A Different Perspective of Whales on McDougall Road

About three years ago, when I was building my house, I had the privilege of living in a camper trailer in between my parent's and my sister's home. It was extremely convenient, since I could use my family's bathroom, kitchen et al, but still escape to the privacy of my little camper. I spent a lot of time that summer reading. The library is just down the hill, and my son and I gorged on summer reading. It was nice to be sitting on the top of Red Lake, looking down onto Howey Bay.

Outside the window of my camper, was a mound of wood; two by fours and the like, covered by a tarp...a big, black tarp. This mound was in my sister's driveway, and resting underneath a streetlight, and when I looked out my window from my camper, it sometimes, to me, resembled a whale, especially at night. It made me consider what the circumstances would be for a whale to be on McDougall Road and I wrote this (July 16th, 2006):

The Whale On McDougall Road

Past mothball scented polyester plaid curtains
Horizontal slats separate
The freshly slaughtered mound
Street lights flood glossy on thin plastic
Radiating violent oranginess
A secret whale on McDougall Street
Patiently awaits its fate
Sighing
Blood stained shiny with grief
This mirage hopes to die or at least be returned
To the murky, dank currents of Howey Bay
To swim with rotting cans of cyanide
And memories of Sam Yee*
To bathe with lead tackle
And drown socks, ducklings and overused inflatables
Instead
It spreads low on jagged gravel
With only the occasional novice
Botching BMX moves inspired by extreme sports TV
Soaring obliviously
Awkwardly
As spokes and rubber crush and release
Crush and release
Crush and release
The whale uncomfortably ripples in the wind
Pinned down with useless 2x4s
Skittering bugs nestle deep within its carcass
Feasting on its idleness
As the curtain closes
The lumpy mass of confused negligence waits alone
In chronic light and frustration

So, I wrote the poem and shared it with friends and family. This is where the whole thought of perspective comes in. I shared this information with my sister and she said, "Jesus, Rhonda....it's just a friggin' pile of wood covered with a tarp." When I read the poem to my friend Harriet, she wept.
 

 
 
*Sam Yee was a Chinese launderer and eventual store owner that met his fate in the cold waters of Red Lake near Golden Arm in the 30's during the gold "boom". Poor Mr. Yee went down with a child and his dog team, when he mistakenly drove his sled right over thin ice. Tragically, Sam Yee did not die from the cold waters or from being unable to resurface. That he was capable of doing. It was the frantic, harnessed dogs that dragged him back down to the depths of the water. Two of the dogs were pulled from the water, only to be shot hours later. They were too manic to keep.
 
McDougall Road, Red Lake, Ontario