The Autumn Skies

Some years the autumn skies are wild. The sun comes up in a blaze of glory, shattering the dawn with gorgeous luminous shades of gold and scarlet. And in the evening the clouds appear to be reflecting a burning global fire that sets the whole world alight with wild, bold colours.





This year has been mild, and the skies benign. October was dry, - no storms to stir the clouds. The days were quiet and the valley bathed in gold as November approached.

And then their was the time of steady rain when the gardens drank gratefully, and the sky was lowering and gloomy, - no sun to touch the sulking clouds and brighten their spirits.

Eventually November slipped into a less sombre mood, and here is Saturday's splendid sunrise.



And Sunday's more subdued and pastel daybreak.



Before the show Casper and I went walking in the half light where the leaves and the orchard grasses glowed softly and spread a special kind of beauty to begin the day.

Remembrance Day in a Small Town

Late afternoon on the 10th of November when Husband starts looking for the new can of Never Dull, brings out the old toothbrush, the sliding thing he slips under medals to protect the ribbons, and last of all the Medals and the small and precious silver wings.

While he shines and polishes (the spitting comes later when he does the shoes) I re-sew the Squadron Emblem on the pocket of his jacket.

This is all in deference to our slower pace, - time was when Remembrance Day morning was a whirlwind of activity, but we move slower now, and find it best to start a day early.

As we prepare, the loss of Husband's two brothers in France and in Holland is ever present in our thoughts.





And I think of my father who was wounded at Cambrai a month before the signing of the Armistice in 1918, and how the effects of that wound left him walking with a cane for the last twenty years of his life.



Shortly after ten o'clock on the 11th Husband is looking pretty handsome and spiffy for an old Vet. He has received phone calls, e-mails and loving hugs from children who know how important this day has always been to him, and never fail to express their love and understanding.

We leave the house, hoping to get a parking spot close to where Husband will take part in the Remembrance Day service by reading the Names of the Fallen and citing the Act of Remembrance.

There is a cold wind blowing. People begin to gather, well scarved and hatted -= many of them carrying wreaths. Friends and family stop to chat as we wait in the SUV for the first signs of the Parade. The crowd grows thicker (the owner of the town's grocery store says 400)

The Legion members who will conduct the service test the sound system and attend to last minute details around the Cenotaph.

There - we hear the music which accompanies the parade and led by red coated RCMP (no horses this year) the Colour Party, the Army Cadets, the Veterans who are still able to march, the Legion members, the Brownies and Guides and Cubs and Scouts, the Elks, the Royal Purples and other Service Club members all right turn on to the grass
and march across the park to the Cenotaph.

At one time the row of Veterans was long, and stretched for over a city block. Now there are only a handful in the Parade, a few more in wheelchairs and on crutches, but all intent on honouring those of their dead comrades who once, in the now distant past, were like brothers to them, still enshrined in their hearts.

The wind scatters leaves and causes collars to be raised. Everyone takes their place, and the service begins.

A wonderfully strong voice leads the singing of O Canada. There are prayers, and a poem written by a young student in the high school.

The Army Cadets who stand at each corner of the Cenotaph raise their Arms and Husband reads the Names of the Fallen Comrades.

The Bugler plays the Last Post.

The two minutes of silence is poignant, and heavy with emotion.

And after the Lament and Reveille,

The Act of Remembrance.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, or the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we shall remember them.


The tribute to the Fallen, the Laying of the Wreaths, the reading of a Remembrance poem and the singing of 'O God, our Help in Ages Past'.

The wind comes in gusts and chases the clouds around the sky, creating small gaps that allow a little sunshine through. Fingers and toes grow cold but people remain to the end, as they honour lost loved ones and those who died to make the present moments possible.

After 'The Queen' the parade marches off, - the crowd disperses and makes their way to the Legion Hall. Husband and I linger to talk to family and old friends.




When we arrive at the Hall we find a great long line-up of shivery people waiting for Hot Rums....

There is Beef Stew and wonderful warm Chili provided by the Legion.

Four long rows of tables are crowded with adults, - next door at the Elks Home the children have cookies and cocoa. People linger, talking, exchanging memories, up-dating news. Gradually the crowd thins. Some people go home, - others make their way downstairs for an afternoon of comradeship, old time tunes, dancing, a little Karaoke and a wonderful air of good fellowship.

During the afternoon the Legion Brass visit, the Mayor says a few words, - unfortunately there are no pipers this year, but often we are included in their rounds of various Remembrance Day services.

Years have passed since our first Remembrance Days in this town, when the Veterans were young and plentiful and glasses were raised to comrades just a few years dead.

In later years Husband and others took rum and comradeship during the afternoon to veterans confined to their homes, coming back if not three sheets to the wind, at least two and a half.....

Now the Veteran finds himself a little 'out of the loop,' - honoured, and thanked, - questioned and perhaps even held in awe in some cases, but very conscious of being of another generation. Our appreciation is great for the Legion members who make this Day so special, and for all who Remember....

Well, this is how it is in one small town, and probably to a great extent the happenings would be familiar in hundreds of other small towns.... a people expressing their sorrow, their love and their need to pay honour to the Valiant hearts. And in doing so gathering closer together.....

Dream Angus (the lullaby - http://www.polopop.com/kaye/sleEP/dreamangus/index.html)

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,
Angus is here wi’ dreams to sell o
Hush my wee bairnie an’ sleep wi’ oot fear
Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear

Can ye no hush yer weepin’
A’ the wee bairns are sleepin’
Birdies are nestling, an’ nestling’ the gither
But my bonnie bairn is waken yet

Hear the curlew cryin’ o
An’ the echoes dyin’ o
Even the birdies are cuddled up sleepin
But my bonnie bairn is weepin’ greetin’

Soon the lavrock sings his song
Welcoming the coming dawn
Lambies coorie doon the gither
Wi’ the yowies in the heather

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,
Angus is here wi’ dreams to sell o
Hush my wee bairnie an’ sleep wi’ oot fear
Dream Angus has brought you a dream my dear

A lovely Scottish lullaby about Dream Angus, a young Apollo, a dispenser of dreams, a mythical Celtic god of Youth, Love, Delight and Wonder.

'Myth is a cloud based upon a shadow based upon the movement of the breeze.'


So begins a wonderful book by Alexander McCall Smith, written in his light and gentle hand. He varies the mythical tales of Angus, son of the god Draga and a water sprite, Boann, with vignettes of modern times.



Draga, the rather indifferent god, is enamoured of Boann, and desires to have a son by her. He immobilizes her husband until such time as the boy is born and he has spirited the child away from his hiding place in a basket hidden amongst the rushes.

Drago is not interested in having Angus around, and the child is brought up by another of his sons. He grows in beauty and grace, inspiring love in everyone he meets. Around his head he is accompanied by a bevy of small birds, - grace notes - who apprise him of danger as he dispenses his light and lovely dreams.

Alexander McCall Smith (whose writing I find so engaging - and endearing) intersperses a modern interpretation following each of the mythical stories of Dream Angus. Reading the book has helped to raise the melancholy clouds of these first gloomy days of November, and I can hardly wait to go to sleep to experience the sweet dreams that Dream Angus inspires......

At the end of the Introduction we find these words -

"Angus puts us in touch with our dreams - those entities which Auden described so beautifully in his Freud poem as the creatures of the night that are waiting for us, that need our recognition. But Angus does more than that: he represents youth and the intense, passionate love that we might experience when we are young but which we might still try to remember as age creeps up. Age and experience might make us sombre and cautious, but there is always an Angus within us - Angus the dreamer."

It touches a chord.....
Alexander McCall Smith

Guy Fawkes Day

Please to remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder treason and plot;
We know no reason, why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
Holla boys! holla boys! huzza—a—a!

A stick and a stake, for king George's sake,
A stick and a stump, for Guy Fawkes's rump!
Holla boys! holla boys! huzza—a—a


Treason, intrigue and terrorism, - all running rampant in the early 17th century.

And four hundred years after this attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London, England still acknowledges the anniversary of the plot in traditional ways.

On the night that the conspirators were foiled and poor Guy Fawkes was found in the basement of Parliament with 36 barrels of gun powder, great bonfires were lit to celebrate the safety of the King. Still today, as we speak, (to paraphrase Hedy Fry) Guy Fawkes effigies are burning in England and the people are making merry with firecrackers.

Well, some of the people - many of them could very well be still celebrating the results of the American Presidential election.

The monarch still enters the Houses of Parliament only once a year for the State Opening of Parliament, and before this event the Yeomen of the Guards inspect the basement of Westminster for explosives. Things being as they are in the world today it is probably a good idea, apart from traditional reasons......

Having had an English mother this holiday was quite familiar to me in my childhood.



Does anybody else 'remember, remember the 5th of November'????

Alas, no bonfire here tonight. It has been a busy day, but a spectacularly beautiful one for the 5th of November. Tomorrow the month will once again indulge it's damp, morose mood...

November Roses

As sweet as any other, though fragile and faded.
Spiced with valour, tattered with love, blessed with hope.

Next to the Poppy November's sweetest boutonniere.

Oh Halloween, oh Halloween......

First, in my childhood, there were the cold, dark nights when Granny Green provided costumes for our foray into the neighbourhood, looking for 'Halloween Apples'....a luxury in the Depression Days. I can't ever remember receiving candy on those ghostly nights, but there was always an air of excitement and adventure.

In answer to an old Winnipegger who queried the origin of asking for 'Halloween Apples' this is the response he received.

"In Ireland, great bonfires were lit throughout the breadth of the land. Young children in their guises were gladly received by their neighbors with some 'fruit apples and nuts' for the 'Halloween Party', whilst their older male siblings played innocent pranks on bewildered victims."

When I married and came to the Okanagan Valley it would have been carrying coals to Newcastle to go around the countryside pleading for apples, and so our children grew up gathering candy and treats, and the only apples they received were the ones that Verna Sladen candied.

Husband tells tales of pushing over outhouses, booby-trapping mail boxes, leaving parcels in the middle of the road and snaking them off with a rope when a car would stop to investigate.....

If our own children threw eggs or got into mischief I have yet to hear about it, but sometimes it takes many, many years for mothers to become privy to the details of such escapades.

When we moved to town and the grandchildren were Trick or Treating age we really became involved. Black candles, lots of Jack o'Lanterns, the witches cloak, hat, boots and broom lying across a verandah chair while she was in refreshing herself with a bath - Husband dressed as a wizard and I as a witch, and thoroughly enjoying the little pirates and princesses and ghosts who came to call on us.

When the grandchildren had finished their Halloween wanderings they came for hot chocolate and the great investigation of loot! They were grand evenings.......

We went to a dress-up Halloween party last night, and as a group of children and parents passed us on the street one little girl with pink tutu dragging, holding tight to her Dad's hand, caused a small lump in the throat.....

Husband is no longer as eager to 'dress-up' and so he was happy to wear his Air Force cap and a sweat shirt with an Avro Lancaster on the front and a sign saying 'in for refit' on the back. I dug out the old familiar witches hat and we had a lovely time for a little while. Until we got tired, and it was time to come home to the dog, the cat and our nightly game of cards, - good place for the old folks to be on All Hallow's Eve.



Some spooky pictures - we are happily related to the green faced witch!!!!!

The hills are more sombre now, and the colours more subdued.

The flaming reds have faded and the golds have lost their glow.

The transition is gentle as the garden sighs quietly, turns over, pulls up the covers and closes her eyes.

When we walk in the morning it is still dark and the clouds shutter the dawn light that just a few days ago lit the tops of the hills. It is so calm, - so still. The leaves drift breathlessly. It is almost as if the world is waiting to start breathing again.

A few days ago we went down into the orchard and picked some abandoned Golden Delicious that were ripe and mellowing on the bottom branches. I took the camera, and strolled contentedly through the trees.

The small red apples from a pretty yellow seedling were nestled at its feet in the cool grass. The sun shone through the shadowy tunnel of trees, intensifying with light the shades of the leaves and lending a sweet translucence to them. Above, the top branches sketched wine and plum tracings against the bright blue of the October sky.

A precious cameo to take into the coming winter.....

A Mouse, - a mouse....

I have no inkling of what is happening in the nether parts of the kitchen pantry. I am happily a-bed, relishing the thoughts of a day with no great demands.

A leisurely breakfast, a visit with D over coffee, some time in the garden - lovely!!!

The other occupant of the bed rose quietly (as is his sweet wont) about half an hour ago. I lie dozing contentedly, with only the smallest of 'get-up' nigglings.

Eventually I slip out of bed,- wash, dress, open the bedroom door and start down the hall, completely at ease in my mind and happily looking forward to the day.

BEHOLD!

Half way down the hall I realize all is not well. There are mounds of boxes, the bread machine, soup pots and bowls for mixing bread and cookies, glass jelly jars (some full, some empty, the big coffee maker - all the things that reside in storage on the pantry floor, now piled in the middle of the kitchen floor.

So - Husband looks a little sheepish, but determined. A little anxious, but defiant in the face of my fire cracker reaction to this mayhem in the kitchen.

The cat has caught a mouse. The cat does not eat mice, but plays happily with them - the game of cat and mouse, and occasionally the mouse wins....

Out of her paws, skittering across the floor, under the pantry door and along the wall to safety in the far corner behind a box of old and treasured recipes that moved here from the old house and now await sorting.

I screech a little - not at the mouse, but a fair amount of adrenalin accompanies my response to all this early morning activity and the disheveled state between me and the coffee.

A box with old silverware clatters to the floor. Voices are raised (a trifle) and the dear old dog awakens, startled. A major distraction that requires immediate attention.

Husband keeps the mouse at bay and barricades the door to the pantry, all the while calling the cat. Now sweetly, now in great frustration!!! I take the dog out into the early morning darkness. The stars shine brightly. The young moon tenderly carries the old moon across the sky in her arms. Calm descends upon me, and dog and I return to the house.

Together Husband and I man the pantry door, - he armed with the broomstick and with determination in his heart. The pantry floor is cleared of all boxes except the one behind which the mouse has found shelter. Heart pounding, - puir wee beastie...

The sortie is successful, and the mouse removed to the outdoors. The lazy cat is nowhere to be seen......

I sweep the pantry floor. Husband and I discuss the whys and wherefores of some of the stored items. He is successful in banishing the wet garbage pail and one box of empty jelly jars, but I am victorious in the matter of the old, precious recipe box.

I fill a pail with hot water and soap, - wash the pantry floor, return the bread maker, the various pots and bowls and coffee makers etc. etc. to their rightful places. By SIX THIRTY A.M. the kitchen area is secure and serene again. The excitement is over and breakfast about to begin.

It all keeps life interesting and marriage sharp and sweet.

"Come said the wind to
the leaves one day,
Come o're the meadows
and we will play.
Put on your dresses
scarlet and gold,
For summer is gone
and the days grow cold."
-  A Children's Song of the 1880's

And from the windy meadow where the scarlet and gold of the leaves are a twirling kaleidoscope I speak of the tenderness of these warm autumn days that lead us gently into the morose and melancholy month of November.

The wind blew wildly last evening, and my expectation was a valley denuded of all the vivid golds, the ambers and the rich reds of nature's funeral clothes. Sometime in the night it became calm, and here, - another day of tender and heart breaking beauty.

I love the feelings that the word evokes, - 'tenderness'. Passion is a whirlwind, but tenderness, I have read, is passion in repose. It speaks of comfort, enduring love, kindness and compassion.

'What seems to grow fairer to me as life goes by is the love and the grace and tenderness of it; not its wit and cleverness and grandeur of knowledge - grand as knowledge is - but just the laughter of children, and the friendship of friends, and the cozy talk by the fire, and sight of flowers, and the sound of music.' (Unknown)


Somehow, at this time of my life, I have an ever growing affinity with autumn. And with tenderness, - the quiet love for all that is beautiful in my life, and as well for many things that may not be beautiful, but still are dear to our hearts and a part of our lives.

When death, the great reconciler, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent of, but our severity.
George Eliot (1819 - 1880)

That old Great Reconciler has been hovering around, probably enjoying the loveliness that we breathe in, but still about his business. Five funerals and memorial services within the span of six days, which, I guess, is inclined to turn one's thoughts to our eventual and inevitable mortality....

Ah, but in the meantime, ain't life wonderful !! And tender........

The Valley fairly shimmers with the light reflected from golden trees......

A friend was buried today.

One of our children's generation.

A neighbouring child who grew to be a tender, loving, vibrant adult.

I thought as her funeral cortage passed down the valley to the family cemetery what a glorious path the angels had arranged for her earthly farewell.

Hard to stay indoors these days.....

There is a splendid glow around the Scarlet Maples when their leaves tremble in the wind and the sun shines bright upon them in the afternoon. My heart takes a small leap when I catch sight of them.....

Early in the morning the sky was cloudy, but when Caspar and I went walking the wind moved a small drift of clouds and the moon floated behind them, a large pearly button, almost translucent.

It was a housekeeping day outside, - we pried up the sunflower roots and shook the dirt off them, remembering how tall they grew and what a lovely haven they were for the little birds.

The stalks that we had removed a week ago still lay in piles by the pasture fence. Now they are interlaced in the fence wires, and what seeds the feasting quail left in them will be available for the winter birds.

Along the driveway fence, where the curly willow are establishing themselves, we tied and staked and promised a bucketful of good top soil around each one.

Lovely day, - the middle of October, and still the flowers in the garden are a kaleidoscope of colour.



And the skies of October - so blue, - so fabulous!

There was ice on the sprinkler lines this morning, but the sun came out and warmed things up a little - made it appear like a nice sunny day, but the nip was in the air....

After taking bucket's full of Chrysanthemums down to the church to mark Thanksgiving Husband and I got the car out, filled it with gas, and made our way to Osoyoos for the annual Donna Fishwick Ensemble Concert, given in honour of her century old father.

Here are the participants in a Palace in Prague this summer, - photographed on their European Tour.



And today, they arrived in their classy red bus and gave an amazing performance in the Osoyoos United Church.

Getting composed for the picture....



And now more or less ready for the photo op - so many of their parents were there and anxious for pictures... The guest of honour at the front.



A wonderful musical experience, and to share a part of it with you.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTer6HOZKu0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TB8Qt3FqLQE

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=I65WOMYcgDg

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=LsQOfUv5TKk

There was a little nostalgia involved with this concert as well, - when Donna first began to teach she had a few pupils, - amongst them some of our own children. And myself..... I listened to Maggie Li playing the second and third movements of the Pathetique today, and I was moved almost to tears as my mind and my fingers followed her lovely rendition of the Cantabile second movement.

We came home in the sunshine. I, desperately trying to catch a few snapshots out the side window of the car, in between telephone poles.



A very heart filling experience to start the Thanksgiving week-end - I marvel at the talent and enthusiasm of these young people, and the easy way they have about them as they perform. And I am so delighted and amazed at what Donna has accomplished since she was part of our lives so many years ago.

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.