Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
  John Keats,  To Autumn

We went for a drive today, Charles and I. Around by Ginty's Pond and up into the mountains, looking for Autumn.

Found a duck in the Pond. Quiet and still, and I wondered what he might be contemplating.



In the surrounding fields a faint hint of fall touched the sumac, and the wind turned the leaves of the poplar this way and that, silver in the sunlight.



Around the corner, at the other end of the Pond, nothing stirred. Occasionally we have seen a water creature swimming to the other shore, but today only the reflection of the trees and grasses rippled ever so slightly.




We took the road that rises from Cawston, cutting through the hills to the Okanagan Valley. The road, as it rises out of the valley, is steep and winding and narrow. When we first moved to the Similkameen we settled on dry sagebrush land, and while we were establishing the farm Charles drove logging truck down this precipitous road.

He pointed out to me a rocky corner where he had had to ditch a load of logs which weren't going to make it to the valley bottom because of road conditions, and I sighed and thought about being young and accepting of these dangerous jobs.

Well, was it any more dangerous than flying a Lancaster over enemy territory?

The road was a terror, but I thought the rocks were quite interesting.



The yellow rabbit brush lined the roadside, and we ran into a half a dozen bluebirds, but unfortunately I was not adept enough to get a decent picture of them. Never mind, here is the rabbit brush....



and the road it follows......



..down into the valley.



He's there alright, Old Autumn, scouting around in the hills, waiting for summer to leave the valley.

I am reminded of a quote from George Washington Cable...

"For summer there, bear in mind, is a loitering gossip, that only begins to talk of leaving when September rises to go."

We have a ways to go yet before the trees turn into torches, here in the valley.

Skywatch Friday
September 18, 2009



Morning clouds and evening shadows in the Similkameen



More interesting skies for your enjoyment here.

ABC Wednesday

I is for Iris



A Princess in the garden

and a Goddess in Greek Mythology


The personification of the rainbow and a messenger of the gods.

Iris was the goddess who linked the gods to humanity, traveling with the speed of the wind from one end of the world to the other.

When she was delivering messages to humans, Iris traveled on the rainbow.




Look at the iris of the eye! It is quite natural that it should be called after the Greek word for 'rainbow'.



And the Iris flower, because it reflects the many colors of her rainbow, also received its name from this goddess .

Take the rainbow express over to ABC Wednesday and enjoy the many posts which "I" inspires, thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt.

Casting Back

I have been blogging now for just over three years, and this is my 453rd posting. Sometimes I give a wondering thought as to what in heaven's name I figured was important enough to write about, 453 times! And then I think, 'does it matter how important it was?' If it was an expression of what I was feeling, or thinking or reading at the time and it moved me to say a few words about it, and I enjoyed doing it then that is reason a-plenty.

Since I discovered the 'Link Within' gadget I have been surprising myself - re-discovering blogs I have written, books I have read, things that have happened and emotions that were once important and now have slid into the past-where-things-are-shadowy-and-tender.

Being ancient I have found that many of the things I write about are memories. I am not so inclined to express my opinions on current events (I leave that to Charles) and I am not so up-to-date on philosophy and science. Many of the writers that affected the way I thought (and think) are now somewhat passe, depending upon their subject.

But some of them are timeless, and for them I am grateful.

And on the other side of the coin, my wanderings in Blogland have been an inspiring experience. I don't have many peers who skim the net, but an evening spent meandering the internet pathways opens doors to me that are fascinating and enfold me in different generational views that are so important as the circle of life grows ever smaller.

I read blogs written by young mothers, by city dwellers and country folk, naturalists and poets, artists and crafters. And I am most especially inspired by gorgeous photography and the amazingly beautiful literary pictures that are painted with words and phrases and whole sentences and paragraphs that carry you in your mind's eye to magical places.

A truly wonderful time to be actively alive, aware and appreciative, despite being Ancient.

A Wander through the Garden


A perfect autumn day.

First came the dawn, lit by a cool, quiet glow while the day prepared to sigh gently and present the first of its gifts.



A painterly sunrise and the breakfast bar preparing to open its doors to the small bird population.



The afternoon was warm and pleasing as I wandered to and fro, considering an ever changing plan for next year's garden, - what needs to be moved, - where can it be moved to, - would it do better here, or there?



The sedum is perfect where it is, lighting up various parts of the fall garden.



The small Turtle plant was moved in the spring, but it is still being squeezed out by the invasive mint that goes galumphing through the garden, - the solution is obvious. Move the mint, somewhere out against a far fence where it can spread to its heart's content without digging elbows into its mild neighbour.



The second blooming of the lovely blue delphinium met with disaster when a wild wind bent the Barn Flower down upon it, breaking its tender stems. Out with the Barn flower, - off with its head. It will have an abandoned beauty across the pasture, waving far into the air against the same fence with the mint!



I have nothing to say about the sunflower, - it grows where it will, and we always leave enough small plants scattered amongst the garden to brighten the summer months and feed the small birds in the fall.



The white phlox is a favourite, but it is side by each with an overgrown day lily and on the other side a rambunctious fall chrysanthemum, - I think they would be lovely candidates for the new garden in Midway that grandchildren are enthusiastically tending....

Well, there is another corner of the garden that is a hodge podge of colour, all blooming in a lovely mosaic of wild grasses, yellow daisies, weigelia, lavender, a clump of chinese lanterns that thought this would be a good place to establish a subway station, a few persistent borage plants, with their ice blue stars. And the Rhubarb.

There is no end to pondering when you are considering the fate of the garden.

Sky Watch Friday

The sunset here in the Similkameen on Monday evening was so spectacular I was overcome by a snapping frenzy and took over eighty pictures from twelve minutes after seven until seven twenty-seven. Just like a good evening's fish feed, snap, snap, snap.... oh my!

I chose forty pictures to make a slide show which can be seen HERE. A few pictures from that lovely interlude....











Visit Skywatch Friday by clicking here, and prepare to be delighted.

ABC Wednesday

H is for Higgeldy Piggeldy



Higgledy Piggledy,
My black hen,
She lays eggs
For gentlemen;
Sometimes nine,
And sometimes ten,
Higgledy Piggledy,
My black hen!

'Many Nursery rhymes of the 16th and 17th centuries featured animals like the Cat, Frog, Toad, Pig, Goose, Raven, Goat, Wolf, Bat and Mouse. This was also the era when people were obsessed by Witches. These animals were associated with witches as their familiars and Mother Goose is often illustrated in the guise of a witch - is there a connection between the Origins of Nursery Rhymes like ' Higgledy Piggledy'and the Witch?'

But hearken to the modern day Higgeldy Piggeldy verses

"The double-dactyl is a short verse form invented by the American poets Anthony Hecht
and John Hollander in 1966. The poem consists of one sentence containing forty-four
syllables that are distributed over eight lines and fall into two four-line stanzas.
The first three lines of each stanza are dactylic dimeter; the last one is a choriamb.
The two stanzas end with a masculine rhyme on the last syllable of the choriamb. The
final feature of the form is found in line six of the poem: a single, six-syllable
word which is a double-dactyl".

Here are some examples......

Rachmaninov

Higeldy Piggeldy
Sergei Rachmaninov
wrote his concertos for
handspans like wings.
Few realistically
can pianistically
digitalistically
play the damned things.
(games mag.)


Classics II: Anthony and Cleopatra

Patty-cake, patty-cake,
marcus Antonius
what do you think of the
African Queen?
Gubernatorial
duties require my
presence in Egypt. Ya
know what I mean?
-Paul Pascal

the origins of technology

Higgledy-piggledy
modern technology
started with antedi-
luvian zeal
when some uncivilized
Mesopotamian
unostentatiously
built the first wheel.
-RP (1987)


the mystery planet

Uranus, Uranus,
Herschel's discovery
axis inverted, past
Saturn it swings.
Who would have thought that the
antepenultimate
solar constituent
also had rings?
-RP (1987)

new-age medicine

Higgeldy Piggeldy
neo-aquarian
witch-doctors know what a
client expects:
non-pharmaceutical
homeopathical
remdies based on pla-
cebo effects.
-RP (1994)


Stephen J. Gould

Higgeldy Piggeldy
heterodoxical
paleontologist
Stephen J. Gould,
iconoclastically
trumpeted evidence
countering Darwin, but
no one was fooled.
-RP (1994)

Thank you to Denise who hosts ABC Wednesday. Slide over here and see what else H stands for.

A few days ago the Weaver of Grass made reference to the migration of the swallows, and posted a delightful poem in which she echoed the questions a young swallow puts to its mother as they prepare for the young one's first migration, and the gentle encouragementin the mother's replies.

I thought about the swallows who inhabited our barn on the farm, and the cliff swallows who build their nests in the clay cliffs of the Okanagan. And my memories brought to mind the nighthawks which were so prevalent in the summers of the years we spent on the farm. All during that 35 years or so, from 1950 to the mid 1980's, after a hot day and when conditions were just right, and when the insects were close to the ground in the evening, the nighthawks would swoop and soar over the road and the farms in great flocks, rejoicing in a veritable feast. The evening shimmered with insect wings and the air whooshed with the sound of their wings.

The nighthawk is not a raptor, as one might conclude from their name, but belongs to the family Caprimulgidae, the same family as the Whip-poor-will, and the swallow. It is about the size of a dove, and their slender shape and erratic flight help identify them in flight.



The nighthawk nests on the ground, but around the 1900's they also adapted themselves to living in towns, and nesting on the flat gravel roofs of buildings.

They generally feed at dusk and during the day they camouflage themselves by stretching out on branches or in bushes. The nighthawks mouth opens far back under its ears and forms a yawning trap to engulf any insects that happen to be out meandering in the early evening.

I realized that it had been a long while since I had seen this marvelous feeding frenzy, - not since we had left the farm in the late 1980's. I knew that nighthawks were quite at home in towns, and often nested on flat rooftops where they raised two chicks each summer, so where were they now?

Off to Google, and I found that there has been a general decline in the nighthawk population all over America. The reasons are not clear, but could include habitat loss, migration hazards, crow predation, and one theory links the bird's decline to the shift from the once common pea stone gravel roofs where nighthawks laid their eggs to roofs made of rubber or polyvinyl. The old style gravel roofs provided perfect camouflage for the bird's speckled brown, grey and white colours, and some protection from marauding crows.

The apparent disappearance from the valley of any large flocks of nighthawks saddened me, but I was encouraged by tonight's pictures of a gorgeous sunset. Off to the north I spied a bird, then another and another. I tried to capture with the camera, but couldn't be sure I had, they were moving so swiftly and erratically.

When I transferred the pictures from the camera to the computer I was surprised and elated to see the silhouettes of the nighthawk scattered across the sky.





There were only a few, and you may have to click to enlarge in order to see them, but they were there, and I was so grateful for the chance to see them.

It is time for them to migrate. They won't go in great flocks, but they will take off in small bunches, stopping on their way to rest and eat, flying by day and in the evening opening their wide, wide mouths for any resident insects. They have a long migration to Argentina, and the young ones are barely two months old. A long way to go, but think of the scenery....

Google informed me that there are many people concerned about this beautiful bird, and the conditions which affect it so adversely. There are people throughout Canada and the U.S. who watch and record their migration, and most likely are as delighted as I was when their evening watch is rewarded.

p.s. The nighthawk is also known as 'nightjar' or 'goatsucker', having in early days gained an erroneous reputation amongst country folk for suckling the milk from cows and other milk giving animal with their large mouths. But we know better now.....

Up behind the garage where the apples are ripening and where the sumac grows the afternoon sun was shining on the wild clematis.



Each day brings its own glory.....



and the light of the autumn sun performs it's own miracles. (click to enlarge and enjoy the lovely glitter...)

Sky Watch Friday



A charming Saturday evening sky in the Similkameen...



And on Tuesday some comic relief, - if you have the eye for it. (click to enlarge)



The evening settled down and was lit by a golden lantern, skimming the tops of the hills.

Many more wonderful skies at SkyWatch Friday.

ABC Wednesday

Moving along the alphabet we come to "G"

G is for Gillyflower



Sweet old fashioned flowers that take on many disguises.

Some of the old names for "Pinks" and carnations and gilliflowers are cloves, Picotees, and Sops-in-wine

Gardeners now call them pinks, clove pinks, Scotch pinks, old laced pinks, lilac pinks and of course, Sweet William. (Dianthus)

By any name Gillyflowers are one of the oldest of favourite garden flowers.

It is old and precious, - loved by our grandmothers, and their grandmothers, and so prolific in gardens that it is even recognized by non-gardeners, even if they don't know its name.

Slide down the garden path over to ABC Wednesday and see what other wonderful things G stands for.

Late this afternoon Charles and I went off to pick up the newspapers and take pictures of river and rock, trees and skies.

At the Sportsmen Garage, where the papers lie in wait for us, we took our first picture of the Talus Slides that are found on the mountains of the Similkameen. In this picture you can see the trails of the rocks which slip away from the tops of the hills and slide to the bottom where they form a rocky debris. When No. 2 son was in his teens he and a friend were recruited to help a research team studying the formation of the Talus slides.

On slides which are more or less stable there is some growth, - in the summer a green haze covers some slides, and in the autumn the growth turns red and gives a rosy cast to the slide.



These Talus slides are unique to this area, and you can find more information about them here.

We turned down a back road, admiring an orchard planted to pillar type trees, heavy with scarlet apples.



Across the bridge and meandering eastward down the riverbank, the low water sparkled in the sunlight, rippling over rocks that hug the bottom of the river bed when the river runs swift and high. Now there were people wading in the small pools and a fisherman casting from the edge of the water.





The water and trees are quiet and serene, and inviting on a hot afternoon.



A scout quail keeps watch on an old log while his charges scurry off the other end when we slow down, into the grass where they are hidden.



Westward from the bridge the road winds through ranch country until it comes to a great outcropping of multicoloured rock.



The river, the rocks, the sky and the warm afternoon, - we all say goodbye to August and will enjoy the crispness of September.





We came home to supper in the slow cooker, - another plus.

Two pictures, by request.

Here are the blankets that sit at the foot of our bed, - handwoven many years ago (thirty five or forty) and woven from pure wool. The wool was dyed with Rabbit Brush and Golden Rod,plants that naturally produce yellow, but with the use of mordants can achieve lovely greens and tans and browns.






Here are the two plants that were used to dye these old blankets. Both the Rabbit Brush and the Goldenrod grow profusely in this valley, and what fun I had collecting them when I was young and agile.



Goldenrod – All goldenrod will produce a beautiful bright yellow, but it is necessary to use a mordant to make the colour 'take'. The safest and easiest mordant to use is alum and tartaric acid (cream of tartar purchased from the grocery store). The alum must be purchased from a craft store, - drug store alum won't do the trick.

The yellow in the border of the blanket on the left was dyed with goldenrod, and I wish I could remember for sure what I used to obtain the brown but it was probably walnut hulls. When I had this blanket on the loom I was doing quite a bit of demonstrating and teaching, and the blanket grew longer and longer. When I eventually cut it from the loom it was (and still is) long enough to make two cot sized blankets. It is lovely and warm.



Rabbit brush also yields golden dyes. Climate, seasons and plant maturity factor into the colour any given dye plant will produce and this applies to Rabbit Brush particularly. This randomness in color is part of the excitement in dyeing. In this semi-desert country the amount of rainfall, or lack of it, will affect the depth of colour.

Mordants also affect dye colors. A mordant is usually a mineral salt such as alum, tin or copper which is added to a dye bath to assist the bonding between dye molecules and the protein fibers of sheep's wool'.

The blanket on the right was woven exclusively with wool dyed from Rabbit Brush and various mordants, - the addition of copper produces green, chrome and tin both brighten (chrome is toxic and requires the use of rubber gloves) and iron saddens the colours.

If you are interested in dyeing wool with natural plants here is a good place to start.

And Barb, here is a picture of the Sweet Autumn Clematis that grew in our old garden - it looks so delicate, but was strong and hardy and bloomed right until frost - even until November.