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It was 1988 and I was working a part time gig at a legion nicknamed the little lesion that could in a rural area of the sunshine coast known as Roberts Creek. It's a heavily tread part of the lower coast on the Pacific Ocean, a peninsula accessible only by ferry boat due to the coastal mountain range of beautiful British Columbia. The Sunshine Coast lies north of the lower mainland of the west coast, which includes the city of Vancouver and its metropolitan cities and townships. We'd recently purchased a home in roberts Creek known as gum boot nation, gum boots. Being a staple for life during the spring ring, we were enjoying our new country living on the Sunshine coast with two teens, cats, dogs, horses and chickens. A more laid back style of living compared to the city. While it was a beautiful experience, reality set in pretty fast. We had to make a living and those days work was limited in the coast and anyone who asked how residents made a living was told they cut firewood and sold it to each other. My wife june kept her secure job at a telecommuting. My wife june kept her secure job at a telecommunications company in Vancouver and commuted by ferry five days a week along with many other coasters who worked in the city friday night commutes on the boat back to our little paradise resembled a party like atmosphere for the commuters, smoking wasn't permitted inside. So they head up to the open top deck, The staff gave smokers a blind eye if somewhere into wacky to backe and others had a beer can or two in a cup holder hiding the label. One friday evening halfway home, one of the crew members who worked up on the bridge approached the group standing on the top deck, he said, Hey guys, the captain sent me to ask you if you all would mind moving down the boat. He pointed to some above their heads. That's our air vented to the bridge. We're all getting stoned. We Canadians are so polite. I picked up a risky job of catering at another legion up coast in Madeira Park, but soon the local little legion that could offered me a saturday night gig, barbecuing steaks on the back deck beside a fast running, picturesque creek. The offer came one saturday night when my wife and I decided to go for a steak dinner at our local legion. When we arrived, the current chef was arguing with a customer on the deck that had bought his stake back three times, insisting it wasn't cooked enough. The customer wanted it more well done and the frustrated chef had reached his boiling point to our shock and the customers. The chef skewered his steak with a fork and yelled, You want well done. Well, here's well done. He chucked the stake through the air and last we saw it floated down the creek in the fast moving water and disappeared