"You can't know where you're going until you know where you've been."
-Apparently, everyone who's ever lived.
I think being a packrat is genetic. Something just won't let me throw anything out.
It probably doesn't help that I tend to instantly attach sentimental value to anything that comes into my life. Heck, I couldn't even throw away my first baseball rock shirt. I tried but just couldn't let go of that ZZ Top logo with puffy letters on the back saying TV Dinners.
Another nasty side effect of being a packrat is the hypersensitivity to change. And considering my attachment to Squamish, life these days is never boring.
The latest twinge of change came when Mountain Burger House erected its new sign - which is absolutely great; it's refreshing to see someone putting money into a downtown business and I wish them nothing but the best. However it's just one more sign that an era has ended. The era I speak of is back in the day of Squamish B.B. (before the bid).
It's 3 a.m., the bars are all closed but the night's not over yet. Driving at this point is out of the question because you can't see your keys, so you'll need some greasy fuel for the long walk home. There was only one place to go. Well, two, if you include 7-11 and their day-glo nachos. But for the more concerning grease jones there was only Mountain Burger House with their 24 hours of burgers, fries, coffee, and whatever else your boozy little heart desired. Oh, the million Squamish stories that could be told.
Now, ordinarily, unique artifacts and legends of a town are preserved and displayed proudly in a museum. So how did we become the only small town in B.C. not to have a museum? Some argue that Cleveland Avenue is a museum. Others were sure we had one just not sure where. Oh, there's the railway park but that's just one small slice of this nutty Squamish pie. What of the adventures falling in the woods? Or our proud days as Canada's premier hops producer? Not to mention Baldwin and Cooper's community-assisted ascent of the Chief, and even the beer-stained napkin where the first Test of Metal course was plotted out. The list goes on and it should be more than just stories told by that crazy guy in the corner who starts every sentence with "I remember when"
Two weeks ago the Pique (can I say that word here?) had an absolutely hilarious cover. It was a fat rich white guy, lighting a dollar bill on fire about to drop it on a fuse. The fuse led directly to piles of dynamite tightly wrapped around Squamish. Now there's the nail on the head. Eyes on the future are very important but with the amount of change coming our way, now more than ever, we have to remember what brought us here.
