This was the designated day for starting to put the garden to bed....

We started with harvesting the Sunflowers.

Husband wielded the clippers and I made great long piles to be hauled away behind his cart, down along the fence where the quail and the small birds can feed on them. And we can watch from the front window.

There were only a few blooms left, after such a splendid summer display. These I rescued, hoping that they will still be fresh on Saturday to contribute a bright spot to the Thanksgiving decorations in the Church.



We stopped to have a cup of coffee and catch our second wind. Then Husband went off with the little old dog to finish the haircut that has been going on in stages for the last three days.

I went down the garden path to start the preparations for the long sleep......

Behold, there was a riotous party in full swing!

The Chrysanthemums were just arriving, dressing as they looked around to see what everyone else was wearing.



One beautiful delicate Abraham Darby rose was languishing up the pathway, - the rest of her sisters, having retired from blooming, were busy making lovely red rose hips.



The Shasta Daisies were bandbox fresh, after their short rest from a midsummer frenzy.



Looking on from the sidelines a sprightly uninvited guest, and at the feet of this colourful sumac tree a little bevy of adoring marigolds.





The newly planted 'grocery store' roses, tiny but so exuberant, blushing with pleasure as I commented on how well they had done since they left the grocery store shelf.



A few crimson roses were climbing the wall, - a little droopy, but still game, and not looking too disheveled...



Over in the small narrow bed by the trailer two dainty poppies were still upright, twirling their diaphanous petals while one of the musician grasshoppers took a break on a nearby leaf, weary of rubbing his back legs together to make merry music.



A cluster of wild flowers flirted outrageously with some visiting bees....



And prettiest of all were the pot marigolds which lend sunshine in dozens of places in the garden, - real party-goers who turn up early and stay until the last dog is hung!



As I meandered down the path, pondering about where to start, I began to hear faint whisperings....

"just another half an hour...another half an hour...half an hour"

Oh, alright, I sighed, - just don't wake the iris or the oriental poppies, or you'll never get to bed!!

And the Band Played On.

Looking for Silver Linings

The number of people who lived through The Great Depression is steadily diminishing. Age is wearying them, but they stay steadfast in their memories.

I read Michael Bliss Professor Emeritus at Toronto University and his comments on our financial history from the 1930's to the present. I nod my head in affirmation and shake it in sorrow and disbelief that we should so soon forget the lessons of frugality and self discipline that were taught us in the Dirty Thirties. And in forgetting have once again arrived at the brink....

I remember my Grandmother's gate, just a few blocks from the railroad tracks in Calgary, marked as a good place for a meal. And I remember trips to the farm, laden with necessities to help the family there cope from day to day and month to month.

I remember my mother, around paycheck time, asking my father 'did the eagle fly today'? Payday time was tremulous - it depended on any number of iffy circumstances.

I remember the Rector at St. Faith's in Edmonton, nourishing his parishioners not only with spiritual hope, but also with a roast or a bag of coal. And his wife, visiting each afternoon with Eccles cakes and words of hope.

I remember when bread was five cents a loaf, and my sister trekked across the field to go to the store for Daisy White Bread.

I remember when a widow's pension was $56.00 a month, and when my father's War Pension was $7.25.

My husband tells me of his older brothers' difficulties during that time of hardship, and of the March of the Unemployed which was dispersed at Regina.

But also I remember the sense of community and neighbourliness. The closeness in the church - the self reliance and yet the knowledge that we were all in this together, and that if we wore hand-me-downs probably most of our friends did also, so it was no big thing. There was a mindfulness of the strength of family that seems to be lacking today.

I remember the pleasure we got from small things and the ability to find satisfaction in whatever was available to us. This perception of life stood us in good stead in our early married life when we struggled to establish ourselves on the land.

From the memories of Laura C. Rinfret......
"Riding the rails was a rite of passage for a generation of young people and profoundly shaped the rest of their lives. Self-reliance, compassion, frugality, a love of freedom and country are at the heart of the lessons they learned. Their memories are a mixture of nostalgia and pain; their late musings still tinged with the fear of going broke again. At journey's end, the resiliency of these survivors is a testament to the indomitable strength of the human spirit."

We have forgotten the lessons, but hopefully 'the indomitable strength of the human spirit' still remains the same, and if we must put aside the idea that it is possible to attain everything we yearn for, perhaps the same old fashioned ideas of simple living within our means, self reliance, honesty and the importance of family will be a silver lining to the dark clouds that beset us financially.

A jolly drive this afternoon, made even more pleasant by the accompaniment of 'Nola'.

Straight from the camera to you. The colours this year are not as spectacular as they were last year, - I remember how truly amazing they were then, and how often we remarked on it. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the richness and the lovely clear fall air.

The past cannot be forgotten while Memory lasts and Love prevails.
Janette Hospital
t

Dorothy Emily Grace
February 16th 1902 - October 4th 1957
Who lived life with the utmost grace and courage

Sweet Melancholy

We wake to darkness, but as the coffee perks the first pre-dawn light begins to show faint white hilltops to the east. Not snow, - oh surely not snow! As the darkness brightens it reveals clouds flirting familiarly with the Cawston Basin, hugging the hills, caressing the crevasses and flicking their skirts midway down to the valley bottom.

Caspar awakens, and he and the cat and I get ready for the early morning business trip. As we open the door and he hesitates at the top step, feeling his bearings, I am struck by the quietness as the sky covers the earth with a blanket of silence. There is not a breath of air, - the garden is still slumbering and still faintly fragrant from its nighttime scents.



We walk down the road, cat trailing behind, then ahead, - then up a tree and peering at us from the branches. There is no sound of farm machinery, no pickers gathering to work. The branches that a few days ago were laden to the ground with bright red apples once again stretch out to touch each other.

Across the valley the clouds reach half way down the hill, but the gathering light reveals the faint fall colours of the deciduous trees on K Mountain.

There is a sweetness in the country side that speaks lingeringly of melancholy, - the bright days just a memory, and the mellowness of autumn's beauty still an omen of bitter days ahead.

Mission accomplished we turn back up the lane, the dog fully awake now, with his tail wagging and his ears flapping. Cat darts into the orchard and out of sight, but I know she will be on the steps to greet us.

As our steps take us home the clouds brighten, first faintly, but as the sun climbs higher up the other side of the hills it illuminates them with some promise of a nice morning.

By the time we reach the door and I am able to retrieve the camera there is a lot of glory hanging about up there.

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

The first day of September, and the Golden Rod mingles along the road with the scarlet of the rose-hips.



And by the seventh day the Scarlet Maples are paying attention to the inner clock that tells them it's Show Time!



On the eighth day the sun catches the Cawston Hills where the grass turns Naples yellow and echoes the light of the day.



By the tenth day the Sunflower that lights up the loom room door has sixty-three blooms on it and the small birds are in a frenzy of delight.



On the twelth day morning breaks, and the heavens are on fire.



O look, on the thirteenth day 1003 bees and other assorted insects set up housekeeping in the row of tall sunflowers.



And on the eighteenth day the Chinese Lanterns (Physallis) signal with a bright orange glow that it is time to hang them to dry for winter's pleasure.



And so it goes all through the month. The roses cling to one last flush....



The Asters bloom magnificently and the 1003 bees call in reinforcements!



Down at the bottom of the pasture the sumac grows ever more colourful with each passing day. I yearn to travel the backroads, but there is still time. October is even more spectacular as all the fruit trees don gorgeous evening finery before the big winter sleep.



I spent the morning in the garden, dividing Day Lilies and Peonies, making room for little paths and a more civilized ambience.

The dry scent of a dying garden in September, 
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire. 
What I love is near at hand, 
Always, in earth and air."
-  Theodore Roethke, The Far Field

A little whimsy...

When I was a young student there was a picture of 'A Birdseye View of an English Manor' down at the bottom of page 167 of our History Book. Or thereabouts....

It is a picture that somehow impressed the current operating neurons, and it has stayed with me all these many, many years.

Here, today, is 'A Catseye View of an English Garden' - hitherto unpublished....



That's all for tonight, - time for bed.

When times were busier, when I was trying to be all things to all people, and when I spent life on the run and stayed thin because of the fifteen steps I ran up and down a dozen times every day - that's when I abandoned lists for mind mapping.

I am fifteen pounds heavier now, and live life at a slower pace. I no longer Mind Map, - I am content with a daily Journal that sometimes gets neglected for days at a time.

But - now I am at the point where I can move things from the big garden to the new beds we have made this year, I am all flustered about what should be moved now, what should wait for spring, where should we put the Europa rose that somehow got stuck at the back of the garden, - what spot will welcome the little lilac bush that hasn't done well where it is and is getting crowded out. Do I have the heart to trash some of the Shasta daisies, and the Sea Holly that took over about 25 square feet next to the curly willow.... Am I brash enough to pass these invasive but pretty plants on to my friends????

I remembered how very practical it was to make a Mind Map that planned a week ahead.
Or divided some daunting chore into small do-able chunks.

Mind Maps are practical and creative, and if you have the time to design them artistically they can be colourful visual reminders of what life's all about.

I first started to practice mind mapping in a small way when I watched a Distance Education Class on television twenty-five years ago. It was not until fifteen years later that I put my big red day journals to rest and started a loose-leaf book of
intentional scribbles that laid out chores and dates and small details in a way my mind could absorb.



I think this was probably Christmas Week 2004, - now how could I have remembered all this stuff without a reminder that my eye could look at and the image was immediately imprinted in some available and retrievable spot in my brain.

I'm all for Mind Maps - hurrah and three cheers for them, no matter how fancy or plain they should chance to be. And often when I went shopping my errands were on a tiny mind map on a scrap of paper. They very seldom ever achieved the splendour that you see on samples of Mind Maps, - sometimes they were done in pencil, but occasionally, when I had time, they were crayon bright and encouragingly brilliant.

Here is one I retrieved from a 'free web page' courtesy of Paul Foreman at www.mindmapinspiration.co.uk. I think it is intriguing and inspiring, and tells it just like it is......

Just for fun, and to keep the toes a-tapping....

Music a gift from the loved ones on the Meadow.

Love those piano roll tunes! In his hey-day Husband used to play Alexander's Ragtime Band - delicious memories.

We went to a funeral today. Left home early to insure that we didn't have too far to walk, and that we were able to find a seat close to an entrance (exit).

It was a Roman Catholic Funeral Mass, but held in the Cawston Community Hall, - full of family and friends. As we sat and waited for the Hall to fill and for the family to arrive I looked around this old building, full of memories and nostalgia. Remembering dances and May Days and playing badminton and the old barrel stove that served to keep us warm.

So many changes over the years. Alec, who was being buried today, was a young boy of eight when we first came to this Valley. He was the oldest son of our neighbours who lived on an adjoining ranch - a separate Reservation granted to them when Victoria was Queen. I remembered watching the funeral cortage of his Grandmother as it wound up the valley floor, accompanied by two circling eagles.

The friends who came to say farewell were school chums, range riders and fellow cowboys, all of the people who form close attachments in a small community. They filled up the space around us, and one of the pluses in approaching antiquity is that you see these friends of Alec's generation as they were when our own children were young, and as they have grown to maturity and now approach their own retirement age. It does give one a pressing feeling of passing time!

The Mass, so like our own Anglican Communion Service, was comforting and familiar, and the lovely, sweet a Capella singing that accompanied the arrival and departure of the coffin touched my heart and brought tears to my eyes.

Alec's mother died a few months ago, and as at her funeral it is the beautiful participation of the whole native community that fills me with awe, and we value our friends amongst them.

Part of the eulogy was this poem, read by one of Alec's young relatives.

The Cowboy's Prayer

Our Heavenly Father, we pause at this time, mindful of the many blessings you have bestowed upon us

We ask, Lord, that you will be with us in the arena of life.

We as cowboys do not ask for special favors.
We don't ask to draw around the chute fighting horse, the steer that won't lay, or to never break the barrier.
We don't even ask for all daylight runs.

We do ask Lord, that you will help us live our lives here on earth as cowboys, in such a manner that when we make that last inevitable ride, to the country up there, where the grass grows lush, green and stirrup high, and the water runs cool, clear and deep,
that you'll take us by the hand and say -
"Welcome to Heaven cowboy, your entry fees are paid.".


>

Great timing for our morning constitutional today. Out the door and down the steps just in time to catch the morning sunrise.

This is the sky that made the walk spectacular, and caused me to wonder once more why we are so wont to take for granted this eternal gift of beauty.












The camera captures the gorgeous flamboyance, but not the glow, - the sweet tenderness of the very air you walk through. It takes a Turner to interpret the glory of the skies.

Old Autumn roams the tops of the hills before descending into the valley, and everywhere his mantle touches the colour changes so very subtly. Above the line of the pasture fence the longer grass begins to turn a naples yellow, and if we were on the hillside and able to see it closely it would create a sea of soft yellow as the wind winnows through the grass.

Down here in the valley the odd leaf is turning yellow, and the cool nights are sending signals to the Sunset Maples that it is time to start the show!


>
They respond with startling colour and clarity against the bright blue sky.



This morning Husband went singing, and I was left to my own devices. After taking care of lunch by putting on a hearty veggie soup I turned my back on all the things I had thought I might do and was shamefully lazy.

It was cool on the deck, and I sat there with my knitting and a cup of coffee and quietly watched and listened as the small birds flitted through the sunflowers, carrying on a conversation as to who was first in line and thus first served, and ignoring the fact that there was enough to go around - seeds galore for everyone.

Can you find the dozen or so little lady goldfinches lunching at the Sunflower Bar?



Or the ones who are putting up their feet and gossiping in the curly willow lounge - such chattering and twittering.....



Well, all whimsy aside, it was a quiet, serene and restful morning.

Sometimes the little old gentleman dog wakens at the most inconvenient times, but in deference to his needs one leaves the cereal to get soggy and the toast to get cold, and goes to retrieve the leash. The cat saw us to the door, and we set off.

He was in good form this morning. The sun was not yet up, - the air was cool and invigorating and yesterday Husband had clipped the overhanging eyebrows that interfere with his shadowy eyesight.

We stepped smartly down the road. At the turn we stopped to visit with the dogs from the Big House who had raced up to meet us. Caspar touched noses with Simba, who is getting pretty ancient and arthritic too. They may have discussed how they slept in the night, - who knows. It seems to be a topic of conversation quite important to the elderly. After a short chat we got about attending to the business of this morning meandering.

While I waited my thoughts wandered to the stage of life we now inhabit, where the circle grows more and more intimate. Husband and I, the dog and the cat, hold hands together and care tenderly for one another. Well, sometimes the cat is aloof, but for a cat she is amazingly friendly.

At one time the circle was a broad, bright band, encompassing so many other souls, and I felt such responsibility for all who resided within it. Now I cast my lot with faith.......

I suspect that eventually the ring becomes, as it was at the beginning, a silver circle to hold one solitary soul.

Tonight I picked from the shelf the Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke and it opened at the old familiar page whereon is printed 'The Waking'.

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
Theodore Roethke

I read it again, feeling all its circular mystery, and on an impulse googled the poem, hoping to find some interpretation which would enhance the feeling it engenders in me of birth and fate and death and the importance of experiencing all of life.

I did discover that the form of this poetry is called a 'villanelle' and that it originated about three hundred years ago in France. It is made up of a pair of rhyming lines which, with additions, form a circular and meaningful repetition.

Here is a lovely example of this form.

Musical and sweet, the villanelle,
like light reflected in a gentle rhyme,
moves to the ringing of a silver bell,

its form creating soft and tender spells.
Like the singing of distant silver chimes,
musical and sweet, the villanelle

flows through the heart, and builds a magic spell
from sunlight and from shadows, and, sublime,
moves to the ringing of a silver bell.

It never arcs into the sharp loud yell
of vast pipe organs. Soft its climb.
Musical and sweet, the villanelle,

like a tiny and translucent shell
catching sunlight in the summer time,
moves to the ringing of a silver bell.

Soft and gentle, tender and so frail,
like light pouring through petals of the lime,
musical and sweet, the villanelle
moves to the ringing of a silver bell.

Sondra Ball

September Rains - a precursor of Autumn


Raining tonight, and the joints are aching somewhat, but still, but still, - here is a lovely combination we saw yesterday - Golden Rod and Rose Hips lining a Cawston road and heralding the arrival of Autumn..



I know it is true that fall is not officially here until the 21st of the month, but I anticipate its beauty right from the first cool evening, - the first scent of apples ripening on the trees, - the first gathering of birds who, having raised their young, are now preparing for the winter season.

Do the ones who migrate have to have a little orientation before they take off? It would seem that way as we watch the flocks of starlings that circle the meadow, rising and falling, gliding and grounding, only to take off again in wonderfully graceful adagios - (in my mind this seems like the right word to describe their movements although technically it might be incorrect).

All the little Finches are finding great delight in the maturing sun flowers, - feeding their tiny
tummies and gathering energy for their southward journey. Some of them migrate, and some of them don't - but it's always a good idea to prepare for the winter storms, and the times when the snow comes.

In the garden the Sedum grows ever more beautiful and the newly planted climbing rose reaches the top of its supporting arbour.


The barn flower plant has had it's yearly hair cut, and is now a much more moderate accent in the middle of the beds.

Already the pink chrysanthemums are in bloom, but the rust and gold ones hoard their blossoms for late September and October. A few new flowers on the Heritage Sweet Peas, and each day we gather the brown seed pods, put them in a covered container where they can safely snap and pop without scattering seeds all over the house.

This morning Husband and I worked on preparing the new Peony bed to house those plants that made the journey from the Lost Garden but need to be replanted less deeply in order for them to bloom. I think this is why they are not blooming - we will replant them this fall and see what the spring brings.



I say it again, - with feeling. Life is good and we are blest.

SUMMER ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! what lovely behaviour
Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies?

- Gerard Manly Hopkins, Hurrahing in Harvest, 1918

Here is another of Hopkins' exulting interpretations of nature, with the sprung rhythm and the appealing alliteration which are signatures to his poems. And the wonderful exuberance that marks his spirit....

We saw today the 'lovely behavior of silk-sack clouds' as a wild wind blew them willy-nilly across the bright blue sky.



Summer ends now, - the garden quietens, but in the orchard the apples will soon be ready for harvesting, and the voice of the pickers will echo over the meadow.


All up and down the valley the sunflowers bend to and fro in the wind as they reach for the sky, looking and listening for signs of autumn and the wild geese flying.

Never has wilder wilful meal-drift moulded and melted across the skies - say not that some would mistake this lovely sight for Chemtrails.......

Summer Skies

I was appalled to read an item in last week's issue of our local weekly newspaper wherein the Editor repeated and gave some validity to a tale told by a visitor to the Review Office concerning
the Chemtrail conspiracy theory. If he printed the item tongue in cheek it was difficult to discern the slight bulge.... Oh fiddlesticks, thought I.

I was even more disturbed to find two letters in this week's paper, supporting this theory. One unsigned, and the other from New Mexico.

I admit that in some there is a tendency to be gullible about the inherent 'goodness' of people, but I also see all around me the same naivety that allows people to accept that global warming is a result of our careless greedy ways; and the inherent 'evil' behind the 911 Conspiracy stories; and this latest interpretation of the HAARP Program. It is credited with being a secret missile tracking system; high altitude spraying to control minds, weather, crops; biological warfare experiments, and the reason why the sky is no longer blue and the stars no longer shine.

Well, out here in the country, the skies are sometimes the colour of the babies' blue eyes, sometimes delft, sometimes cornflower, occasionally violet or delphinium. And they range from these soft shades to the most brilliant lapis lazulis.



And all this summer Jupiter has been a glowing light in the south. In the spring Orion's Belt seemed almost close enough to buckle it around your waist. I see no sign of the stars becoming dimmer, here where there are no artificial lights to obscure their brilliance.

How sad to be so paranoid.

post script: It came to me in the night that sometimes the sky is periwinkle blue, a heavenly bowl of the softest, sweetest blue of all......

The days are shorter.
The nights are cooler.
The apples redden
and the corn is sweet.
The roses are regrouping for a final autumn show.
The sunflowers take centre stage
and the blood quickens as September relieves us of August's heavy heat.

A heart warming visit today with one of Husband's favourite nieces and her husband. A time of memories, quick exchanges of family activities over the last year whilst enjoying lunch, - remembrances of Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, Cousins and youthful times, - lots of little quirks and happy anecdotes. Tales of travels as they enjoy the 'golden years' of retirement, before journeys are a chore, rather than a joy.



Life is good, - the days are crisp and invigorating, and the eyes search diligently for the first signs of fall's alchemy.

A magical time in the valley as nature prepares to make a glorious spectacle of herself before retiring beneath winter's white coverlet.

Champagne time......