sun illuminates two giant maple trees, reminiscent of Bilbo's "party tree", under which the stage and seating are set up and from which giant spotlights are hung.

Only my parents and I attended the first event, a symphony orchestra. My grandfather bought the tickets but made the uncharacteristic decision not to come. "I refuse to attend outdoor symphony events. The symphony belongs indoors" he declared. That was a mistake, for he would have become best friends with the little spirited Irish conductor, who has taught and performed around the world and received a medal of honour from the Queen. (Both he and my grandpapa remind me of Bilbo Baggins in their age, stature, charm, and significance.)

After several satisfactory Mozart and Hyden pieces, the evening proceeded with a performance of Vaughan Williams 'The Lark Ascending’. It is a performance I will never forget. I was introduced to the piece through a David Crowder album, but until now have never heard it live. The sun was setting, the moon was rising, and the soloist, a lovely 20 year old fiddle protégé named Ceilidh Briscoe, stepped onto the stage.

To try describe the music that followed would be futile. Instead I'll just quote the poem that accompanies the music. Imagine music that supersedes these words in grace, poignancy, and tenderness.

He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
For singing till his heaven fills,
‘Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.

My dad is not one given to displays of emotion, but the moment she finished playing he leapt to his feat, applauding, something I've never seen him do before. Both Mum and I joined him on our feet immediately after, followed by the rest of the audience. Dad told Ceilidh later that it had been a long, long time since he's heard that piece performed with such justice. (The composer, it turns out, was good friends with my dad's grandmother and composed a piece for her family to perform in Trinity College, Cambridge.)

The black and white photos are from last night's family fiddle dance. It featured one of the best fiddlers in the world, Pierre Schryer, joined by a first class Irish uilleann pipe player. It was such a treat watching the two of them perform together, effortlessly passing their ideas back and forth with joy and humour. Then the chairs were cleared away, the evening light was replaced with the light of the lamps that hung in the trees, and all the families, couples, strangers, and friends joined together for several hours of called English dances. Such rare fun. It brought everyone together. Imagine your dancing partner being, in turn, your sister, your mum, your auntie (who's teaching you the moves as you dance), a lady who could well be your grandmother (whom my mum dragged in from off the sidelines to join our family), and finally a little twelve year old girl who's shyness blossomed into a big smile as I give her a surprise twirl as we dance our waltz under the trees.

Travels 2015: Shellfish Food Poisoning Is a Horror.

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

Since Grampie wasn't going to help me finish those remaining two dozen oysters, I thought had better get cracking and slurping. But were they still good to eat? "Check with Mum" was the advice given; after all, one doesn't cook for 30 people on a cross-Pacific-tropical-voyage-sans-refrigeration without developing a certain authority in these matters. She sniffed and felt the beasts and gave her okay, but just to be on the safe side I opted for frying them instead of eating them raw.

So I shucked the beauties (lots of work), and then made homemade breadcrumbs (more work), then breaded them (ahem, work, work, work), and waited for them to chill (an evening swim at the beach killed the time). My family watched the whole process, with cautious comments, while eating their leftover roast beef. Smart family.

They didn't quite taste right. Slightly bitter. And they looked a bit like fried chicken embryos. So after eating a couple I tossed the rest. Good thing it was before my agèd grandfather arrived in the kitchen hoping to give them a taste.

For all that wretched evening I slept very little, otherwise occupied in depositing every bit of food and liquid from my digestive track into the toilet bowl. I moaned and groaned, trying to match my melody with the beat of my twisting stomach (which was trying to replicate the stormy waters of the Sea of Galilee). Any drop of water I dared swallow was rejected with a vehemence, until my mum was calling the island nurse and speaking words like “intravenous tubes".

But the stomach relaxed after the food gave way and no rides to the mainland were needed. I slept all the next day, and all the next evening, and read in a hammock all the day following. While I was grieved to give up my precious holiday, I did ask myself "are there worse places to read than under an Arbutus tree, refreshed by the sea breeze?" And I remembered my pastor Gavin's story from his recent vacation and knew that I too was learning to trust and give up control. My rest is not my god.

P.S. Because my sleep cycle is now null, I spent last evening listing to Wendell Berry on audio book before finally walking down after midnight to the full-moon-lit-sandy-beach. I don't do this every night, folks. Just once in a blue moon.

Travels 2015: The Coffee Saga

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

As a lover of delicately brewed coffee, I bought an Areopress and two bags of favourite roasts to the island. The night I arrived I realized halfway through making the first cup that I was missing the Areopress's filter cap, which locks the pressure in place during the brewing (essential to the procedure, as my messy improvising soon proved.)

I spent far too much time that night anxiously Googling "Areopress filter cap substitutions," "using Areopress without filter cap," and "Areopress filter cap replacement shipping times", as well as scouring the pantry for possible substitutions. No dice. I went to bed concocting replacement coffee brewing schemes and reminding myself that worry over the small things betrayed a lack of trust in Him who rules even those details.

The next day I headed to the one store on the island, a locally run CO-OP. In the basement, next to the hardware and plumbing aisles and Tupperware shelf was a bare coffee appliance section. The French Press was too expensive and too large to transport home, but the stovetop espresso machine looked familiar. I almost bought it in the moment, but decided researching its merits might justify its cost.

I texted my friend and local coffee advisor, Jesse Graham, having remembered seeing one in his kitchen. He gave it his hearty approval and I began to grow excited about the purchase. "All is right with the world again" I told myself. Coffee and personal equanimity would be restored.
A small voice asked if this consolation of all material goods was where my happiness was rooted. "It looks like all is well, but would you still be happy if your plans of purchasing were thwarted? Which could happen, although only if that one item were sold to someone else." I took note of that thought, but felt confident that my plan would work just fine.

It's a bit of a trip to the CO-OP so I planned a visit when I was near the area, which ended up towards the end of a busy day (filled cycling, reading, sun, and splashing). I finally made the long walk to the store, headed down into the basement, found the shelf and stood there in shock. The shelf was empty. Sold out.

"If we look to created things to us the meaning, hope & happiness that only God himself can give, it will eventually break our hearts" says Tim Keller and my happiness that evening was ruptured. And as I reflected on my day, I realized that so much of this entire vacation's planned happiness was built around my plans of ordered happiness - having the perfect books, music, clothes, and coffee equipment purchased in time. This attitude needed to be confessed to the Lord, who orders all things, even that one other islander who purchases that one other espresso pot before I did.

"For the inward mind and heart of a man are deep.
But God shoots his arrow at them;
they are wounded suddenly.”

~Psalm 64:6-7

So, I had to continue to improvise the coffee making process. Pictured is the cloth-napkin-pour-over. It brings out some great coffee flavour, I'm happy to report, but it also adds some pretty nasty old cloth napkin subtleties. Still, it's better than the 20-year old drip machine.

P.S. Oyster update: Grampie announced that although he very much enjoyed our feast yesterday, it did not agree with his stomach during the night. So now I have the task of single-handedly finishing the just over 24 oysters sitting on melting ice in the fridge.

Travels 2015: In Which My Grandfather and I Traverse the Island

October 22, 2015 Daniel Melvill Jones

I've spent the last three days "adventuring" with my 92 year old grandfather and now have an arsenal of memories to share with my grandkids someday. Such as:

Getting almost-scolded by the owner of Charcut for, a). standing on the rooftop balcony (my grandfather, to better catch the view) and b). bringing in outside coffee (me, because they didn't have decaf).
Together doing a $700 grocery shop for 7 people before desperately catching two island ferries lest we miss the last ferry ride.
Discovering that there is a Hyden string quartet concert beginning in 15 minutes and racing across the island to catch it.

And.... OYSTERS!!!!

I recently discovered these delicacies only to be told that my grandfather would catch them by hand in Cape Breton and eat them, alone, to the chagrin of his family. So I bought us 4 dozen and we ate half of them together, after learning how to shuck them (from the man at the COOP hardware store, where my grandfather bought lemons and heavy duty gloves). This was all done in view of the family, who watched us with chagrin through a glass window as they ate their boiled potatoes. (We offered them samples, many times, but each family member refused.)

So yes, vacation has been fun so far.