Wow . . . It's spring of 2014. Of course I'm writing this in February, but you're reading it in March and, yep, it's spring of 2014 and LASN is well into its 30th year of publication.

As I write this, it is just beginning to rain, for what is predicted to be a four to five day storm out here in the severely drought stricken California, but that was so last week . . . It just goes to show you how things change. Sometimes change is good, like California getting some rain. . . And sometimes it is not so good, like losing loved ones to time, as I just lost my father. He was 99, so no complaints, but when you reflect on what change occurs in a 99 yearlong life, it definitely gives one pause . . .

People always ask me how it was that LASN began back in 1985, and how I am related to the landscape industry. Well, it goes back to my roots. Even my name . . . George . . . The root of which is geo . . . land. But my real passion for landscape, and for the land, comes from my father. His story has some real roots, roots in time that have seen tremendous change. Born in Nuedorf Saskatchewan, a town that has stayed at about 350 residents for these past 99 years, fun, adventure and a little risk were always Dad's mantra . . . And most of his adventures were outside the confines of a building . . .

When he was in his twenties the Great Depression hit, but with a bit of business school and a stiff upper lip, he managed through. That was when he was collecting oil barrels in remote communities in northern British Columbia. Peace River, Tupper, places that today show up on Google maps with no real downtown, just a general vicinity . . .

He would be traveling the back roads in an old truck, no power steering, no power breaks, no radio . . . Sometimes the barrels were easy, other times guys would hide them, or hide themselves, not wanting to pay the bill, but dad was relentless in getting the job done . . . And remember, in those days, in those places, everyone had a gun . . . Up there he helped his dad, who was working to help Europeans fleeing Hitler. That was Tupper, about 600 miles north of the border, where they literally carved out a section of the woods and built a Czechoslovakian farming community. Hunting, fishing, and traveling the backcountry . . . Those are romantic notions today, real endeavors then. How many of us have ever shot a deer at 200 yards with iron sights, down a hill and across a river, or shot an eagle . . . with a bolt action 22 . . . with no scope, while the eagle was flying away ?