Free Wandering

Today was perfect.

Set up a home office with my desk facing out towards the abundant sunshine. It was so warm with vitamin D that I had to open the door to let the fresh almost-spring air into the room.

I got lots of work done without distractions from the office environment. Also got my laundry folded and my dishes done. And I wore absolutely anything I wanted.

When I had gotten through everything I needed to, with no plans for the rest of the day, I headed out on a walk; going nowhere in particular - just walking. This is something I love to do (and did a lot of in Halifax, where I would always stumble upon new places). I simply don't do enough of this sort of free-wandering. And it feels good to walk for the sake of walking. To be present through each breath of fresh air. To notice the little things - the birds chirping, the flowers' first blooms, the mostly litter-free lawns and sidewalks.

I treated myself to a coffee along the walk - even though I forgot my reusable mug (which I still feel badly about...). But the coffee hit the spot. As I walked down towards the Burrard Inlet - the opposite side of it from which I was reared - I had a stunning view of the North Shore mountains (where I had been up for a snowshoe just the night before). Feeling grateful to live in such a beautiful place, I cross an intersection where there were crossing guards directing traffic. Again, grateful to live in a place that cares enough about pedestrian safety to have crossing guards.

I walked down along the Trans Canada Trail (TCT) which has the odd commemorative plaque - things that I normally ignore and walk fast past in the hustle-and-bustle of our busy lives. Today, however, I took the time to stop and read what the plaque had to say. It was about Crabtown.

North Burnaby’s waterfront was the location of a unique squatter’s community known as Crabtown. Although its origins are obscure it is believed that the first shacks were built before 1912 by the sawmill workers of the Burrard Inlet Lumber Company. Small shacks built on pilings between the railroad tracks and the water were the ideal location for workers who wanted to save their pay and be close to their jobs. 

When the depression of 1913-1917 began, the shacks became permanent homes for impoverished workers. During the Great Depression of the 1930s the community grew larger and so did the size of the houses as they began to accommodate entire families. Crabtown was not a slum, but a neighbourhood. These well kept small houses, in an isolated location, fostered a real sense of community for its residents. They rallied together to build a community water supply and also trails up the steep bluff with steps and bannisters so children could go to school safely. 

It was not until 1957 that the bureaucracy of National Harbours Board decided that Crabtown was encroaching on Federal property and gave eviction notices to all 130 residents. Within a few months residents were relocated and 114 homes were leveled, ending forever the unique community of Crabtown.

I caught myself immersed in imagination of what life would have been like in this community on the shores of the Burrard Inlet. Like a child's unbounded curiosity, I wanted to know more, ask questions, observe these people's daily lives, or have a chat over a cup of tea.

In that moment I felt like a piece of my childhood sense of wonder - which is so often tucked deep away - made an appearance today. All it took was making the time and the space for some free-wander and unstructured exploration.