August 20: Island Perspectives

Ah, border crossings. I’ve had some challenging ones in the past couple years – being asked to sit and wait on bench W without explanation and then accused of being a student for Pete’s sake; being asked one item at a time whether I was bringing guns, knives, bombs, apples, oranges, potatoes, drugs, gifts, merchandise, funds in excess of $10,000, or broken glass into the United States until I was teetering on the verge of sarcasm.

Today I was the last in a long line of bus passengers, having forgotten to complete my declaration form beforehand. I chatted with the young Norwegian couple in front of me finishing the final few days of their four-week Seattle-Vancouver adventure. The agricultural inspectors laughed and joked when I cheerfully declared my container of half-eaten hommous, and then to my surprise wished me a happy birthday. I’m now back on the rolling bus admiring a beautiful view of Mount Baker while listening to Boards of Canada’s “In a Beautiful Place in the Country”. Maybe this is my reward for earlier today praising Seattlites’ warmth, courtesy, and kind driving manners.

I have had such rich experiences on Vancouver and Salt Spring Islands the past three weeks, and want to say more about the happy side of those. At first wildlife sightings seemed rare, but when I tally them now the list is extensive: Hummingbirds, dippers, herons, eagles, ravens, harbour seals, sea stars, a bat star, mussels, oysters, crabs, moon and lion’s mane jellyfish, rockfish, salmon, sole, and two humpback whales flipping their tails out of the water across Muchalet Inlet. Kingfishers, chickadees, deer, goats on the roof and on a cheese farm (one of which I helped rescue from its entrapment between a fence and chickenwire pen), alpaca, a mink, many rabbits, raccoons, the sound of otters playing on the shore. Carolyn and Derek were even visited by a crying coyote one night, which seemed significant since we had been talking about the transgressive trickster earlier that evening.

I fell in love with Vancouver Island all over again. It was the first time I’d explored much of the interior, and I discovered lakes, hikes, caves, rivers, and tiny towns with curious histories that I would love to experience more of. Plus there were the wild western beaches that I’ve always loved, surprisingly warm-watered, windy inlets, and a short pilgrimage to my grandparents’ former home at Qualicum Bay. Carolyn and Derek were very persuasive in their display of Victoria’s attractions. They get farm-fresh eggs and produce at stands only a couple blocks from their townhouse, and showed me hikes and sunset panoramas on nearby Mount Doug. Whales and deer and an abundance of bunnies – Victoria is a pretty idyllic little city. I also understand what my aunt in Cowichan Bay means when she says that when she comes home she feels like she's on vacation.

Over the course of the three weeks, I’ve slept in sailboat berths and hammocks; couch-surfed at my step-daughter’s apartment; stayed in the guest wing of a mansion bungalow perched on a mountain top overlooking the southern Gulf Islands and Olympic peninsula; spent many happy nights in the back of a Jeep out in the middle of nowhere; stayed in a truly sleazy motel; and been put up in the guest rooms of two beautifully and creatively decorated homes (one with a secret passage to the master bedroom…)

I’ve also eaten extremely well: three pots of increasingly delicious seafood stew; oysters, salmon and asparagus barbecued on the stern of a sailing boat; Embe Bakery apple oat muffins; the best coconut cream pie I’ve ever had; vegan poutine; truffle goat cheese, halibut baked in herbed lemon mayonnaise with farm-fresh veggies; crab for dinner, breakfast, and dinner again (I’m not complaining!); Portuguese rice pudding; and many amazing and abundant breakfasts. Today I am very much noticing the effects on my waistline. Hmmm.

To top it all off, I’ve been very generously welcomed and hosted by loving, daring, dedicated, wise, wild, and provocative people, and have been connected to many others by phone and email. My heart is full. I hope the record has been set straight. Life is pretty damn good when I relax enough to just enjoy it.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Finally Checking In Again

A few of you recently reminded me that it’s been a few weeks since I last blogged, and you’re wondering where I am and what’s happening. I am flattered that you have enjoyed reading the blogs and care about me enough that you are prodding me, and very grateful to still be connected with you all through this transition.

Although my belongings are in Ottawa now, I am not. The first few days there, I enjoyed being stationary, caught up on sleep, and settled into being with family. I also had two wonderful meetings with a friend of a former client’s (thank you, Nicole!) and with a second cousin, both of whom have experienced big moves, think of Vancouver as a second home, and were very welcoming and informative about life and work in Ottawa. Those two meetings were lifelines to me in beginning to feel connected to this city.

After five days in Ottawa, my mom, sister, brother, nephew, nieces and I left for a whirlwind visit to New York. What can I say about the Big Apple? I grew up on a farm, I love being outdoors, and I sometimes find the hubbub of a strange city overwhelming – but I LOVED New York. There were so many wonderful sights, tastes, sounds, and experiences. Three days was just enough time to know what I would want to do when I return. You can see photos of our visit here: http://picasaweb.google.ca/thorsell.lm/NewYorkNewYork#

Back in Ottawa, cousins welcomed us to their farm near Carleton Place for a barbecue and tractor ride; one of my nieces and I spend a day at a nearby waterpark; the men (my brother in particular) gave my Jeep much tender, loving care; and we celebrated an anniversary and two birthdays. Then I jumped on a plane back to the west coast.

I came here was to fulfill a pact made last summer to spend an annual weekend with five of my luscious LIOS women friends. This year’s retreat was on Salt Spring Island at the beautiful home of one classmate’s parents. Great company, delicious food, silly antics, morning meditations, a kayak trip, and a beautiful island to explore – it was all I could ask for. Yet I felt a bit outside, not as happy and connected as I would have been even a few weeks before, one foot in another world.

That’s been a common experience the past couple months. I have felt unsettled with myself, emotionally distant, irritable, or just plain lost. I haven’t always been able to be a good friend to people who have been good to me. These aren’t all-the-time experiences, but frequent enough to be a trend, and disconcertingly unpredictable. I have been completely happy and at home cooking over a campfire at a remote lake on Vancouver Island, or sitting in a kayak anywhere, but prickly and uncomfortable in more familiar places.

My summer has continued to be nomadic – I began writing this on a bus and am finishing it on a sailboat. After leaving Salt Spring Island, I met a friend at Swartz Bay and spent ten wonderful days camping and exploring from Sombrio Beach to Campbell River to the Nootka Sound – places I’d never seen before. After we parted, I returned to Salt Spring for a sail with Ross and Gina, spent three nights in Victoria with Cait, Corey, Carolyn, and Derek, and am now savouring another short sail with Alan and Eduarda near Cowichan Bay.

Earlier this week, I called my brother in tears, saying how ironic it was that last year at this time, newly separated and about to lose the home I loved, I felt so happy and joyful, while this year, travelling, being with people dear to me, with good health and relatively few concerns, I am having crying jags and feeling so out of sorts. It was so helpful to hear him reflect back to me the limbo that I’m in, and his faith in my ability to ride this river of changes through to calmer waters.

I talked with a few other friends that day, too, who reminded me that sometimes there is nothing to do but go through the experience as mindfully as possible, that, although it may feel painful and I may not recognize it, there is a healing happening. From his extensive travelling experience, Derek talked about the tendency to cling to the people, places, and times that we associate with happiness, love, and connection, when what is required is to keep relinquishing each day’s experience, each chapter of life, and to move on to the next with faith and intention.

At times, I’ve questioned my decision to travel this month, wondering whether I shouldn’t instead be in Ottawa being responsible and putting down roots. After talking with Derek, I see these travels not just as recreation, but as a practice – a practice in moving through life’s changes with acceptance, expressiveness, and grace.

Since those conversations, connections, and tears I have felt much more peaceful and happy. At the moment, I am sitting in Tabinta’s cockpit anchored off Charlie’s Cove. The water is calm, there’s a gentle breeze, blue sky is breaking through the clouds. My uncle, who earlier made omelets with crab leftover from last night’s dinner, is lying reading in the hammock on the foredeck where I slept last night. In an hour or two, we’ll get in the kayaks and paddle to Genoa Bay.

To those of you who have been on the receiving end of my moods and disgruntledness, please accept my heartfelt apologies. I wish that I could have been with you differently, and don’t know even yet that I can. I’m still practicing.

May we all be safe from inner and outer harm. May our bodies serve us well. May we be happy and accept ourselves just as we are. May we take care of ourselves joyfully.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 12 and 13: Home Stretch

While I appreciated having a shower in a real bathroom and being able to charge all my electrical devices, I found that I much preferred sleeping in a tent to the motel. I woke partway through the night and, after lying in bed for an hour, got up and went for a walk along the dark, empty highway. Even though I was with my mom, tonight I felt lonely. I sat in the Jeep and meditated. As I finally returned to the motel room for a couple more hours of sleep, other guests were outside getting ready for an early departure.

When I did get up, I was committed to swimming in Lake Superior and doing some yoga before beginning our drive. I hadn't done any exercise the day before, and consequently found the time in the car more uncomfortable. An abandoned service station and a few cottages were across the highway from the motel. I trespassed through one unoccupied lot to find a big, beautiful stretch of sandy beach and the clean, clear waters of Lake Superior.

The sand under the water was rippled like the ocean shore. While the tidal action on Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg is minute -- only a few centimetres -- seiches create larger ebbs and flows. Paddling deeper into the enormous lake, I had to keep reminding myself that the water was fresh, not salty. The swim felt glorious.

I returned to shore and began yoga practice. Ouch. Ouch. Little flies bit my legs. I tried batting them away, but it interfered too much with the yoga. I tried ignoring them, thinking that the little bites only hurt for a nanosecond. I tried moving into the shallow water to escape them. Aaaagh! Finally, I gave up and retreated to collect my things. Insect repellent is apparently a pre-requisite for enjoying Ontario's great outdoors. Days later, my legs still itch and look like I have a mild case of measles.

Mom and I breakfasted at the Voyageur Cookhouse and continued our drive. When we were at Lake Winnipeg, I was surprised to see American white pelicans flying to their nests in the evening. Mom saw a small black bear disappearing into the bush soon after we entered Ontario. Since then, we've seen other wildlife, too: Racoon, deer, skunk, porcupine, beaver -- all lying in a dilapidated state on the highway. This may explain the abundance of turkey vultures.

We stopped for a picnic lunch in a village by Lake Huron, where I swam again, then pushed on towards North Bay. Again, rain descended through the late afternoon and evening. When we reached North Bay, I hoped to grab a quick drive-through meal and then find a campsite. Surprisingly, we could see very few fast food options from the highway. We followed the signs to downtown, but could only find one restaurant and a couple pizza delivery store fronts. It was dark, I was tired and got lost trying to find the highway again. We stopped and asked directions at a senior's home.

Back at the highway, we decided to get a room at the Travelodge and ask there about eating options. They directed us to Don Cherry's Sportsbar in a small stripmall next door. Many tiny towns on the prairies and in Ontario had signs proudly proclaiming them to be the home of some young professional hockey player, and the cafés often had news stories about these local heroes. How fittingly Canadian that our last supper on the road was eaten surrounded by photos of hockey stars of the past. Gordie Howe beamed down at us.

Again, I slept poorly indoors. I got up very early and finally did yoga practice in the hot, humid pool room. Mom and I showered, then went downstairs to eat. When we checked in we were told there was a hot breakfast. Hmm. This apparently referred to the the toaster for the bagels. Not what I envisioned. I am feeling grumpy and tired.

I'm sure that we did not see the best side of North Bay in our very short sojourn there. The next stop was Ottawa, and like horses nearing the barn we were eager to go. More rain drenched the roads, sometimes so heavily that I couldn't see the vehicles ahead. Traffic became denser, then slower. We were entering the first city we had driven through since Calgary! (Sorry, Regina. Your traffic just doesn't compare.) At 1:35, we turned off the highway (yippee!) into a residential neighborhood (phew!) and up to Karen and Salah's front door (sigh.)

I wish that I could say I was overjoyed to finally be here. What I was was exhausted. It felt good to get out of the Jeep. I devoured some left-over crepes for lunch, then lay down for a nap and a cry. I was overcome with nostalgia for the False Creek apartment I'd left in February, the last place that truly felt like home.

Somewhat rested, I recruited Mom and Karen into moving the contents of the U-Haul into the backyard shed. Initially we planned to just move some of it and leave the rest until Salah and Zachary (my nephew) were home to help, but when Karen realized how little there actually was, we plowed through and had everything unloaded by the time Salah arrived.

Salah guided me to the nearby U-Haul depot were the manager unhooked the empty trailer. For the first time in twelve days, the Jeep was free! The sixteen year old vehicle had clocked 304,477 kilometres pulling everything I owned across Canada, and never missed a beat. What a trooper.

Now the next chapter of this adventure begins. I don't know whether this will be my permanent home. It seems premature to commit that deeply. Really, the city and I have just started dating, so I'm thinking of Ottawa as my winter retreat.

Yesterday I had tea with a friend of a former client's who moved here from Vancouver three years ago, and had moved to Vancouver from Nova Scotia. Then I had dinner with a second cousin who moved to Vancouver for a job with the Olympic Committee, and moved back to Ottawa less than a year later. Both empathized with the challenges of making such a big move, both had great advice, and both said that they still think of Vancouver as another home, one to which they might return.

The downtown here is so completely different from any other city I've been in. There's an extensive area where an enormous stone building dominates each block -- government, hotels, consulates; all rather severe and intimidating. Then suddenly the streets break into lively stretches of restaurants, bars, cafés, and small shops in a hodgepodge of old and new. The Ottawa River marks the north edge of the city, backing the parliament buildings and marking the border with Quebec. The Rideau River and Canal cut up through the middle of the city, perpendicular to their larger cousin.

After a couple days' rest, I am enjoying being here and so appreciating being with my family. The weather is hot and humid, cicadas whine through the day and evening, there's a pool in the backyard -- it really feels like summer. A friend sent me the link to a graphic designer's rants that has had me in stitches (http://www.27bslash6.com/ -- warning: some rudity), and last night we watched a campy Canadian film called Invasion (it's original title was Top of the Food Chain) that was equally strange and hilarious. Laughter is good medicine. I feel ready for the adventure of getting to know my new home.

Next week: New York City!


Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 11: Lake Superior

Sunday morning dawned with the smells of baconny breakfasts and sounds of a few hungover or still-drunk young ‘uns. I postponed my planned morning yoga practice so that we could leave earlyish. Our goal today was Katherine Cove in Lake Superior National Park, at the opposite end of the lake from Thunder Bay. It was recommended as a lovely place to stop. Typically we hadn’t been arriving at campsites until 9:00 p.m. or later. Today I wanted to arrive early enough that we could enjoy the destination before bed.

Our drive took us around the top of Lake Superior and through a relatively mountainous (hilly?) area. The mountains here are much older than those on the west coast, and completely covered with, you guessed it, trees. In some places the highway cuts through banks of red rock, and there were many lovely views of Lake Superior, its islands and peninsulas.

As Lake Superior is the largest freshwater lake in the world at 12,100 km³ (2,900 cu mi), the drive took a long time. At 7:00 we finally saw the sign for Katherine Cove – and there was no campsite icon on it. Drat. We pulled over anyhow, and it’s true, the cove was lovely, the beach sandy. I went for a wade, we stretched our legs, and then it was back on the road to search for places to camp and eat. Rain was threatening.

Guided by a young woman at the visitor information centre a few kilometres down the road, we found the Voyageur Cookhouse at Bachawana Bay. It was such a treat. Log tables and chairs, old snowshoes and other outdoor paraphernalia, Hudson Bay blankets, maple syrup for sale. The menu featured traditional local fare: tortière, baked beans, bannock, pickerel, bison. Yes, it was touristy, and maybe we had just seen too many rundown cafés in tiny towns by this point, but I appreciated the bright, clean, entertaining atmosphere.

By now, the rain had more than threatened: It had poured down dramatically and persistently with both light and sound effects. We surrendered to Mother Nature, and checked into Smith’s Motel just ahead of a young couple from Vancouver Island cycling across Canada who had been on the road for a month.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 10: First Day in My New Province

Before we departed Falcon Lake, I did a morning run through the campsites, along the lake and waterway. One the way back, I took a break from running for a quick and refreshing swim. (Lake swim #2!) Then we packed up and headed into Ontario.

Many people had warned me that the roads in Ontario were windy and slow. Now that I was driving those roads, I realized that the people telling me that were all from the prairies. There were many curves here, but very few for which one had to slow down, and for the first time on the trip I was able to maintain the very reasonable speed limit of 90 km/hr. I was still the slowest vehicle on the road, but proud to be finally doing the maximum. The Jeep has been fabulous – strong, reliable and comfortable, everything I could ask for in a vehicle.

We stopped in Kenora for breakfast and my Internet fix, then in Dryden to get groceries for a picnic supper and a scoop of ice cream. Along the way, we saw signs for Red Lake, Balmertown, and Sioux Lookout, towns where my ex-husband and ex-in-laws once lived and often spoke of.

The Lake of the Woods area is classic Canadian scenery: small lakes surrounded by trees and rock, everywhere but the lakes thickly wooded or swampy -- the land of Farley Mowat, Margaret Atwood, and Timothy Findley. Unlike B.C., the trees are short and often spindly, but grow as thick as grass. The woods look impenetrable. Human habitations are almost completely restricted to the few towns along the highway. This is moose country. Turkey vultures now replaced the hawks of the prairies and the eagles of the west coast.

After Dryden, we drove through to Thunder Bay. It was a long day, and late by the time we started to look for a campsite. I was tired, happy to settle for the first site outside town, attractively named Thunder Falls Campsite. As we settled in and ate a very late picnic supper, loud music began playing at a neighboring site. I went over and asked them to turn it off, which they did, but it soon became apparent that other sites were also in party mode. Poor judgement on my part: I should have guessed that a campsite near town on a Saturday might be a haven for drunken teenagers. We put in earplugs and made the best of it.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 9: Manitoba

The morning was already hot by the time I woke. I began the day with some yoga, reflecting as I practiced on the yogic principle of ahimsa, or refraining from causing harm to others. I thoughtfully smacked a few mosquitoes.

Before getting on the road, Mom and I swam in Lake Winnipeg – our first lake swim of the trip. Lake Winnipeg is the eleventh largest fresh water lake in the world at 24,514 square kilometres (9,465 square miles), and although generally shallow was definitely refreshing.

There are just over one million people in all of Saskatchewan, and about 1.2 million in Manitoba. Despite the sparse populations, there is evidence of people everywhere in the form of cultivated fields, farm houses, and tiny towns. We stopped at a café in Warren, Manitoba for caffeine and directions. A sign on the wall proudly proclaimed “Finest Coffee Served Here”. Locals at the adjacent tables generously gave detailed instructions on how to get to Lower Fort Garry, as well as tips on campsites and traveling western Ontario.

Lower Fort Garry, a trade post in the 1800s, is now a national historical site with costumed university students representing the original inhabitants and hosting tours. We took a “behind the scenes” tour in which we were invited to explore closed buildings, cellars, the back of the storehouse, and the costume area, then watched an Iron Skillet Chef bread making competition (the cornbread won). The actor playing the governor took his role particularly seriously, prattling on about the qualities of each bread and generally having some fun with his role. When we finally left the Fort, he was lowering the flag and we joined in singing “God Save the Queen” as it lowered. It was good medicine for me to have a day off from the long drives, and to have such a fun and educational afternoon.

After leaving the Fort, we drove about four hours to Manitoba’s eastern border. We didn’t once get on the TransCanada, sticking to secondary highways and country roads – such a refreshing change. The prairies were made for cruise control – everything straight and flat. Red winged blackbirds flit across the roads from one ditch to another. Hawks wheel above the fields looking for gophers. As we neared the border, trees and rocks began to appear – the edge of the Canadian Shield, and the beginning of lake and cottage country. It was also the beginning of the weekend, and campsites were packed. We were turned away twice before landing at Falcon Lake.

Tomorrow, Ontario!

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

July 7 and 8: Things Fall Apart

Tuesday night Mom and I camped at Cavan Lake, a very small rural campsite a few kilometers from the highway. In the morning I went for a run down the gravel road past fields of curious cows, small ponds and wetlands, and many colourful ducks, savouring the smells of the swamps, farms, and grasslands. Even rain smells different on the prairies. The one farmer who passed in his tractor waved back at me. The day was off to a great start.

The lake was too mucky to swim in, so after the post-run stretch I just splashed my face and hair. Mom and I packed up and got back on the road. 

After a few kilometres, we crossed the border from Alberta to Saskatchewan. Through the previous night and this morning, we were traveling through many small, small towns: Taber, the corn capital of Canada; Burnett, the location of the first irrigation spigot in our country; and a tiny hamlet that, from the many signs, seemed to be called Premier Sausages (maybe a good place to find a man?)

We stopped in Swift Current so that I could check email and update the blog. Mom was very patient with the break. Our next stop was Moose Jaw where we toured two sets of tunnels and hidden passages, the first used by a local businessmen to hide indentured Chinese immigrant workers, and the second used by Al Capone and his gang to smuggle booze in the prohibition. Who knew Moose Jaw had such a rich and lurid history? If you are ever there, they are tours worth taking.

Then came the most exciting part of the day for me: seeing Rafael and his wife Sarah in Regina! Raf moved there from North Vancouver in February to take a job with SaskPower. Sarah joined him only four weeks ago. I was so thrilled to see Raf and meet Sarah in the midst of this journey. Our evening together felt much, much too short.

It was late when we all parted, so Mom and I got motel rooms for the night. Feelings of fear and loneliness had been encroaching on me through the afternoon, and I had been poor company for her. In the hotel room, grief and fear overwhelmed me. What the f* had I done? What was I doing out in the middle of nowhere feeling so deeply disconnected? I cried hard for an hour or more. I thought of going back (where?) If I had somewhere to go back to, maybe I would have.

This is the time of letting go of one trapeze and not yet having a hand on the other. Being here makes me appreciate much more deeply the challenges of other people’s lives. I think of friends dealing with trauma, prejudice, life-threatening diseases, death and other painful endings; of the Chinese immigrant workers described on the tour who lived under dangerous, lonely, and oppressive conditions. Life demands such courage. I have so much support and so many privileges, am doing this of my own choice, and still this move sometimes feels difficult. It’s a good exercise in me developing more backbone. “Everything is connected, nothing lasts, and you are not alone.” Somehow that quote from a Tricycle article comforted me in the end.

In terms of sleep, I didn’t get much for my money that night. My sister called in the morning, and we had a good talk. I got an email from my brother. Then I met Rafael for breakfast at the Hotel Saskatchewan. Connecting with them all helped me feel more stable and capable again.

Mom met me at the hotel, and we got ready to leave Regina. A creaking sound had been coming from the trailer or hitch. Before we left Calgary, my step-dad suggested that the hitch might not be strong enough for the load we were towing. Now I had visions of it breaking on the highway, and the trailer being stranded. I wanted to get it checked before we left town.

In order to turn around and head east again, I needed to drive around a few blocks. I turned down one street to find it was a dead-end. Rather than back the trailer up, I decided to pull through the entrance of a multilevel parking lot. As I swung the Jeep around, we heard a load scraping noise from the back. The parking attendant called to us, “I think your bikes just hit the roof.” I stopped the Jeep to check. Yes, it was true. If we didn’t take the bikes down, they would hit the roof again as we exited.

I got up on the trailer’s wheel wells to check the bikes. If I hadn’t had such a thorough cry the night before, I would have started now. The front fork of my Kona was ripped apart and some of the spokes on the front wheel torn out. One of the winch straps my step-dad had loaned me had been torn in two.

A man appeared and started to help us. At first I thought he worked for the parking lot, but eventually realized that he was from the Legion across the street (and from the smell of his breath had been getting an early start on the day). He helped me get the bikes off the top of the trailer. I moved the Jeep onto the street, and then he helped me strap the bikes back on. Throughout, he was calm and encouraging. When he heard where we were travelling, he gave us tips about driving through Ontario. Such an angel. I am repeatedly touched by how kind people are.

The good news: the trailer hitch got a clean bill of health. The creaking sound has diminished.

Back on the road, I plugged in my iPod to find that I had inadvertently erased all the music on it when I last synched it. There was one CD in the car, so I played Marty Robbins to saturation. (Somehow he seems appropriate for the prairies). The rest of the day went well. Later in the afternoon, we crossed the border into Manitoba. Tonight we are camped on the shore of Lake Winnipeg (in photo above) at St. Ambroise Provincial Park. I felt so happy to get off the highway and drive some country roads to get here. The lake is vast, the sunset was beautiful, the bugs are abundant. I hope to get a good night’s sleep.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.