A stroll thru Granville Island.....
Looks like she was doing a photo shoot of some kind.
I dunno about this..there were two cyclists...man and woman and each had two kids in back..in traffic.
Looks like someone's dream has fallen on hard times. What a shame.
Looks like she was doing a photo shoot of some kind.
I dunno about this..there were two cyclists...man and woman and each had two kids in back..in traffic.
Granville Island wasn't always a tourist haven.
- The former Britannia Wire Rope Co. Now Emily Carr.
- Interior of the machine shop, 1918. Now the Public Market.
- Old houses on the Granville Island landscape in the 1920s. Photo courtesy of Granville Island.
Story of a People's Place
Not so long ago, there was a place, a living
place beneath the waves. It was a sandbar that emerged each day as the
tides receded; a gathering place, a people’s place, where people came to
fish, a place of friendship, family and laughter. It was a place where
stories were told, even acted out, the occasional songs sung, with old
traditions passed from one generation to another, a nurturing place of
sustenance. A place to eat and celebrate with family and friends, to
share with visitors from afar, perhaps with a canoe or two drawn up for a
few hours to enjoy the traditional fruitfulness of this gathering
place, the False Creek Sandbar. The place would disappear beneath the
waves each day, washed clean of its footprints old and young, large and
small, light and heavy. Empty mussel and crab shells, fish bones and
other evidence of the day’s activities were washed away by the tide,
leaving nothing but pristine sand to rise again with the next receding
tide to welcome its visitors. Refreshed and renewed, the sandbar would
emerge like a blank canvas awaiting discovery, with new riches to be
yielded, discovered and enjoyed, nourishment for body and soul.
The Lower Mainland as we know it today was once a large expanse of forest, with only five First Nations villages between the places we now call Kits Point and Port Moody. Around 125 years ago, Granville Street was a logging road that cut through the dense forest of Shaughnessy, pointing vaguely toward New Westminster. Vancouver, known at that time as “Granvilletown”, was a small, dusty logging settlement with little promise of development or prosperity.
A flat sandbar in False Creek would be exposed during low tide, and the land across was populated by members of the Squamish Nation, who called the south shore of False Creek including the sandbar, Snauq. It was traditionally a winter village, and a perfect place for fishing using corrals and weirs. A multitude of shellfish could be found there, and even a fresh water spring, which provided drinking and cooking water. Squamish people occasionally ferried loggers across False Creek for a few pennies. For most of the 1800’s, it was a relatively quiet and natural world.
Many tides wash in and wash out, and a new era comes to pass. The sands of time shift along with tonnes of dredged sand from the bottom of False Creek, and a permanent island is born. A ‘steel ribbon’ crosses the new country with English Bay as its Western terminus, and the face of Vancouver is changed forever.
The Lower Mainland as we know it today was once a large expanse of forest, with only five First Nations villages between the places we now call Kits Point and Port Moody. Around 125 years ago, Granville Street was a logging road that cut through the dense forest of Shaughnessy, pointing vaguely toward New Westminster. Vancouver, known at that time as “Granvilletown”, was a small, dusty logging settlement with little promise of development or prosperity.
A flat sandbar in False Creek would be exposed during low tide, and the land across was populated by members of the Squamish Nation, who called the south shore of False Creek including the sandbar, Snauq. It was traditionally a winter village, and a perfect place for fishing using corrals and weirs. A multitude of shellfish could be found there, and even a fresh water spring, which provided drinking and cooking water. Squamish people occasionally ferried loggers across False Creek for a few pennies. For most of the 1800’s, it was a relatively quiet and natural world.
Many tides wash in and wash out, and a new era comes to pass. The sands of time shift along with tonnes of dredged sand from the bottom of False Creek, and a permanent island is born. A ‘steel ribbon’ crosses the new country with English Bay as its Western terminus, and the face of Vancouver is changed forever.
Photos courtesy of Hotson Bakker Boniface Haden Architects
1 2 3 4 | Next »
No comments:
Post a Comment