Lunenburg, Nova Scotia (Aug 07')
The
day began like many others at the Homegrown skateboards. Everyone was
prancing around searching for innocence and truth. Yes. Everyone was
searching for their soul’s haiku. Someone was mumbling about missing a
kick at the shower door. And the non-believers were all wrapped up in
a fair trade suitcase for deportation. In short, everyone was at loose
ends, including, of course, the downstairs, bakery patron who cornered
me to relay a story about Quasi Moto, a belfry, and a face that rings
the bell with no arms. In light of such a story, it’s not easy to
find truth and innocence. I mean, who the hell is Quasi Moto anyway?
And why does he have no arms?
The truth is, I don’t know how I ended up there at all – there at
the Homegrown Skateboard factory – where Jesse and Anna tuned the
whistle to blow new t-shirts into the air like confetti. I mean, only
hours before I
was
just minding my own business, caring for a plastic drinking straw, and
then I’m standing, looking at the new Homegrown t-shirts, as
homegrowner, Jesse, explains the latest designs excitedly:
“What. Yes. Here it is. Here they all are. And look at these little
guys going for a hike. This blue colour here is just a bit lighter
than teal, you know. But that’s to the naked eye. Here’s the signpost
in Newfoundland, yes, but I took mine from a slightly different angle…”
And so on and so forth as he’s all expert witness to the latest
glimpse of genius in another Homegrown product installment. Faced with
all of these soulful energies, I had no choice but to apply for a job
with the company.
“I can weave socks.” I said to Jesse.
“Groovy.” said Jesse.
And
like many other plans exchanged in the factory, ours tiptoed away like
a wounded pterodactyl to seek refuge in the intricate feng shi of one
of the surrounding workbenches. Yes, when I last saw our sock plan it
was nestled next to a pinup of Edie Sedgwick kissing Leon Redbone.
Indeed, there’s no accounting for that whatsoever, but we have to take
ourselves seriously despite time’s easy passing.
Then it hit me. I need not make socks. Instead, I will enter the
factory from a new door. I will attempt to define this elusive
Homegrown soul I’ve heard so much about. As a surfer without much of a
penchant for plywood, I doubted my own capacity for this feat. But, I
was so pleased with the innocence of my drinking straw that I was
immediately on assignment. Yes. Define Homegrown soul – that is the
next thing on my things to-do list.
* * *
Episode One in the search for a definition began as I watched a
ramp session featuring Jason Keddy and Jesse. Jason and Jesse both
laid out some smooth ramp interpretations. As Jason found his stance
in fitted jeans, Jesse preferred the baggy khakis. Of course, their
two smooth styles beg the question, is this their way of showing
Homegrown soul? And what if each skater’s joints were equally
visible? What then? And what about their socks? And who the hell is
Quasi Moto?
As
the session rolled on, I found myself seeing the ramp as a permanent
wave, and I began to wonder if you could ride down the line as a surfer
does on a wave (from top right corner to bottom left, for example).
Could this be done? And if so, would it help me to define the secrets
of a Homegrown soul?
“Is anyone surfing this thing.” I ask.
“O, yea. Wait until Dale gets here. And Greg Baller too. They’re surfing it, just like our boy
Keddy here.” Jesse replied.
so, like Tom Waits in ballet, I’m onto the ramp now taking
encouragement. I don’t know why I’m on it, but I can’t seem to
resist. The plywood wave’s whisking under the board fast and buttery
golden. Surely there’s a fine mist of Homegrown soul in the air, and
no one says a word. It is only Anna who can capture it, singing,
“Don’t think twice, it’s alright...”
Indeed, who could think twice about a feeling that truthful, while the
rain fell to bring the night to a close. The contest would awake us
tomorrow, and I hoped for another bit of mist to solidify this mystery
search for Homegrown soul.
* * *
As the sun seared down on the Lunenburg skatepark, the Homegrown posse
assembled to create a contest. The sweat ran down the sides of parked
motorcycle engines. Yes. Lunenburg Skatepark: Home of the
Mini-Grinder sweat.
As the contest began, I reasoned that it was too hot to find
answers to my assignment. Clearly, the best thing to do was to leave
the contest in favour of taking the pulse of the local community. Did
the reverberations from the skatepark fun box echo down to harbour side
boat building shop where the Bluenose emerged to ride the rails of the
sea? I mean, ask yourself, is the Bluenose that different from a
skateboard?
Ask yourself, is skateboarding really that different than fog?
* * *
Later
that night, back at the Bakery, the ramp session pulsed into a giant
seamonster. Blackout 77 encouraged us to find work in Mexico and to
eat our pickles, while the team riders laid out their Homegrown souls
for all to see.
In
the end, it’s not just about skateboarding, this Homegrown soul. It’s
the whole thing. It’s in the ramp top lighting. It’s in the pinups
over by the factory workbench. It’s in the hands of the children
playing with the parking lot gravel. It’s falling onto to everyone in
the form of La Have fog. We’re all curling up into it – this Homegrown
soul – wondering how will find it again when we awake tomorrow. And
it’s a credit to everyone involved that it’s never choked. It’s never
been forced. The Homegrown soul shambles out of the river and welcomes
you if you want to be welcomed.
It makes you an offer you can’t refuse:
Step back onto this rolling rhythm. Make a play from the heart of
your mind’s feet. Skate. Banter. Laugh. Tom fool. Sleep well, and
come back tomorrow.
-
Wade Ells
HG Writer in Residence
