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I remember meeting him only a few times in my life and that was when I was only nine or ten years old. Uncle Ted seemed like a pretty decent guy with a good sense of humour and I got along with him as well as a ten year old kid gets along with an adult he only sees occasionally, but I remember my mother and father always cutting him down after he had left. They talked about him as being a misfit, someone who was always just a little strange. Just the same I found him to be okay. Perhaps I recognised some kind of hidden kindred spirit. Perhaps he recognised it in me too because a surprise, perhaps it was even a life altering event, awaited me down the road.

Anyways, Uncle Ted outlasted my parents and he died when I was thirty-nine years old. He had remained a stranger to me basically all my life so you can imagine how surprised I was when I was contacted by his lawyer and told that he had left me something in his will. A couple of weeks later I travelled out west with my wife, Elise, to meet with the lawyer to find out just what it was that was now mine. It wasn't money, as he had apparently left all of it to various charities. What I did receive from him was a guest house, a very up-scale motel if you will, located on ten acres of land in British Columbia in a gorgeous valley located between two towering mountain ranges and overlooking a river that meandered through magnificent pristine wetlands. The property was located a few kilometres outside a small tourist town that had a constant flow of visitors summer and winter, and thus the potential for a steady year-round flow of clientele for a well-run ...

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