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A Taste of Haida Gwaii
A CONDENSED HISTORY OF COPPER BEECH GUEST HOUSE
"This being human is a guesthouse.
Every morning a new arrival.
... Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.";
From "The Guest House,"; by Jal?l ad-D?n Muhammad R?m?, more popularly known in the English-speaking world as Rumi, a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic.
1914: a Swedish carpenter builds the house for a cannery manager living at George Point in Naden Harbour, on the north coast of what had come to be called the Queen Charlotte Islands.
1921: the cannery closes and the house is floated, on strapped-together logs through Dixon Entrance, and down Masset Sound, where it comes to rest on the shores of the Watun River.
1932: A new owner sets sail again-back up Masset Sound. Two oxen, Olaf and Buster, and a stump puller winch the house off the beach and onto its present footings, by the government docks in Masset. Its interior is redone with plywood (considered very chic at the time), a convenient in-house well, and a windmill for electricity. The copper beech tree is planted.
1971: David Phillips arrives in Prince Rupert from Toronto en route to China to get involved in the post-cultural revolution. After a failed attempt as a stowaway on a Greek freighter he landed on the Charlottes, and procured his own transportation. "I tried to circumnavigate the islands in a rowboat, in black dancing pumps,"; he said, in an interview with Taras Grescoe in 2006. "I got to the west coast, which is like the Emperor's Garden-these three-mile, deserted sandy beaches, with one rocky outcrop after another-and my boat started to sink. Fortunately, a fishing boat came along at the last minute and threw me a line.";
In Masset he met Sydney Harling Smith, living alone and in need of care; David moved in, and carefully preserved the house circa the early '30s. He took full possession in 1986 when Sydney died, and it became Copper Beech Guest House. Or, as the sign says, Copper Beech House Inn. Elsewhere it is listed as Copper Beech House B&B. I suppose it is all three of these designations, and possibly even more, but it could be said that in Masset we don't always know how to make up our minds when it comes to the "correct"; spelling. For instance the village of Masset is spelled Masset, except on the sign welcoming you to "Massett";. Old Massett (two t's) used to be called "Haida";, back in the '70s. Now it is usually referred to as "The Village";, as opposed to the Village of Masset, which is sometimes referred to as New Masset. See what I mean?
2010: I buy the Copper Beech House from David. I kept the Persian rugs, though some of the heirloom quality furniture was too uncomfortable and has been replaced by the kind of furniture you can sink into, not through. The glass curio cabinet still remains, with, among other treasures, the soapstone geese, an ivory tusk, a rodent skull and a plastic Smurf. The walls are covered with the works of local Haida artists; there's also an African penis gourd, antique fishing rods and a sardine can with a depiction of The Last Supper. And of course there are books, with several shelves dedicated to the works by writers who have stayed as guests: David Suzuki, Margaret Atwood, Graeme Gibson, Douglas Coupland, William Gibson and many more.
When I bought Copper Beech House from David, Douglas Coupland emailed me saying,
"YAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!
That's such exciting news!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I can't think of a better match on so many many levels.
CONGRATULATIONS! X";
(I took that "X"; to be a kiss, not the whole generation.)
I can't say I was cut out to be an innkeeper. I feel uncomfortable, most of the time, charging people for a place to lay their head. "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it," it says in Hebrews 13:2. I try not to forget, but then I think, who am I to charge angels the standard room rate plus GST and PST on top?
In Geoff Dyer's lovely novel, Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi, the protagonist goes to Varanasi and checks into an establishment called the Ganges View.
"The Ganges View was one of the great hotels of the world. The reason for this, the owner said, is "because we don't really know how to run a hotel."; The idea behind most hotels, especially luxurious ones, is very simple: to leech money out of guests. Every desire and whim can be catered for in an instant-and comes with a whopping surcharge. "In the course of my stay at the Ganges View I'd eaten dozens of lunches, breakfasts and dinners and had ordered endless juices, teas and dozens of bottles of water. Wondering what all this might be costing, I asked Kamal-one of the smiling, gentle Nepalis who worked here-if they were keeping some kind of record of what I'd consumed. No, I was supposed to have kept a record, but they had forgotten to give me the piece of paper on which the record was kept. Kamal duly handed me the paper, and said I could start from today. As he handed me the paper, I heard a rustling behind me. When I looked around I saw a rat scurrying out of sight, behind a wardrobe.
"Don't worry,"; said Kamal. "He is a guest, too.";
I would like to adopt this as a model for Copper Beech House. "We are one of the world's great guest houses because we don't really know how to run a guest house."; I would, however, make one editorial change. "Rodentia Non Grata.";
BREAKFAST AT COPPER BEECH HOUSE
"I always eat eggs in the morning and night
They give me strong legs and keep my eyes bright.";
-Poem fragment from my laminated placemat, circa 1956
"Breakfast. We offer you a choice. Your choice is to take it or leave it.";
-Purser on board our national airline (name removed to protect the guilty) in the days when they still offered breakfast and still had pursers on board.
That is NOT how we approach breakfast at Copper Beech House. At Copper Beech House breakfast is often a leisurely all-morning-long event. If there are more than four guests we don't set the table-everyone sits in the living room with a plate on their lap. The informality leads to wonderful stimulating conversations and lets our guests get to know one another without having to worry about which knife or fork to use, or if they spilled stewed rhubarb on the white tablecloth.
We serve what I have humorously taken to calling an Off-the-Continental Breakfast (Haida Gwaii is about 100 km (60 miles) off the coast of Canada, as Islanders like to say when they refer to mainland British Columbia) which includes many kinds of coffee, every kind of tea, orange juice laced with elderflower cordial, fresh fruits (including local wild berries, when in season), homemade granola, yoghurt and Susan's 3-day Sourdough Bread (see recipe p. XX). (Guests usually go for the bread, partly because it takes me so long to make they would feel guilty if they didn't eat it, especially after I have reminded them of all the time and effort involved.)
Eggs are from local chickens, unless marauding dogs or raccoons have eaten them (the chickens, not the eggs), first.
There are scrambled eggs (my favourite), poached eggs, fried eggs and baked eggs, cooked on low heat. Cooking eggs over high heat (frying or scrambling) changes the structure of the egg yolk, a condition known as oxidative damage. Poaching or boiling is supposed to be better for you, but I don't care. Scrambled eggs are the most comforting dish I know, next to Macaroni and Cheese, which I refuse to reduce to Mac and Cheese.
These days people like no eggs, also. (See "Tips"; under "Crab, Chanterelle, Caramelized Onion, Goat Cheese Omelette on p. XX.) Or egg whites, which seems to be to defeat the whole purpose of eating an egg. No one ever asks, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg white?"; Though this might be just the kind of philosophical conversation one could find oneself in over breakfast at Copper Beech House.
One of our favourite guests, Robert Hart, for instance, at breakfast one morning, asked, "What is the difference between the soul and the spirit?"; When I wasn't forthcoming he then said, "Pass the cornflakes."; Even though there weren't any.
Robert later emailed me his favourite "senior citizen joke";.
A little silver-haired lady calls her neighbor and says, "Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can't figure out how to get started.";
Her neighbor asks, "What is it supposed to be when it's finished?";
The little silver haired lady says, "According to the picture on the box, it's a rooster.";
Her neighbor decides to go over and help with the puzzle.
She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.
He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says,
"First of all, no matter what we do, we're not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.";
He takes her hand. "Secondly, I want you to relax. Let's have a nice cup of tea, and then,"; he says with a deep sigh, "let's put all the corn flakes back in the box.";
Joelle Rabu, who now manages the Haida House at Tllaal and her brother Daniel have been guests, also. And Joelle left me with this after breakfast one morning, the Best. Quotation. Ever. "Perception is 99% of the flaw."; (It's her own, by the way.)
"This being human is a guesthouse.
Every morning a new arrival.
... Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.";
From "The Guest House,"; by Jal?l ad-D?n Muhammad R?m?, more popularly known in the English-speaking world as Rumi, a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic.
1914: a Swedish carpenter builds the house for a cannery manager living at George Point in Naden Harbour, on the north coast of what had come to be called the Queen Charlotte Islands.
1921: the cannery closes and the house is floated, on strapped-together logs through Dixon Entrance, and down Masset Sound, where it comes to rest on the shores of the Watun River.
1932: A new owner sets sail again-back up Masset Sound. Two oxen, Olaf and Buster, and a stump puller winch the house off the beach and onto its present footings, by the government docks in Masset. Its interior is redone with plywood (considered very chic at the time), a convenient in-house well, and a windmill for electricity. The copper beech tree is planted.
1971: David Phillips arrives in Prince Rupert from Toronto en route to China to get involved in the post-cultural revolution. After a failed attempt as a stowaway on a Greek freighter he landed on the Charlottes, and procured his own transportation. "I tried to circumnavigate the islands in a rowboat, in black dancing pumps,"; he said, in an interview with Taras Grescoe in 2006. "I got to the west coast, which is like the Emperor's Garden-these three-mile, deserted sandy beaches, with one rocky outcrop after another-and my boat started to sink. Fortunately, a fishing boat came along at the last minute and threw me a line.";
In Masset he met Sydney Harling Smith, living alone and in need of care; David moved in, and carefully preserved the house circa the early '30s. He took full possession in 1986 when Sydney died, and it became Copper Beech Guest House. Or, as the sign says, Copper Beech House Inn. Elsewhere it is listed as Copper Beech House B&B. I suppose it is all three of these designations, and possibly even more, but it could be said that in Masset we don't always know how to make up our minds when it comes to the "correct"; spelling. For instance the village of Masset is spelled Masset, except on the sign welcoming you to "Massett";. Old Massett (two t's) used to be called "Haida";, back in the '70s. Now it is usually referred to as "The Village";, as opposed to the Village of Masset, which is sometimes referred to as New Masset. See what I mean?
2010: I buy the Copper Beech House from David. I kept the Persian rugs, though some of the heirloom quality furniture was too uncomfortable and has been replaced by the kind of furniture you can sink into, not through. The glass curio cabinet still remains, with, among other treasures, the soapstone geese, an ivory tusk, a rodent skull and a plastic Smurf. The walls are covered with the works of local Haida artists; there's also an African penis gourd, antique fishing rods and a sardine can with a depiction of The Last Supper. And of course there are books, with several shelves dedicated to the works by writers who have stayed as guests: David Suzuki, Margaret Atwood, Graeme Gibson, Douglas Coupland, William Gibson and many more.
When I bought Copper Beech House from David, Douglas Coupland emailed me saying,
"YAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!
That's such exciting news!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I can't think of a better match on so many many levels.
CONGRATULATIONS! X";
(I took that "X"; to be a kiss, not the whole generation.)
I can't say I was cut out to be an innkeeper. I feel uncomfortable, most of the time, charging people for a place to lay their head. "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it," it says in Hebrews 13:2. I try not to forget, but then I think, who am I to charge angels the standard room rate plus GST and PST on top?
In Geoff Dyer's lovely novel, Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi, the protagonist goes to Varanasi and checks into an establishment called the Ganges View.
"The Ganges View was one of the great hotels of the world. The reason for this, the owner said, is "because we don't really know how to run a hotel."; The idea behind most hotels, especially luxurious ones, is very simple: to leech money out of guests. Every desire and whim can be catered for in an instant-and comes with a whopping surcharge. "In the course of my stay at the Ganges View I'd eaten dozens of lunches, breakfasts and dinners and had ordered endless juices, teas and dozens of bottles of water. Wondering what all this might be costing, I asked Kamal-one of the smiling, gentle Nepalis who worked here-if they were keeping some kind of record of what I'd consumed. No, I was supposed to have kept a record, but they had forgotten to give me the piece of paper on which the record was kept. Kamal duly handed me the paper, and said I could start from today. As he handed me the paper, I heard a rustling behind me. When I looked around I saw a rat scurrying out of sight, behind a wardrobe.
"Don't worry,"; said Kamal. "He is a guest, too.";
I would like to adopt this as a model for Copper Beech House. "We are one of the world's great guest houses because we don't really know how to run a guest house."; I would, however, make one editorial change. "Rodentia Non Grata.";
BREAKFAST AT COPPER BEECH HOUSE
"I always eat eggs in the morning and night
They give me strong legs and keep my eyes bright.";
-Poem fragment from my laminated placemat, circa 1956
"Breakfast. We offer you a choice. Your choice is to take it or leave it.";
-Purser on board our national airline (name removed to protect the guilty) in the days when they still offered breakfast and still had pursers on board.
That is NOT how we approach breakfast at Copper Beech House. At Copper Beech House breakfast is often a leisurely all-morning-long event. If there are more than four guests we don't set the table-everyone sits in the living room with a plate on their lap. The informality leads to wonderful stimulating conversations and lets our guests get to know one another without having to worry about which knife or fork to use, or if they spilled stewed rhubarb on the white tablecloth.
We serve what I have humorously taken to calling an Off-the-Continental Breakfast (Haida Gwaii is about 100 km (60 miles) off the coast of Canada, as Islanders like to say when they refer to mainland British Columbia) which includes many kinds of coffee, every kind of tea, orange juice laced with elderflower cordial, fresh fruits (including local wild berries, when in season), homemade granola, yoghurt and Susan's 3-day Sourdough Bread (see recipe p. XX). (Guests usually go for the bread, partly because it takes me so long to make they would feel guilty if they didn't eat it, especially after I have reminded them of all the time and effort involved.)
Eggs are from local chickens, unless marauding dogs or raccoons have eaten them (the chickens, not the eggs), first.
There are scrambled eggs (my favourite), poached eggs, fried eggs and baked eggs, cooked on low heat. Cooking eggs over high heat (frying or scrambling) changes the structure of the egg yolk, a condition known as oxidative damage. Poaching or boiling is supposed to be better for you, but I don't care. Scrambled eggs are the most comforting dish I know, next to Macaroni and Cheese, which I refuse to reduce to Mac and Cheese.
These days people like no eggs, also. (See "Tips"; under "Crab, Chanterelle, Caramelized Onion, Goat Cheese Omelette on p. XX.) Or egg whites, which seems to be to defeat the whole purpose of eating an egg. No one ever asks, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg white?"; Though this might be just the kind of philosophical conversation one could find oneself in over breakfast at Copper Beech House.
One of our favourite guests, Robert Hart, for instance, at breakfast one morning, asked, "What is the difference between the soul and the spirit?"; When I wasn't forthcoming he then said, "Pass the cornflakes."; Even though there weren't any.
Robert later emailed me his favourite "senior citizen joke";.
A little silver-haired lady calls her neighbor and says, "Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can't figure out how to get started.";
Her neighbor asks, "What is it supposed to be when it's finished?";
The little silver haired lady says, "According to the picture on the box, it's a rooster.";
Her neighbor decides to go over and help with the puzzle.
She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.
He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to her and says,
"First of all, no matter what we do, we're not going to be able to assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.";
He takes her hand. "Secondly, I want you to relax. Let's have a nice cup of tea, and then,"; he says with a deep sigh, "let's put all the corn flakes back in the box.";
Joelle Rabu, who now manages the Haida House at Tllaal and her brother Daniel have been guests, also. And Joelle left me with this after breakfast one morning, the Best. Quotation. Ever. "Perception is 99% of the flaw."; (It's her own, by the way.)
Submitted on January 28, 2015 in By David.
