Shinrin-yoku in the Valley

Chop Suey leaves the Portuguese monoculture madness behind. The endless rows of olives and almonds fade into memory, traded for deep forests and mountain air. Destination: Slocan Lake, British Columbia. For three months, Chop Suey slips into a semi off-grid rhythm at Root Stone Nursery. Surrounded by trays of baby plants, damp soil, seedling tunnels, and the quiet repetition of daily growing. Watering, transplanting, hauling compost, checking what made it through the night. The days begin early. Light comes in soft through the trees, and the valley wakes up slowly. Coffee outside, a chill in the air. Sometimes fog hanging low in the mountains or sun rays cutting sharp through the cedar and fir. No social media hustle, no agricultural pesticides. City life now feels distant, each inhale feels like a quiet reset.

Raw Vintage Real

The Woofers’ bus becomes home. It’s parked at the forest line in the Kootenay Mountains, with snow up high and everything below slowly turning to mud. Wildlife comes and is part of the place. Deer pass by without fuss, checking for opportunities to have a feast in the garden. Ravens circle loudly and eagles drift overhead, keeping an eye on the valley. The life size scare-crow, with his angry look, prevents the birds from stealing the crop. A creek nearby runs fast with snowmelt, in tune with the surroundings. The air smells like wet soil, cedar, and sap. Mornings start cold, afternoons slowly warm up and evenings remind you that it’s still early spring. Day-to-day life is hands-on. Work depends on the weather and things are figured out as you go.

When Aurora steals the Show

Late one night at Rootstone Nursery, just when the valley has gone fully dark, Chop Suey hears a knock at the school bus door. A voice from outside cuts through the cold, “You need to see this.”

Chop Suey pulls on a sweater, pushes the bus door open, and steps out into the night. The air is cool, the kind that wakes you up instantly. Everything is still, no traffic, no city glow, just black forest, cold earth, and a sky so clear it almost doesn’t look real.

A faint wash of green, barely visible, stretches thin above the house. They all watch in amazement as the colours intensify, then gradually fade back into the darkness. The moment is brief, it almost feels intimate, as a secret silently shared. Enough to register what is happening and the rarity of seeing the northern lights so vividly from this place.

Scientifically it is just charged solar particles colliding with the Earth’s magnetic field, lighting up the atmosphere high above the planet. But standing there in your boots, half-awake in the chilly dark, neck tilted back, it is magic until the colours thin out and the sky returns to stars.

Kootenay Spring Hikes

Mountain peaks are still capped in snow, while lower down the thaw begins to work its way through the valley. On the lower slopes, the melt, glaciers and snowpack feed the streams that cut through the valleys. The sound of water is constant. Water rushing over rock, under ice, through roots and fallen branches. It sets the tone for the whole hike. The trails are still half winter, half spring. Some sections  frozen solid, boots crunching over old snow and ice. You don’t rush through terrain like this, you need to pay attention, go one step at the time.

Small trees and brush begin to break through the snow, reaching for light where they can. Wildlife is active again. Most animals remain out of sight, but their presence is noticeable, tracks crossing the trail, disturbed patches of ground, scat left behind. It’s enough to stay aware. We keep talking or humming as we walk, making our presence known.

After a short but damp winter in Alentejo, the green of the Kootenays feels saturated with life, moss that feels like a soft carpet and ferns ready to uncurl.

We slow down, long enough to take in the surroundings. The movement of water, the quiet signs of animal life, the transition between seasons, taking deep breaths before the boots start moving again, and the trail keeps unfolding.

Yesterdays Left-over | Todays Treasure

At the end of winter, Rootstone’s cellar still holds summer’s stored harvest left-overs. A few pumpkins, some squashes, slightly weathered but still solid. Chop Suey digs through the crate, picks out a Pattypan Squash, also called UFO squash, because of it’s shape.

Around the property, some vegetables choose their own path. Compost piles turn into accidental garden beds. Squash vines creep out of old scraps tossed months ago, suddenly alive again as soon as the temperature goes up. Some make a run for open ground, others don’t get far, the chickens are usually on it first, pecking away at anything fresh and promising.

Back inside, the Pattypan gets peeled and chopped. It goes into the pot with fresh ginger, turmeric, and a handful of lentils. No fancy plan, just simple ingredients that taste well, cook easy, and do the job. It’s the kind of meal that makes sense in a place like this.
Root vegetables, legumes, whole foods, and fresh home baked bread. The kind of traditional eating habits that shows up again and again in Blue Zone living, as every day food.

As the soup is simmering a cup of coconut milk is added to give it some extra body and flavour, a pinch of black pepper is added to activate the turmeric. The result is warm, smooth and filling. Nothing elaborate, Just a solid bowl made from what was still there. Chop Suey tastes it, lets it sit for a moment, till al the flavours are developed.