Pieman - The Papa D Story E-Book

Dennis Bourgo

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Pieman - The Papa D Story is the story of one man's journey to self during a special time in his life. A time that fell into place when he learned to let go and trust his intuition.

It is also a business adventure towards the end of his working life, with plenty of obstacles to overcome. It might have never been a success if he hadn't opened his mind and accepted that things can go ‘right’ sometimes.

It was a time when he let the magic happen, and found himself on a journey searching for the secret to life through comfort foods.

Leseprobe

Pieman

The Papa D Story

June V. Bourgo

Dennis Bourgo

Contents

Acknowledgments

Preface

1. In the Beginning…

2. Full Circle…

3. Dreaming the Dream…

4. The Commitment…

5. Tradesmen woes…

6. Seeing the Magic…

7. Crusts ‘n’ Guts…

8. Build a Field and They Will Come…

9. Critters

10. ‘Big’ Critters

11. ‘Tis the Season…

12. All About Me…

13. Art=Creation, Creation=Comfort Foods, Comfort Foods=Art…

14. Remembering Lessons Learned…

15. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da…

16. Work and Play (ne’er the two shall mix)…

17. Fifteen minutes of fame…

18. To Grow or Not To Grow…

19. Sometimes Life Is About Risking Everything for a Dream No One Else Can See But You…

20. Pie in the Sky and Human Greed…

21. When the Toughest Decision is the Right Decision…

22. The final chapter—or is it???

23. Wind and Fury…

24. Retirement…

25. Wabi-Sabi…

26. The next chapter…

27. Old beginnings—Bake, Sell, Repeat…

28. Goodbye to Papa D’s…

29. The age card…

30. Now? You’re kidding, right?

31. Becoming Islanders…

Afterword

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 June V. Bourgo, Dennis Bourgo

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Graham (Fading Street Services)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

…to Lily Legge Wood

Thank you, Nana, for teaching me to love cooking!

Acknowledgments

When the story is a partial biography about a specific time in my life, it’s easy to pay tribute to those who contributed to the success of my small enterprise in those five years on the British Columbia coast and the few years which followed in the interior. I deliberately left out the names of those mentioned in the book out of respect for their privacy unless permission was given.

First and foremost, I thank my wife, June, for not only supporting my endeavours but for her unwavering belief in my business and personal aspirations. She played an integral part in the success of my accomplishments, not only during the time written about in this story but throughout our thirty-seven years together. As my partner, and a successful woman in her own right, my respect for her intelligence and talents is immense. Her contribution to the writing of this book and the vast experience she brought to it is so appreciated.

A big thank you to the business investors—you know who you are, and you were my angels. A shout out to the original landowner and his family, to the contractors who helped me achieve my vision, the ladies who rented space in my kitchen, and everyone who worked with me.

And of course, the business would have been nothing without the patrons, many of whom became friends. Your support, enthusiasm, and humour contributed to the magical success of the little pie shop.

A special thank you to my editor, Charlee Redman Bezilla, for her invaluable edits and input.

To my beta readers, Megan Herlaar, Sandra J. Jackson, and Ron Bagliere, thank you for your support and validation.

And, of course, to Miika and the team at Next Chapter Publishing for bringing this story to life.

But the success I achieved came from so many people and events in my life even before starting this project. Everything I’d questioned and hopefully learned previously, from the positive influences of others and lessons from the negative ones, and the hundreds of eclectic books I’d read over the years—all contributed to the mindset I’d reached and developed as I began this endeavour.

I thank my Nana for her stories about the ranch on the Old Man River in Fort MacLeod, Alberta and for teaching me to cook, and my Grampa for sharing his life-long wisdom in his easy, laid-back style.

And last, but not least, a big thank-you to my children and grandchildren who have no idea of the impact they’ve made in my life. My hope is this snippet into my world helps them understand a little more about their crazy Papa and know they are all loved.

Thank you one and all.

Preface

For most of my adult life, my work centred on running self-owned businesses. My love of cooking and artistic talent, nurtured by our family doctor who enrolled me in art classes at the age of six, played a large part in my business life. Over the years, I’ve managed and owned restaurants and graphic arts and signage companies.

And through my lifelong love and study of science and quantum physics, developed a solar-powered water pump that was way ahead of its time when solar power was in its infancy and cost a fortune to use. During the nineteen-eighties close friends in Victoria who were working on scientific research projects, asked me to bring my pump onboard under my own company. These were my days of chasing big money. My company was under contract with a parent company, funded by federal government scientific research monies. My lofty idea of developing a solar-powered water pump for third-world countries without electrical power for water systems was halted when we hit a wall on how to store battery power from a solar source to keep the system working. This dilemma took me to Paris, France as a guest of Aerospatiale, a state-owned aerospace manufacturer that built both civilian and military aircraft. They had developed a short-term energy storage device (MAG-LEV) for emergency purposes to protect communications that were buried under the city and around the country. I was there to see if it was possible to downsize their system to work with my project. They were very excited about working with us. But on my return home, the parent company lost its funding. The government had cut back funding for scientific research and invited me to apply for other funds and grants. I spent months chasing the dream and made it to second place with my research accreditation for an almost million-dollar grant—but lost out. With my funding gone, I had no choice but to close down and move on. It was a hard pill to swallow. That year I had a tax bill of three million dollars owed to Revenue. The good that came out of that project was once the paperwork was audited and my project accreditation was presented to Revenue, I received a substantial tax refund and tax credits which voided my hefty tax bill. It was a funding project with a lot of flaws but in the end, I benefited. We bought a house on the Sunshine Coast where this book takes place. I tell you this as an explanation of where I had been and where I ended up. And why becoming the Pieman was such an important experience and growth period in my life that had nothing to do with chasing or achieving money.

I chose to write this book because June and I, in our thirty-seven years together, have discovered there’s a kind of ‘magic’ at work sometimes and if you allow yourself to believe, to trust your intuition or ‘gut’, you won’t miss out. The things that came about in this period of our lives were magical. So, open your mind and allow that things can go ‘right’ sometimes.

This story covers a period towards the end of my working life which I discovered to be the most fulfilling yet.

Read on…

Dennis Bourgo aka Papa D

The biography in this book is reflective of my husband’s journey to self. As his long-time partner in life, of course, I’m a part of his story. The birth and writing of this project were solely his and he spent many months putting it down on paper. My role, as a fiction writer, was to take his words and craft them into a creative non-fiction piece of work; a challenge and a refreshing change in my writing life.

Working together was another challenge, and, surprisingly, we rose to the occasion. Our many talks about this period of our lives allowed me to add memories he’d forgotten and brought forth some we’d both left behind. We were reminded of the struggles we’d shared and conquered in our life journey together. And despite a few ‘harshly worded’ editorial arguments, I believe the telling of this story has brought us closer.

June V. Bourgo

Chapter1

In the Beginning…

It was 1988 and I was working a part-time gig at a Legion, nicknamed ‘the little legion that could’ in a rural area of the Sunshine Coast, known as Roberts Creek. It’s a heavily treed 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 ‘Gumboot Nation’, gumboots being a staple for life during the spring rains.

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. In those days, work was limited on 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 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’d head up to the open-top deck. The staff gave the smokers a blind eye if some were into wacky tobaccy, 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 a group standing on the top deck. He said, “Hey guys, the captain sent me to ask if you would all mind moving down the boat.” He pointed to something above their heads. “That’s our air vent into the bridge, we’re all getting stoned.” (We Canadians are so polite.)

I’d 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 barbequing 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 brought his steak back three times, insisting it wasn’t cooked enough. The customer wanted it more than 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 steak through the air and last we saw, it floated off down the creek in the fast-moving water and disappeared.

He turned to me and said, “Dennis, you’re a cook, take over—I quit.” He went inside, ordered a pint, and sat with the customers waiting for their dinners. The legion executives were aghast and rushed outside where I was burning a steak to appease the upset customer. They offered me the gig on the spot.

Thus, began my weekend contract: Saturday night barbeque of eight-ounce New York strip steak, baked potato, garden salad, and garlic bread; Friday night roast beef (two roasts, one well-done for the English members, one medium rare for the rest), Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes, carrots, peas, and gravy. All this for six dollars a plate. A successful venture that brought in anywhere from fifty to a hundred folks and became a hit. Soon people from all over the coast were coming and I had a ‘following’. My down-home style of cooking meshed well with the down-to-earth nature of my rural customers. As for the English member who wanted his steak well-done; it took me three Saturdays to figure it out. The first time, he said, ‘almost, but not quite’. Second time, ‘close’. Third time ‘perfect’. The secret to his steak was to put it on the barbie thirty minutes before we opened for business. By the time he and his wife arrived, it was almost ready, leaving him time for a drink before dinner. When presented with his dried-out, burnt piece of shoe leather, he was thrilled and said, “You got it!”

My appreciative customers were very generous, and upon finishing their meals, one or two would buy me a pint and place it on the deck railing where I worked. At one point, I turned to find the pints lined up down the railing. Now don’t get me wrong—over the years, I’ve enjoyed my pints along with the best of them. But not when I’m working. I’d send them back to the ‘round’ table where the patrons solved the problems of the world.

During the week, I had access to the kitchen and Legion for private catering events. The Legion supplied the food for the Friday and Saturday night gigs, so I was paid a set fee under my contract, and they got the proceeds from the dinners and the bar. But I purchased the foods for the private catering gigs, so proceeds from the catering contracts were mine and the Legion kept the proceeds from the bar. It was a win-win for us both.

The only foods available to Legion members during the week were meat pies, provided by an elderly member of the Ladies Auxiliary. With the success of my catering and weekend dinners, she approached me with the news she’d decided to retire and asked if I’d like to take over providing meat pies. It was a natural progression in my business, and I agreed. She provided two types of 5-inch pies, ground beef and chicken. I asked how she made her gravies, and her reply was simple: canned mushroom soup for the beef, and canned mushroom soup for the chicken. She made her pastry with shortening and this was one of her reasons for retiring. Her hands were crippled with arthritis and making pastry had become painful.

Growing up in the Okanagan, my grandmother was a great cook. She and my grandfather were from England. They’d both come to Canada as indentured servants. Nana worked for a high-end household in Toronto for several years to pay off the cost of bringing her to Canada; Grampa worked for the Baptist Church of Canada as an indentured servant for ten years. With their debts paid off, they travelled west, met, fell in love, and married. They settled in Fort McLeod, Alberta where with other family members, they built a ranch and served in local government. But I digress. Nana’s work at the ranch was to cook for the family and their workers. When the depression hit in ’29, they sold the ranch and moved to British Columbia. When I was a child, she taught me how to cook, and her form of camp cooking rubbed off on me. It was her meat pie recipes that I used in my catering business. I loved to cook thanks to my Nana, and this was the start of what years later was to become ‘Papa D’s Comfort Foods’. As a side note, the name came from my first-born grandchildren who had two ‘Papas’: Papa Tom and Papa Dennis. Papa Dennis became Papa D.

Chapter2

Full Circle…

A few years later, my wife and I were offered an opportunity to become involved in a new enterprise. June left her job in the city, and I gave up my catering business, which I should mention was a disastrous decision with a bad ending. Since this is my story, I will just say be very careful about business partnerships: dissolving one can be as painful as a divorce. It was an expensive exercise—but a mistake is no longer a mistake if it becomes a lesson and ours became a life lesson well-learned. The economy on the coast was still asleep. The whole province was struggling at that time, and we found ourselves in limbo. With our children grown, we sold our property and with the profits, we said goodbye to the Sunshine Coast. We returned to the city and my wife went back to work for her previous employer. I started up a graphics business (as an artist, I had worked in graphics before and decided to return to that profession). Several years later, June was offered an early-retirement package by the company, and she accepted.

So here we were at the beginning of the millennium, two thousand A.D.—and we happily found ourselves on a beautiful, leased property, back on the Sunshine Coast. The land belonged to a nice young couple, who were now living in Vancouver. The back of the park-like hectare had once been used as a small sawmill. It consisted of a large historic barn and a cute mobile home with a clever addition, making the front room twice the size of its original design. It was set in a grove of huge cedar trees, with Gibsons Creek running along the bottom edge of the acreage.

My wife, who is six and a half years younger than me, landed a managerial job at a physiotherapy clinic. I was approaching what some people would call retirement years. Not that I intended on retiring, but I no longer had the drive to chase big money. I wanted to slow down and run a small home-based business. Remembering my previous successful years of catering on the coast, and my Nana’s recipes, I decided it was time to rekindle Papa D’s Comfort Foods. Namely, meat pies. Since returning to the coast, I’d been constantly baking and filling orders for my small following by using the Legion kitchen to be legal. At that time, you didn’t require a business license on the Sunshine Coast if you were in the Regional District. But my dream was to build a home-based business on the property. Now this dream was stretching far beyond a lot of people’s imagination.

Let me describe the property to you. First, there’s a 750-foot driveway from the road to the back of the property. My friends told me no one would ever drive down a dirt driveway disappearing into a huge old-growth cedar grove looking for a meat pie. They’d be blinded by visions of Sweeney Todd.

Then, there were the leftovers from the old sawmill. Piles of sawdust, wood debris, and rusty metal machinery parts between the home and barn, including inside the old wooden structure. And there was even an old rusted-out oil tank. But as my wife always says, “Never forget the magic.”

Whether I started a home-based business or not, the property needed to be cleaned up. Two of my grandchildren lived nearby and stayed most weekends. My grandson spent many hours with me building burn piles and filling a rented dumpster, which we emptied more times than we can remember.

The historic old barn and some of its junk! The original owners of the property (which was part of a larger parcel of land at that time) were Norwegian farmers. Halfway down the bank at the back of the property leading to Gibsons Creek sits a natural pond. Above that pond, they dug a cave into the bank and built a spa. In winter, they’d build a fire and place hot rocks in the cave and sweat it out in the nude, then jump into the ice-cold pond.

As you can see in the photos, it took a lot of vision to see the possibilities.