O Day of Rest and Gladness, O Day of Joy and Light

An old traditional hymn - the words written by Christopher Wordsworth, a distinguished English Bishop and a man of letters.



Christopher Wordsworth, 1807 - 1885

And a man of good sense.... This morning, because I didn't have to play the organ at church today, I was sorely tempted to stay home and 'worship' in the garden.

But then I thought of what 'worshipping' in the garden entailed. Probably another heavy battle with the coutch grass, which doesn't exactly typify a Day of Rest and Gladness. Or perhaps I would have been tempted to get the potatoes cut and planted, - or I would have been recruited as a go-fer as Charles stuck closely to his favourite maxim - 'never let a day go by without doing something useful'!

I preferred Christopher Wordsworth's advice, and so we went to church and sang some very modern 'inclusive' United Church Hymns. You must go a long way back to the 1938 edition of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer to find 'O Day of Rest and Gladness'.

Today we sang 'It Only Takes a Spark - Pass it On'.

I can't leave this subject without remarking on the inclusiveness of modern hymns. 'Dear Lord and Father of Mankind' has become 'Dear God Who loves all Humankind' - and then we have 'Dear Mother God your wings are warm'.....

My eyebrows shot skyward when instead of 'Halleluia' in an Easter response, the pew bulletin instructed us to say 'Hurrah, Hurrah'. Oh dear, how does one know when one is just too old and needs to 'hermatize'.

I have digressed from the subject of days of rest and gladness. We came home from church, with me still thinking 'days of rest', but with Charles thinking 'good opportunity to add that thing-a-ma-jig to the garden tractor'.

I had a little nap, fussed about the house a bit with a duster, read a few pages of the book I'm going to praise soon, - but Charles went out and fussed about the garage, frustrating himself because he couldn't find what he was looking for, - got down on his knees at least three times (a major endeavor getting up) and now I see him, poor darling, rubbing his paining hands, trying to ease his aching muscles, and all because nobody told him about The Bishop of Lincoln who recommends A Day of Rest and Gladness - in song.

I don't have to play the organ next Sunday, either......



(Photo borrowed from Flickr)

The Upper Similkameen

We have gone on a pictorial drive to Penticton, and one to the south east over the Richter Pass to Osoyoos, but on Wednesday Charles and I journeyed up Highway 3 to Hedley, and, as usual, were struck by the differences in the topography of this rocky part of the Similkameen.

It has a beauty all its own. The striated mountains have been a repository for gold and copper, and over the last century mining in the country around Hedley has had a varied and profitable history.

We left Keremeos and traveled through ranch land where the Black Angus grazed contentedly on the spring green meadow.



High in the distance on our left we glimpsed the snow on Crater Mountain, an area that I have not visited myself, but one which seems to hold a fascination for the men in the family. I particularly remember Charles and No. 2 son leaving a family picnic in the Ashnola region for a 'short' drive up the road to Crater Lake, and creating a small panic when they were not back by dark! But then, I probably panicked easily in those days.




Soon the ranch land narrowed into a a stony corridor with intriguing walls, created by fiery volcanoes more than thirty million years ago. A little research records small ocean creatures captured within the rocks.



A quartzy waterfall cascades down to the road.



And just down the road a beautiful, but rather threatening, tower of rocks forms a forbidding castle.



We pass St. Anne's Roman Catholic Church on the Upper Similkameen Indian Reserve, turn the corner and slide gently down into the town of Hedley.

The town, the mountain and the old abandoned Nickel Plate mine above us has memories for Charles of the few months he worked here before joining the air force. Here is a picture of the 'skip line' as it was when he rode the steep incline...



The mountain has given up its gold. The mine and the community at Nickel Plate have been abandoned. The Mascot Mine has been turned into a spectacular tourist attraction, well worth visiting. But in 1904 the Hedley mining ventures were just starting on their roller coaster endeavours, and the establishment at the base of the mountain looked like this...



Fortunes were made, and fortunes were lost. Hedley now is a small town with a bright core of community minded inhabitants. We drove around slowly, - there were memories for Charles there, and for me as well as we passed the Community Church which is part of our Parish.

We took pictures of the steep striated walls that encircle the town...





and then we drove home, and I could take pictures out of the window on the other side of the road!

Of the river, from a spot where Charles took a picture with his small Brownie camera in 1942....



Of the cut to the Ashnola River valley which leads to the magnificent Cathedral Lake country....



Eventually the Cawston hills appeared in the distance,



and we continued through the familiar countryside west of Keremeos, and the red covered bridge that crosses into Ashnola country.





The weather was chilly and miserable, but the company was great and it was a pleasant drive and a happy day.

ABC Wednesday

Q is for Quivering Aspen

Quivering - it gives me a nice shivery feeling. I don't think of quivering with fear, - I think of quivering with delight!

And what nicer tree to give you that feeling of delight than the Quivering Aspen, with its delicate leaves turning in the breeze, reflecting the sunlight, and just, well, all a-quiver!

Here are three baby Quivering aspen we found in a little grove of trees at a coffee break on our way from Princeton to Merritt.

Come join Music Monday and share your songs with us.

Albinoni's Adagio

Here from Wikipedia is the tale of what appears to be a beautiful musical hoax. Supposedly a piece of music written by Giazzotto, based on a fragment of a composition by Albinoni, Sonata in G. Minor found in the ruins of a fire bombed building during World War 11, it now appears to be an original composition by Giazzotto.

Shall we disregard its history and enjoy the lovely melody as interpreted by Laura Sullivan on the Synthesizer.....

Albinonis Secret Smile: Albinoni Adagio - Laura Sullivan

Mothers' Day

I listened in church this morning to the usual kind words spoken about mothers, but none of them were as dramatic as the Mothers' Day sermon I heard the second Sunday of each May, growing up in the Anglican Church. The Reverend Canon Charles Frederick Arthur Clough was the shepherd who saw us through those depression years, caring with tenderness and kindness and a great generosity, both spiritual and material.

He was never known as anything but "The Canon" in our house.




He came to Canada as a young English Curate to serve in the Canadian West, early in the last century.

He was a Judge in Juvenile Court; he was for many years the President of the Red Cross; he was a great proponent of the Boy Scouts, and at St. Faiths he and Henry White provided one of the best Scouting organizations in the West.

With all of these great attributes he was prone on special occasions to preach the same sermon, and his Mothers' Day sermon always ended with great flair as he quoted this poem by Rudyard Kipling.

Mother o' Mine

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

Rudyard Kipling

In the back row of the junior choir some of the more irreverent girls said it softly along with him!!!

Sky Watch Friday




A somewhat elegant sky, I think.

Not too flamboyant, - a little understated.

Lovely smudged clouds reminiscent of

a child's crayoning.

ABC Wednesday

P is for Pearly Everlasting and the Painted Butterfly




The Pearly Everlasting, a wildflower which does well on poor soils, but is somewhat toxic to cattle and shunned by them. In addition to the natural aversion to a plant that might have dire consequences, I can imagine the woolly covering on the stems of the Pearly Everlasting would make it somewhat akin to trying to eat cotton batting, and not something a cow would prefer to graze on. The plant has few juices, and hoards what it does have with the help of the soft woolly covering. Not a successful grazing plant....

But adopted as a perennial in borders or cutting gardens it is a gem.

The Pearly Everlasting grows about two feet tall, and spreads liberally. I can attest to that, having enjoyed it in the garden, but found it required constant vigilance to keep it in its place.

The silvery grey leaves lend a quietness to the garden border, and the clusters of
small papery white flowers with egg yolk yellow centres make a welcome addition to a dried bouquet. They should be picked for drying before the yellow centres are visible, to prevent them from fluffing out later.

If the cow disdains the Pearl the Painted Butterfly adores it, and makes it her host plant for laying eggs in the early summer. As the larvae emerge they feed on the foliage, but as the summer advances the foliage renews itself and there is little damage.





And it has such a romantic name......

Come join Music Monday and share your songs with us.

Django Reinhardt Plays Dark Eyes



I listened to all the modern versions of Django's Dark Eyes, and only Django has the lightness, the rhythm and the lilt. (IMHO)

Sunday Morning and a Summery Sky

When I came home from church Charles called to look at the cloud formation in the north-east, - funny bars of cloud that gradually expanded and divided.





I looked around at a sweet blue sky full of woolly clouds, and they made me smile. So soft and inviting, I felt they could be carded and spun into the most delicious wool.

Already there were spots where the wispy skeins could be stretched into rolags and guided through the spindle....





It was a momentary pleasure, - by mid afternoon they have darkened and look heavy with rain. But then, most pleasures are transitory and more precious because of their fleeting nature.

When Caspar and I took our last little saunter of the evening I stood on the deck for a few minutes before coming in, listening to the pulse of May, - the frogs at the foot of the pasture, singing the celebration of spring in their deep bass voices, with the rhythm of life, abundance, fertility and the powerful green energy of renewal.

And I thought about ancient days, and the mythology of the old civilizations of Rome and Greece - the gods and the goddesses and how involved they were with the lives of humans; the stories and fables of the various seasons.

Here is a beautiful tapestry. Edward Burns-Jones designed the figure, and William Morris designed the background. It depicts Flora, the goddess of abundance, standing barefoot in flowing garments with a wreath in her hair, personifying summer,. She holds fresh flowers in her hand, and we can see the intricate floral background inspired by the Medieval decorative technique known as Mille Fleur's (thousand flowers). In these times copies of the design are woven in Belgium and available online.




The piece is also inscribed with the following verse, beautifully rendered in Gothic type.

"I am the handmaid of the Earth
I broider fair her glorious gown;
Deck her on her days of mirth
with many a garland of renoun.
And while the earth's little ones are fain
And play about the mother's hem,
I scatter every gift I gain
From sun and wind to gladden them"

In Roman mythology Flora was a goddess of flowers and the season of spring, being one of several fertility goddesses and a relatively minor figure. Her association with spring gave her particular importance in late April and early May, the time of her festival, the Floralia. It was a lusty affair, symbolizing the renewal of the circle of life and marked with dancing, drinking, and flowers.

Flora was married to Favonius, the wind god, and her companion was Hercules. She achieved more prominence in the neo-pagan revival of Antiquity among Renaissance humanists than she had ever enjoyed in ancient Rome. - (extracted from Wikipedia).

From Ovid, Fasti 5, 193
"I, Flora, enjoy perpetual spring: the year always shines, trees are leafing, the solid always fodders. I have a fruitful garden in my dowered fields, fanned by breezes, fed by limpid fountains. My husband filled it with well-bred flowers, saying: 'Have jurisdiction of the flower, goddess'. I often wanted to number the colors displayed, but could not: their abundance defied measure. As soon as the dewy frost is cast from the leaves and sunbeams warm the dappled blossom, the Horae (Seasons) assemble, hitch up their colored dresses and collect these gifts of mine in light tubs. Suddenly the Charities (Graces) burst in, and weave chaplets and crowns to entwine the hair of gods."

It sounds like a lovely party, with great potential.



Although not a goddess, I too can relate to her enjoyment of her flowers and fountains, having an equally kind husband who has worked with me to make a beautifully diverse and joyful garden.

Thinking of Flora, the gods and goddesses, the renewal and cycle of life, the lovely month of May, and all it has meant in our lives, and time.. when I came across this poem it struck a haunting minor chord, and reminded me of how I felt when we first started this sweet little garden in our 'latter' years.

"'Established' is a good word, much used in garden books,
'the plant, when established'...
Oh, become established quickly, quickly, garden!
For I am fugitive, I am very fugitive

Those that come after me will gather these roses,
And watch, as I do now, the white wisteria
Burst in the sunshine, from its pale green sheath.

Planned. Planted. Established. Then neglected,
Till at last the loiterer by the gate will wonder
At the old, old cottage, the old wooden cottage,
And say, 'One might build here, the view is glorious;
This must have been a pretty garden once."

Well, I am not as 'fugitive' as Mary Ursula Bethell, who wrote this poem in 1929.

Nevertheless the words touched me, and the realization that Nature and the Goddess Flora persist in beauty and renewal, and May comes every year!!!!

Enticing Summer Skies in the Similkameen

A Silent Post

























Does anything here say "Come to me...Come see"?

Here is a posting from bygone days to fill in the time while Charles and I regain a semblance of health. He is home from the hospital, and looking fairly chipper, but still with a fragile chest.

And I sound like nothing on earth, - unless I am face to face with people they think they are exchanging words with a gravelly fog horn.

Here are a few gravelly words on Greed and Generosity.

There are two books tucked into the sideboard of our bed, - two books about widely divergent subjects, and I am reading them in tandem. This serves to keep me in a constant state of flux, as I try to determine just where I lie in relation to each subject (well, I lie on the bed, but that's beside the point...)

Phyllis Tickle has written the book entitled 'Greed' as part of a series on the Seven Deadly Sins. The reviews state that it is an elegant little book, and I can't disagree with that. Its contents send me scrambling to a dictionary (and beyond) as I am woefully unfamiliar with some of the literary and historical references. But the facts of the matter are well understood, and I am familiar with greed and all its many disguises, - avarice, miserliness, covetousness, acquisitiveness, - and even, in its more noble aspect, thrift.....

The book refers to Greed as the Mother of all Sins - or to put it more elegantly 'Greed, by any name, is the mother and matrix, root and consort of all the other sins'. It is not only western civilization that recognizes this primacy of Greed, - it is equally abhorred by Buddhists, Judaism, Hinduism and hopefully, by Secularism in this day and age. In that it leads to all other 'Sins' (or activities that damage the moral fibre of civilization) should we not be aware of its presence in each of our lives?

Which, of course, leads me to poke around in every nook and cranny of my own life, looking for symptoms of unacknowledged Sin. I think I am not Lustful, - nor can I be accused of Gluttony. I am not Envious, being greatly contented with my life - but I do suspect there may be some Greed lurking. Not for material things, but I must admit to being greedy for approval. I think it is one of the pistons that drives my engine, and results in slavery to Ego! A vice I am desperately trying to bury deep. It keeps popping up, and I keep pushing it down, but there... (sigh) I still strive to achieve.

The other book I am reading is "Being Generous (The Art of Right Living) by Lucinda Vardey and John Dalla Costa. A simpler and more comforting book. It caught my eye in a book store while I was shopping for Christmas gifts, and I thought of any number of people I could give it to, but it is still with me. I will give it away, but in the meantime if it is the night I read about the Art of Right Living, that is the night that I am inspired.

I quote from Chapter Seven - 'Generosity embraced becomes the defining aspect of one's character, permeating and unifying all that we are, all that we do, think, speak and feel. Integrity lives within our generosity, a wholeness that is consistent, reliable and humble;...'

I hope that I strive to be generous. I try to be conscious and mindful, without the ego 'being the head of my ( personal) household...' I know that I am not always successful, but to be generous with time, with love, with grace, with patience and service, - that surely is the true achievement.

And to be humble...

I must confess I am still hoarding the book on Generosity, - not yet prepared to part with it. Could that be Greed????

I was going to tell you everything I knew about Spotted Lake, and even more that I planned to research, but alas...

We are a House of Sickies, Charles with an impertinent flu and me with a hacking sinus.

So here is a small video composed of pictures taken from the front deck and down the lane a little.

Accompanied by the Japanese Sandman, welcome visitor here tonight, seeing as how neither of us slept a wink last night..

Forgive him leaving abruptly, - he was anxious to be about his duties spreading Japanese Sand.

More about Spotted Lake soon.