Most years, I’d rather let my birthday go unnoticed, and thankfully, I married someone who feels the same way about hers. If someone mentioned having a birthday ‘party’ for me, my first thought would be, “What the hell did I ever do to you?”
Given my nature, it’s no mystery why birthdays make me melancholy. Another year older with not enough accomplished. Dwelling on past mistakes or missed opportunities is an unhealthy perspective and does nothing good for the mind or soul, but we’re all human. We feel what we feel.
This side of 50, I no longer tolerate cheap-seat criticism for who I am, especially from those who wouldn’t take it from me. I’ve heard this sentiment called the Fuck-It Fifties, and I have embraced that. A wise philosopher once said, “I yam what I yam and dats all that I yam.”
As my 53rd birthday approached, I still felt low after a long, dark winter. Rather than stay home, brood and make Shonna’s weekend miserable, I decided to get away by myself. She had no objection.
While friends and I have rented a cabin a few times a year in the Central Alberta foothills, I associate that place with social gatherings, games, music, late nights, and sharing spirits of the bottled variety.
But on the northern border of that same property, nestled beside secluded wetlands, there is another cabin. It’s one room, one bed, solar power for lights, an outhouse, no water and no noise. It’s at the end of a road, behind a gate on private property.
Cooking is outside on a propane stove and tabletop BBQ. The only heat is from a wood stove and you bring your own bedding. Were it not for the comfort and unique personality of the place, it’s a stone’s throw from camping.
I brought my camera, guitar, books, writing and drawing tools and told myself I’d be open to what happens, intending to let go and relax. It took very little time, however, to realize that I had also brought myself on this getaway, and that’s not how I roll.
The usual 2.5-hour drive from Canmore took longer because of a spring snow event. Had I seen a video of the white-knuckle experience I was in for, I would have stayed home. But once I arrived and pried my fingers from the steering wheel, I was glad to be there.
While shovelling snow, I scared a snowshoe hare out from under the deck, and I took that as a good sign. I wanted to see wildlife, even though this critter did not want to see me.
After I unloaded my stuff, I sat on the couch, took a deep breath and thought, “Now what?”
At home, I prefer long days working alone, but I never have a shortage of things to do to occupy my time and mind. We all have nasty demons that remind us of our failures, regrets, and shortcomings. When you find yourself alone with nothing to distract you, their voices become louder. As the man said, “Wherever you go, there you are.”
The property owners have become friends over the years, and I like to visit them. While on my daily wanders, I walked up to their place a couple of times, a 5-6 km round trip from where I was staying, as I had no interest in taking the shortest route.
I confessed Friday afternoon that I felt a little low, a confusing realization since I know and enjoy this place. Sitting in the cabin alone, looking at the beautiful view, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Karen said it often takes people at least 24 hours to get used to the solitude. She shared that one woman, another artist, booked a cabin for three nights and left after one day because she couldn’t handle being alone in the quiet.
I felt sorry for that stranger but didn’t judge her because I understood. On the walk back to the cabin, I wished she’d given herself a little more time.
By Friday evening, after dinner, I was past my own discomfort and genuinely began to relax. I sat at the small table, looking out at the falling snow, well into a book I’d wanted to read for a while. I made a big mug of tea, put more wood on the fire and that’s how I spent the rest of my evening.
For the remainder of the weekend, I played guitar, read my book, and sat quietly on the deck in the sunshine. I went to bed when I felt like it, got up early before the sun, and wandered the property with my camera.
Free to roam more than 300 acres of pasture, wetlands, and forest, I walked close to 20km over 72 hours in snow and sunshine. It was peaceful and very pretty.
People see moose here, walking right by the cabin. I saw one in the distance years ago. On previous visits, I’ve seen owls, deer, and coyotes several times. Even though I know that wildlife doesn’t punch a clock, I hoped for an encounter or two.
In the new fallen snow, fresh moose, coyote, deer and rabbit tracks were all over the place, many of them just hours old. I heard the coyotes at night and in the morning, and that was nice. It’s one of my favourite sounds. I listened to an owl calling two nights in a row. But all I saw were little birds flying here and there, a few ravens, a couple of geese, and that scared little bunny when I first arrived.
I didn’t even see a squirrel.
I know professional photographers who spend great amounts of time, energy and money to get to remote places, park themselves in a blind, right next to a game trail for hours and days on end, and often come home with little or nothing to show for it.
But I’ll confess to feeling a little insulted. When you paint personality in whimsical wildlife, you end up with a warped sense of expectation regarding actual wildlife. Come on, I thought we were friends, here.
Upon reflection, had I seen and photographed cooperative critters, I would have undoubtedly spent hours going through them on my iPad. I would have made some edits, considered possible paintings, and wrote something about the experience, and I would have edited that, too. Suddenly, I’d be working.
So, perhaps I got what I needed, instead of what I wanted.
On the perfect sunny drive home on dry roads with light traffic, I had time to reflect and was content with the experience. 
I spent my birthday by myself, without anyone telling me how I should be celebrating it. I got up early, as I prefer, without walking on eggshells for fear of waking anybody up, which is often the case on cabin visits with friends. I played guitar and sang, fumbled with chord changes, learning songs I didn’t know, without intruding on anyone else’s peace and quiet.
I asked no permission, made no apologies, and had no schedule or agenda. And though it took me a day to settle into it, I now wish I could have stayed longer.
Maybe next time.
Cheers,
Patrick
If you’re like me, bombarded daily with negative news and polarized opinions, this noisy world can become overwhelming. It bothers me, and I often wonder, “Why are people so mean to each other?”
It’s a moment of connection between my funny-looking animals and people I’ve never met. I love watching it happen, and it is a reminder that something I created made somebody else’s day a little better, if only for a moment. In a world that often seems nasty, with people intent on highlighting our worst qualities, I create art that makes people smile. I often forget that, but when I do remember, I’m grateful for this ability.
If you know me well, all this might sound hypocritical. I struggle with seeing the good in the world, which often puts me in a dark mood. But just like a smoker knows the habit is unhealthy, it’s worth the effort to try to cut back and eventually quit.
So, to spread some positive feelings around, I created these Wilder Wishes images you see here, from some of 
If one of these happy faces makes the day a little brighter, for you or somebody else, then that makes mine better, too. Sometimes, you’ve got to give a smile to get one back.
This painting has been rattling around in my noggin for some time. I think I first had the idea at the Calgary Zoo when I saw Skoki, the grizzly bear, sitting in one of his ponds, playing with something floating on the water.
Eventually, it comes together, the personality shows up, and it turns into an enjoyable pursuit rather than a frustrating one. What was at first a slog, seeming like hours of no progress, ended up to be work I didn’t want to stop.
At the Banff Christmas Market late last year, I received several requests for a Highland Cow painting.
And still, every painting comes with challenges and choices.
I could have worked on this painting for another week, and nobody would know the difference but me. Eventually you just have to call it done, let it go, and start on another one.
My buddy Darrel and I spent five days last week at the cabin we rent in the foothills of central Alberta. Even though our first visit there was in January of 2018, we don’t often go during the winter months.
Back to work, I’m already preparing for the 
In the late nineties, I worked different jobs at a hotel in Banff for five or six years, from waterslide attendant and manager to front desk agent, night auditor and accounting clerk.
I’ve always liked ravens, and I talked a bit about that in my 
You can attribute it to seasonal affective disorder, lack of light, or the extreme cold weather that settled in this week, but January is not my favourite month. I am at my most miserable and misanthropic this time of year, coupled with a short fuse. My jaw has been bugging me for a couple of weeks, a consequence of unconscious clenching and teeth grinding. I’m not sleeping well and have bad dreams.
But at the moment, each 
On the way, there’s a long stretch of paved pathway beside the train tracks. It runs behind another grocery store, recycling drop-off, and Canadian Tire and several ravens hang out in the area, scavenging for scraps.
But when a raven flops down on his back and rolls around in the snow, pausing several times to look right into my lens, it’s hard not to imagine it’s doing it for my benefit. I took quite a few shots of this clown before he (or she) finally got back on his feet.
Thanks to a recent photo tip technique on my friend 
While a professional photographer might deem them unworthy for prints or portfolio pieces, I use the photos strictly for reference, so any flaws don’t matter.
Though I’m struggling to find my creative spark right now, I know it will return as spring gets closer, and my mood will improve with more sunlight and warmer weather. It always does. And should I want to paint more ravens then, I’ll be grateful I forced myself to get out now and that I took my camera with me, even though I didn’t feel like it.
I’ve also completed the bulk of my year-end bookkeeping this week and cleaned my office so I can start the new year right. I typically don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but I always have plans for the coming year.
I’ve taken hundreds of meerkat photos at the 
When it came to meerkats, I’ve long had the idea to paint a whole troop of them, so painting a solitary meerkat wasn’t on the radar, or I’d do the occasional sketch painting, but never a finished production piece. But just like the three giraffes I painted for my