Orcas condemned to die

DEBORAH JONES: FREE RANGE July, 2002 (originally published by the Toronto Globe and Mail.) The tale of Springer, the spunky orphaned orca, has the superficial tenderness of a Disney flick. Below the surface, however, lurks a film noir: Just what is causing

911: Good, Evil, and Other

DEBORAH JONES: FREE RANGE Published Sept. 15, 2001 One by one, 34 great silver birds, blown off-course by Tuesday’s American catastrophe, alight. One by one, 6,000 travellers emerge, to fill Vancouver International Airport with a babel of languages and a multicoloured polyglot

A zigzag life: James Houston

By DEBORAH JONES ZigZagBy James HoustonMcClelland & Stewart, 278 pp. Zigzag is true to its name. An armchair journey through the intriguing life of Canadian artist, author, and bon vivant, James Houston, Zigzag treads a path full of twists and turns. Alas, it meanders, without offering

In animation, anything is possible

By Deborah JonesVANCOUVER, Canada, 1995 The star of the adult cartoon The Pink Komkommer’ is a woman snoozing in a rocker. A pot of tea steeps on a nearby table, and a cat and a caged bird look on as domesticity gives

Fly Me to the Moon

  Craig Dobbin’s CHC Helicopters swoops in to buy any rival or fly any mission, including sorties into war-torn Rwanda and the turbulent waters of the North Sea.   By Deborah JonesST. JOHN’S, Newfoundland, Canada, 1994 When pilot Richard Barrette signed on with

The Rankin Family

Nothing – politicians, fame, or drunks – fazes this Canadian Celtic folk band, named group of the year at the 1993 Canadian Country Music Awards By DEBORAH JONESBADDECK, Nova Scotia, Canada 1993 It’s late afternoon on a hot August day, and several

Calm, cool and collected: Catherine Callbeck

Catherine Callbeck, the first woman to be elected premier of a Canadian province, comes from a world where hard work and attention to duty count for more than easy sound bites — and a lack of charisma may be an asset. By Deborah JonesSUMMERSIDE,

Spider Robinson moves on

Sci-Fi writer Spider Robinson used to say home was “wherever I plug in my stereo and computer.” To his astonishment it hurts to leave “this cold, grey town, which starves its artists and then imports its art from points west . .

1 95 96 97