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Stories Matter: Tales from The Dale

We have not seen her in a while. She is striking, with an amazing sense of style. On this particular day we spot her hanging out with other people we know on some familiar steps in the neighbourhood. We immediately get chatting and hear about some challenges with her housing situation, a place just around the corner that she wants to show us. She is very transparent, and wants us (and you, the reader) to hear about her years in the sex trade and the toll it has taken. As Joanna and I listen, rain begins to pelt down. Before we depart, our friend hands us each a sunflower. Mine has just two yellow petals left. “I know they’re not beautiful, but it’s my heart. I honour you each with them.”

It’s his birthday. He feels surprised, while we feel grateful, that he has lived another year. His extended family is not in the city and want to remind him that he is loved, and so they send me a video of people sharing birthday wishes, peppered with photos of various eras of his life. The hope is that we will be able to find him so that he can view the video on my phone. Fortunately, it works out. He looks so pleased. I can’t shake the smile off my face.

We first met while he was living in an encampment in Parkdale. Always trying to beautify the land on which he lives, this friend erected a birdhouse close to his tent and excitedly shares about regular gray jay sightings. Over time his art fills the space, canvases leaning against every available surface. Now housed, I get audio messages on social media from him when too much time has elapsed between visits. We always greet each other with a hug.

Whenever the weather is good, we meet outside for our Sunday service. One day a squirrel is positioned in the tree right above me. I have no idea what people are looking at, only to learn there is certainty it is going to land on my head. Another day a woodpecker attaches itself to the shed just feet away from us. It sounds like a (very loud) percussion instrument and persists its pecking throughout our prayer time. At first some of us muffle laughter, until the comments start to fly, nearly derailing the service. Finally, a community member determinedly begins to pray, with as loud a voice as she can muster, “I just feel SO grateful because I have never seen a woodpecker in real life. How amazing.” The bird begins to quiet, almost as though it is giving thanks back.

Our plot in the community garden is taking shape. A neighbour and friend who is always willing to lend a hand decides to build an enclosure for it to keep out the animals that want to take one bite out of everything. One of our only strawberries gets eaten anyway. Our neighbour will not be deterred. Upon hearing the news of the strawberry, he marches over to fortify the walls. We know he keeps on eye on things when we can’t, which is especially nice given that our watering schedule (which is posted in our office) for Fridays and Saturdays says, “hope for the best”.

I think stories matter. I always try to log the events of a day either in my mind or, when I’m feeling especially organized, in a notebook. It is easy to remember the activities that divide up our week at The Dale: meals to go, outreach, fund-raising, etc., but it is all the moments that happen at and in-between these activities that breathe life into this community. I am so grateful to be a part of the web of stories that occur at The Dale. Life here is rich, and full of gifts like sunflowers, birds, garden plots, hugs, and beautiful people.

Posted on by erinnoxford · 3 Comments

Snippets of Stories from the Street

There is a lot of life that happens at The Dale which goes unseen by most. Sometimes it’s easiest to explain what we are doing in broad strokes, but the heartbeat of this place is maybe most evident in our conversations, brief encounters, and surprising moments. Like these: 

Joanna and I were walking along Queen St one recent morning. We spotted a friend sitting under a tree beside a fast food place, eagerly eating cherries from a grey plastic bag. Unable to initially understand what she was offering, we came to realize that she wanted to gift us the remainder of her bounty, “take them, sanitize them, and enjoy them”. 

He reminds us of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh most days (and he knows it). Imagine almost every sentence spoken sounding like, “oh bother”. On this day he arrived, explaining that he needed to tell me something. Next thing I knew he produced a gift card that had been received as a birthday present. “This is for you people. I don’t have much, but I do have this to give”.

As we approached a group of friends, one asked me to join him on the opposite corner. Together we bent our heads by a sidewalk chalk memorial for a person who died in an untimely and unnecessary manner. A flower and sacred tobacco had been added to one spot, somehow not disturbed by the wind. He felt grateful that nothing had blown away, adding that this offered some comfort, especially given that no funeral was immediately possible. 

We now have a handwashing station that stands near the table from which we hand out food. I am reminded to not take access to water for granted every time a person steps up to use it. I can’t shake the image of one individual who washed their hands carefully and methodically three times in a row because it “felt so good”. 

A person we don’t know pulled up in a car packed with boxes of t-shirts to donate, all locally screen printed. We’re talking hundreds of shirts, an amount that at first was almost overwhelming. Since, we have distributed stacks and stacks of them. You know that feeling when you get to put on brand-new piece of clothing? Think of that as you picture our friends, many of whom are surviving on so little, getting something completely fresh. It’s dignifying. 

It is often when a person gets to join us, either for a neighbourhood walk, a drop-in, or a Sunday service that I hear, “now I really get what this place is about”. Describing life at The Dale in all its fullness can be a challenge. There are moments like I’ve described above. There are also messy disagreements, crisis that requires de-escalation, raucous conversation, and times when no words seem adequate. There is deep grief over broken systems and frustration at inequality. There is also a deep and abiding sense that we have been called to journey this life together, and that Hope can and will meet us on the way.