Tip Toeing through the Tulips
and other early blossoms


There was a welcoming mildness to the air this morning, and I rushed through the laundry and other things that seemingly demanded attention before slipping out into the garden with the snippers, the rake and the camera.

In the short time I was able to enjoy the stillness (before the wind came whistling off the snow on the high mountains) I was able to admire the lovely golden tulips that opened for the first time today.

Further along the path the perennial allysum and the elephants ears bloomed together, side by each, in perfect harmony.





























The flowering almond that we rescued from the Lost Garden after it suffered a hit and run and lay around with badly broken trunk has now made a marvelous recovery. It is only a little shrub that needs the touch of the Master Pruner to make it into a tree again, but the blossoms that it bears are as lovely as ever.

















The daffodils in the roadside bed are beginning to rest for next year's show, but the little grape hyacinths that circle the bed are growing deep and are the bluest of blues.






















These nights one goes to bed with great anticipation for what the morning will bring!

BOMBER COMMAND AND ITS MISSION

There is nothing in my head, and there is too much in my head, so it is difficult for me to choose a comment or a subject for a blog that will entertain or enlighten.

I have been talking to my Sister tonight, and told her about an e-mail I had sent to Don Martin, Journalist, who ended one of his recent columns (dealing with the infamous plaque in the National War Museum that criticizes the morality of Bomber Command) with the following quotation.

"There is something seriously warped when their National War Museum is demonized by a country's veterans."

In my e-mail to Don Martin I paraphrased his own words, -

"there is something seriously warped when a county's veterans are demonized by their National War Museum. For Shame!"

I spoke to him as the wife of a Lancaster Pilot who played a valiant part in the effort to maintain a "Second Front " - one which made it possible for Allied Ground Forces to conclude an earlier end to the war than would have been possible without the efforts of Bomber Command.

I mentioned to him the loss my Husband and his family sustained when his two brothers were killed in World War Two, fighting to maintain the Freedom that allows these new age historians to be so morally righteous without any sense of time, place and circumstances, - or any credentials to make judgments.

I did not expect a reply from him, - indeed, I do not expect my words made any impression upon him at all, but I somehow felt better for having written them.


Both Husband and I were heartened by a rider to the film which was shown to the High School students he spoke to at the beginning of this week. The rider spoke of the effect of the bombing of targets in Germany that were contributing to the Nazi war effort, whether by direct troop involvement, munitions and factory involvement, or administration. The aim of Bomber Command was to shorten the war and save as many Allied soldiers' lives as possible. The effort expended was in direct ratio to the intransigence and determination of Hitler to continue fighting, no matter the cost to his country or its civilian population.

It spoke also of the insult to the integrity of those members of Bomber Command who risked their lives nightly to ensure an Allied victory, and most especially to those airmen who lie buried in the cemeteries of Europe.

Hopefully the opinions of those who experienced these years of struggle will help to contradict the re-written interpretation of history which is now being politically vaunted in an effort to make Canada into something it is not.

Or at least this generation of young people will know of the insult which is being perpetrated by certain segments of society, making the few veterans who are left angry, disillusioned and despairing of the future of this country. A War Museum which does not laud its country's veterans for the service they have rendered, but instead points an accusing finger, is a shameful institution.

This history which is being re-written and re-interpreted is over sixty years old, but it is still of the utmost importance that the generations that follow are not fed political propaganda by young ultra liberal historians who would change the whole complexion of a Canada which did not falter and did not fail in its responsibilities.

Climbing down off the Soap Box now, but still feeling passionate about Bomber Command and the way it is being vilified.

Spring

an outrageous flirt and a seductive minx




After her shameful abandonment yesterday I little expected to find her languishing outside our bedroom window when I woke this morning.

She seduced me into rising and after a hurried breakfast leaving in the early morning light to accompany Husband to Penticton, where he was speaking to a Grade 11 Class of Pen High about the part the Airforce played in the last war.


How could I resist another chance to cross the pass into the Okanagan at this special time of year - (and how could I resist the chance to visit Knapps' Plantland, all on my own, while Husband enlightened the current generation!!!!)

How many hundred and hundreds of time we have made that trip into Penticton, - each time it is familiar, but different, all at the same time and depending upon the season of the year.

The first time we traveled this road was while it was still a gravel trail, up and over Yellow Lake, and in the first year we were married. The road bore little resemblence to the Highway today, and it passed Yellow lake midway up the north side of the lake.

We took a picnic, and we traveled in George and Kay Angliss's old truck, a bumpy ride but a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon with good friends.



















Old and somewhat tattered pictures, full of happy memories.

We did a lot of"Firsts" with the Angliss'. They were our first dinner guests when we dined a la fresco under the cherry trees. George designed our first house. And it was the Angliss', as Artists and friends, who first opened my eyes to the beautiful colours to be found in both the Okanagan and the Similkameen Valley. The greens, the sages, the rose coloured rock, - the gold, the steely blue and green coloured rock, the copper and the garnet shades. All so breathtakingly beautiful.

This morning these colours were especially spectacular as the morning sun brightened them, and created long shadows as we drove through the pass and down into the Okanagan Valley. The garnet coloured rock wall just above Kaledan shone as though burnished.

On the way out of Keremeos we took pictures of the Olalla bushes, dancing like so many tutued fairies amidst the evergreens.















We came home to find the animals indignant at being left two days in a row, despite Daughter's caring visit to hand out treats and attend to business trips.

As we drove up the road we took pictures of the neighbour's peach trees, in full bloom.
















And the Plum Blossoms at the bottom of the road, just past the Big House.

















I tenderly unloaded the flat of yellow pansies that are going to brighten up the front steps, once Spring has settled down and decided to be a constant companion.















Alas, she was not in a constant mood this afternoon, - wandered off to rest a while, and in her place sent wind and clouds and the hint of snow in the Upper Valley.