I played amateur detective yesterday. Jodi Henrickson has been weighing heavily on my psyche since reading an article about the missing, presumed murdered teenager in Vancouver Magazine. I think of that poor girl and her family nearly every day. I’m a mother but still can only imagine their pain and anguish. Crime writer Neil Boyd lives on Bowen Island too and related numerous previously unrevealed facts about the case. I was trying to recall the time of year, or which year a flock of vultures appeared on our property tracking what we were certain was a dead deer. One of our dogs found a piece of hide and a bone. I kept wondering though. Surely someone has information they aren’t divulging, for whatever reason. So while hiking with said canines I ventured off the trail to conduct my own private search. It was the least I could do and necessary to put that nagging doubt out of my mind. It was a long shot but I scoured the salal and undergrowth for about an hour, spooked, and sad, finding nothing much to my relief. That girl is on this island somewhere. I believe that like a law of nature, the truth will always surface, that it’s only a matter of time. I just hope the truth about Jodi’s disappearance is revealed soon so that her loved ones may find whatever peace is possible. The article below just appeared at Find My Child and is written by Jodi’s brother Rob Henrickson:

**Update – January 2011**

Once again, we enter a new year, without any idea as to what happened to Jodi, or where she might be. Many searches were done in the months following her disappearance, yielding nothing that could locate Jodi. Then, in march of 2010, the case was officially changed from a missing person case to a homicide investigation. In addition to this, another search was conducted on Bowen Island in mid July, which I attended as a spokesperson for my family. Now, almost 2 years later, the search for Jodi remains at essentially the same place as it did when it began: without the slightest idea of what happened to her.

In the January issue of “Vancouver Magazine,” another news article about Jodi was published, providing a very detailed summary and analysis of the case. I would suggest anyone that is interested in the case take a look at this article, I was personally interviewed for around two to three hours in September 2010.

Our family now remains completely helpless, time goes by and yet we still know nothing of what happened to Jodi. Another holiday season has come and gone, and once again without Jodi, leaving something missing where Jodi’s happy attitude and energy use to be. There isn’t a single day that goes by that I don’t think about Jodi, and how completely helpless my family and I are in the face of all this. All I can do, as I have many times before, is ask that if anyone does know something, please come forward. Even if it seems like the most useless piece of information, please come forward, it may very well be the key to ending what has already gone on much too long.

Thank you very much for all of your support so far, it really means a lot to my family and I, making the entire situation at least slightly less bleak.

-Rob James Henrickson

I am not alone, though here in the dead of winter the poor things keep flying into the window, offing themselves, behaviour I associate with springtime when the males see their reflections as rivals. The jays can survive but the junkos cannot. I must put up a decal.

Ah, insomnia! In my ruminating I’ve managed to write a recommendation for Books On The Radio Advent Book Blog, Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom, with its Cerulean Warbler flitting throughout.

Missing a dear comrade in the dead of night I find this bit of King Lear resonating:

“Come, let’s away to prison:
We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we’ll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too,
Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;
And take upon’s the mystery of things,
As if we were God’s spies.”

Like birds indeed.

Many moons ago, my wild child teenaged self hitchhiked around the province with my best friend Cathy, Clifford Olson’s heyday as someone kindly pointed out. I always joke that I left with $50. and returned with $50. We were very resourceful. I can’t imagine doing anything like that now or how I was allowed to. Well, I wasn’t, I just took off. Our poor parents. We didn’t have much of a plan, just wanted to get as far north as possible. We made it to Prince Rupert. While on the northern part of Vancouver Island, in Campbell River, we met some loggers at the pub and they bought us to camp to feed us. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I remember lots of beef and potatoes, decidedly comfort food for two hungry young roamers. Turns out it was a good idea for there I met a handsome, charming though intriguingly quiet, poet-troubadour named Max Layton, the son of Irving Layton, whose work I had been studying in English class. I was impressed, Leonard Cohen taught him guitar! We talked poetry and literature and music for hours. I always had an affinity for language and had started to seriously write verse around that time. I like to sing too and I call what I do now spoken word song. I recently got in touch with him and we exchanged books and CDs.  He’s written a novel about his logging experiences Continue reading →

Politics. Ugh. Obama got his sorry ass kicked yesterday and Gordon Campbell just resigned this morning after trying to buy people off with a tax cut. It appears the Americans are going crazy–talk about polarization–and Gordon Campbell is an arrogant prick to think the citizenry can’t see through such transparent ploys. Good riddance but it’s not as if this means change. Some other party line asshole will replace him so already fat cat Gordo can go work at a corporation as a consultant and receive a hefty salary. Do I sound bitter? The old saw, If voting could change anything it would be against the law always jumps to mind at a time like this.

I can clean up my own back yard however though feeling trapped in the Visible Verse vault, battling dust and giant spiders to save videopoetry from obscurity while ensuring a stellar retrospective. As I’ve told several friends, the anniversary celebration and festival has pretty much taken over my life. Oh well, once every 10 years I suppose I can handle it, suck it up. The buzz is building; I’m doing an interview for Books on the Radio and Sean Cranbury soon. It’s going to be fabulous affair with artists flying in from Montreal, Edmonton, Chicago and Los Angeles. Paul Portugues, coming up from Santa Barbara, wants an interview for his book on poetry film.

Sadly, and shockingly, an esteemed member of Vancouver’s arts community, Lenore Herb died recently. We were Continue reading →