| SECTIONS: |
| CONTACT: |
EMAIL
gary@jacksontraining.ca
WRITE
4445 Trans
Canada Highway
Cobble Hill BC Canada
V0R 1L0
PHONE
250.709.3757
| STORIES WITH GRANDPA |
 Grandpa (Harold Jackson) at ninety one with one year old Emma |
| Dad
and Grandpa were farmers. They carried the label "Hobby Farmers"
like a cross. Hobby Farmers, because the land and grain prices could
not support their families through the cold lean months of winter
and early spring. Thus, they were forced from the farm and into the
lumber camps. In my memory, those cold days were spent around the fire with Mom, asking incessantly when Dad would be home. Those days would go on for months. "Have to make the money while we can, son," was the answer from Dad that would ring in my ears while the truck blew white clouds of freezing vapor from its tailpipe, as they headed up the driveway for camp and another two or three weeks of work. Then, Grandpa got too old to work in the bush camps. It was during one of these winters that he passed me the torch. Neither of us knew it at the time, but it happened. The torch he passed to me was flamed by an insatiable curiosity of animals. The flame was sparked by his stories, magical tales of animals working together for "Man." The air of magic breathed from his stories; as powerful to me as the tales of Camelot. The torch: the ability to communicate and train animals in a holistic manner. "I remember a white horse I bought one time. She wasn't any good for the rodeos no more. She would come out of the chute and go over backwards on the rider…can't use a horse like that for buckin'. She was a damn good saddle horse though… 'cept first thing in the morning you'd have to watch out… I'd put weight in the stirrup and then get the hell out 'a the way. She'd go over backwards, get up, and then you could go. Ride her all day and she'd be fine." Grandpa would reminisce, laugh and then start coughing, choking enough to make visiting guests start to panic (years of underground mining and smoking had given emphysema a strong hold). His stories were of everyday occurrences involving animals, with the "hint" of magic in them, but to watch him around a horse, or dog, or pig, or chicken was in itself truly magical. It was from watching these "Moments" that I caught the bug and the desire to understand and learn the magic. To learn how…"I once had a dog and a horse that'd fetch the milk cows…That border collie would hop right up on that horse's back and they'd go out to the field. The dog would jump down once they got to the field and together they'd herd them cows in. They did it for years; I would just wait by the milking parlor door and close it once they were in. Quite the pair they were." It became clear early on that he wasn't going to "Give" me the magic. He demonstrated everything, proving that it could be done. Then he would allow me to struggle with the animal, trying to recreate what I had seen him do moments before. He would allow me to become frustrated, in retrospect tempering my patience…then, instead of telling me the answer he'd wander off on one of his stories - infuriating me to the point of tears. As I matured, I learnt that within his stories - no matter how unrelated they seemed, there was a message hidden within. That was the magic. That was his gift. |
"Animals
are reliable, many full of love, true in their affections, predictable
in their actions, grateful and loyal. Difficult standards for people to
live up to. "
--Alfred A. Montapert
--Alfred A. Montapert