A Few Words on Time. -Time Passing

Time Standing Still

Time to Go - Time to Stay

Wasting Time - Coveting Time

Making Time - Remembering Time

which brings to mind.......

TIME, you old gypsy man,

Will you not stay,

Put up your caravan

Just for one day?

All things I'll give you

Will you be my guest,

Bells for your jennet

Of silver the best,

Goldsmiths shall beat you

A great golden ring,

Peacocks shall bow to you,

Little boys sing.

Oh, and sweet girls will

Festoon you with may,

Time, you old gipsy,

Why hasten away?

Last week in Babylon,

Last night in Rome,

Morning, and in the crush

Under Paul's dome;

Under Pauls' dial

You tighten your rein --

Only a moment,

And off once again;

Off to some city

Now blind in the womb,

Off to another

Ere that's in the tomb.

Time, you old gypsy man,

Will you not stay,

Put up your caravan

Just for one day?

I had always associated this poem with Bliss Carmen, so imagine my surprise when I discovered it was written by Ralph Hodgson, who also wrote that lovely, poignant poem "Eve"

EVE, with her basket, was

Deep in the bells and grass,

Wading in bells and grass

Up to her knees,

Picking a dish of sweet

Berries and plums to eat,

Down in the bell and grass

Under the trees.

etc. etc. (look it up!)








And the equally haunting "After"

"HOW fared you when you mortal were?

What did you see on my peopled star?"

"Oh well enough," I answered her,

"It went for me where mortals are!

"I saw blue flowers and the merlin's flight

And the rime on the wintry tree,

Blue doves I saw and summer light

On the wings of the cinnamon bee."

It seems to me that TIME must surely be much on the minds of those who are, well, growing older. I was going to say "mature" but I think you have to be past mature and into the "past shelf date" era before you begin to think seriously about time, and the things that are still left to fill it.

There are the exciting things, which may or may not take place. And there are the things of immediate concern, like organizing the family pictures, going to see the lawyer, little instructions to leave behind, pasting labels on the things one wants to pass on to individual loved ones, being kind to children and setting out wishes in no uncertain terms so that when one says do it like this, and another says, do it like that, mother will have got her bid in first to avoid all disagreement......oh, and when all that gets too morbid, feeling satisfied that it is done and one can relax and enjoy Time Left!!!

How our commitments change as time passes, - once I was committed to nurturing - now I am committed to making each precious moment, day, month, year count in the most splendid and comfortable way possible.

And often in my mind do I contemplate the connection between body and spirit, and between spirit and this lovely earth.....

So why did I attribute the Gypsy Man to Bliss Carman? Perhaps I got him mixed up with the Vagabonds, which Bliss Carman DID write.

We are the vagabonds of time,
And rove the yellow autumn days,
When all the roads are gray with rime
And all the valleys blue with haze.
We came unlooked for as the wind
Trooping across the April hills,
When the brown waking earth had dreams
Of summer in the Wander Kills.
How far afield we joyed to fare,
With June in every blade and tree!
Now with the sea-wind in our hair
We turn our faces to the sea.

etc. etc. - another poem to look up!

And speaking of Time - I have only until Sunday Evening to read the Deathly Hallows before I must return it to the Granddaughter who kindly loaned it to me. I'm off, for

quite evidently, Time is of the essence......!

New Neighbours

just moved in, over the fence, towards Cawston.

They are proving to be quiet and well behaved (no Neighing or Whinnying at inappropriate times.) horsey people! They come and go with equinimity, occasionally stepping out for a refreshing drink in this hot weather. (No local Bar in the pasture, as yet.)

True to tradition, I have been observing from behind the curtain, - noting the pecking order. They wander the lush pasture and keep their noses to the ground, intent upon their own business with just the occasional glance at the garden that lies over the fence.

It is nice to have horses close by. On the property where the Lost Garden lived for many years we rented out pasture to a local rancher, and their horses lent a romantic and pastoral beauty as they grazed in the shade of the trees Husband planted there. Alas, all gone......

I am sure these particular horses are glad to be back in the pasture we usurped when we built our home up here in the corner, and even, to add insult to injury, used their shelter as a temporary garage.

However, they seem forgiving and friendly, and I would be glad to lend them a cup of sugar cubes any time they need it!

Reading Rose Macaulay
(1881-1958)








A few years ago my sister-in-law sent me a copy of Dame Rose Macaulay's book, Personal Pleasures. I was delighted with it, and it inspired a search for more of her books.

Not an easy task, - the Okanagan Regional Library carries only the Towers of Trebizond. I immediately ordered it and read it with great satisfaction.

Having nothing new to read the other night I reintroduced myself to Rose Macaulay, where her Personal Pleasures was tucked into the shelf on the nightstand, along side other books that it gives me great pleasure to re-read.

"Chattery, chittery..lean as a rake. wispy; and frittered" was Virginia Woolf's comment about Rose, but I have read elsewhere that Virginia's comment was perhaps tinged with jealousy and cattiness.

In any event, Rose Macaulay was very much a part of the London literary circle in the first part of the last century and although her first books were inclined to be light, comic pieces, her later work had a haunting quality, - most especially her post-war novel "The World my Wilderness" which I am longing to read.

One of the excerpts from Towers of Trebizond reflects my own thinking as I ponder the real, honest to goodness meaning of TRUTH.

"Nothing in the world, for instance, could be as true as some Anglicans and Calvinists and Moslems think their Churches are, having the faith once for all delivered to the saints. I suppose this must be comfortable and reassuring. But most of us know that nothing is as true as all that, and that no faith can be delivered once for all without change, for new things are being discovered all the time, and old things dropped, like the whole Bible being true, and we have to grope our way through a mist that keeps being lit by shafts of light, so that exploration tends to be patchy, and we can never sit back and say, we have the Truth, this is it, for discovering the truth, if it is ever discovered, means a long journey through a difficult jungle, with clearings every now and then, and paths that have to be hacked out as one walks, and dark lanterns swinging from the trees, and these lanterns are the light that has lighted every man, which can only come through the dark lanterns of our minds."

That appeals to me.

As does her quotation "At the worst, a house unkept cannot be so distressing as a life unlived."

She had a lovely and imaginative way with words.

A random quotation from a small essay on the Pleasures of Bathing:

"The sea's warm edge sways lisping on hot sand, curling into tiny ripples, hissing, creaming, running delicately back. Wade in, take five steps in water as warm as a tepid bath, and the sharply shelving beach fails beneath your feet and leaves you swimming. Lapping in the clear, thin stuff, so blue, so buoyant, so serene, you can conceive no reason for ever leaving it."

I am off now to read to Husband (who has difficulty becoming somnalent) her delightful pages on the pleasures of Bed.

A Little Experimenting here, and an expansion of a previous posting on Ginty's Pond.

Turn on your speakers to enjoy the music!
(apologies for the abrupt ending - just learning)

CLICK on the little arrow, sit back and relax.

My thoughts have been much in the distant past today.

It is #1 Son's Birthday.

I suppose the past is not so distant really, just relative to our time together, and the beginning!

It was a long process, this birthing business that we undertook. He was a brave boy.........

And persistent!!!!

There were a couple of years when we were a threesome - Husband, #1 Son and me.

He was a precious little guy, and when I took him to town he was the darling of the shops we visited.

The sweetest smile, the bright and eager eyes - and he has them still...

Happy Birthday Love......

Another Prayer which I find to be particularly pertinent to Aging with Grace!

Heavenly Father, accept this prayer we offer in Christ's name.

Forgive us, we ask, for our lack of joy as we insist on taking things too seriously
We waste the few days of this life in disappointment and conflict.

For the coldness in our manner and eyes when we have so much to be thankful for,
help us to smile again.

Let us not miss the simple pleasures of this life that make us laugh
and give reason to praise your creation.

With a seriousness of purpose and a spirit of fellowship in our hearts,
restore our lives, forgiving any contagious gloom we may inflict on others.

Amen

Posted by my computer for lo these many years,
and also in my heart.

A
Clutch
of
Sunflowers



Towers of gold, but for this one I needed a ladder!













Now, - everybody shine together!!!















Another elegant blossom, out of reach of the camera, even on tippy toes.














Six maiden sisters planning their escape over the fence, as twilight fades and night time adventures beckon. They made it back to greet the morning sun.





Shades of yellow - the Barn Flower, out of place beside the garden path, makes paeans to the sun as well.

In Church this morning.....

The Prayers of the People ended with this prayer, which I found particularly fitting, lovely and appealing. A different perspective on sweltering weather...........

Creator God, thank you for summer sun which reminds us that your creative breath is still alive and active.

For this beautiful valley that we live in, the orchards that bear a plentiful harvest, long warm days,

The pace of life slows....Lord, help me to rest a while in the cooling shade of your presence.

Slow down my restless heart and fill me with gentle compassion for all your people. Amen

Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer are upon us.

The haze is coming up the valley from a fire just over the US border at Nighthawk.

The laze is a direct result of 40C temperatures which effectively put a stop to all activity after noon in the House on the Back Pasture. Everyone sleeps, - Caspar the dog, Callie, the Cat, and Husband and I snooze along with them.

To make up for it we are up long before the sun rises. There are windows and doors to open wide to the comparative coolness of the early hours. And it's the only time to garden seriously.

Evening hours aren't conducive to the same kind of activity, - they are more a wandering, snipping, camera snapping time.

And the craze??? Somehow we manage to avoid that, having passed the age of beaches and wild parties long, long ago.

The days drift by, - we recall picking apricots when the temperature was 117F, and the years when our only air conditioning was a sprinkler on the flat roof of our house. The water falling and swirling outside the windows gave an impression of coolness, and we were young and quite willing to believe that it cooled the house and the shade trees surrounding us.

Now that we are "older" we are happy with the air conditioning that keeps the house at a mean temperature of 72. Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled!

Having finished Rutherfurd's mighty tomes on the Princes and Rebels of Ireland I do a little light reading. My trip to the wool shop resulted in the purchase of some space dyed wool, and in odd moments I knit a few rows, delighting in the constant change of colour. On the loom the warp (oh yes, still the same warp for silk scarves) lies relaxed and indolent.

The music we listen to is light and airy, and I am practising Handel's Water Music to play pianissimo on the organ in church tomorrow.

Heavy is a word that is banished from my vocabulary whilst we are under the weight of the summer sun.

On Tuesday we make another trip to Penticton, and the weatherman, whose word we take with a grain of salt, promises that the weather will be a little cooler.

Here is the Abraham Darby rose in the morning, - a lovely symbol of Summertime.

I rise early, and am met at the bedroom door by Miss Callie and Caspar, eager for the day to start. After turning on the coffee and the computer, and opening up all the doors and windows to the cool morning air, Caspar and I venture out for our morning walk. We peer into the jungle as we pass and assess all the piles of deadheaded flowers and stalks that are a result of last night's orderly march down the garden path, snipping and shearing as I went.

After returning Caspar into the house I retrieve the wheelbarrow and start clearing the debris. What is left gives me some pleasure, and here are a few pictures I took before the sun came up and the temperature suddenly rose from 17C to 30C at eight o'clock.

The pots that surround the little patio are refreshed by their morning watering.




The sweet peas that climb the fence on the other side of the patio are growing ever more robust, and although they don't have the fragrance of the annual sweet pea that I remember growing so tall and beautiful on the prairies, they do have an air about them that is pleasing and subtle.


Here is a sunflower with an interesting face, - the gorgeous green in the centre is a wonderful foil for the colours that surround it.

This baby is a reasonable size, but as we move into the back border the jungle takes over, and here are the sunflowers that grew too fast for me to thin, splendid as they tower over the more civilized flowers in the garden.













Like the roses, that are just now into their second flush and looking fresh and pristine in the coolness of the morning.

By afternoon the garden will bear a rather harried look as it tries to cope with this intense heat we are having.

While I wander around I mentally note the Europa Rose and an especially fragrant lily lost among the shadows of the sunflowers and the barn flower, - why did I think that the barn flower which only grew about four feet high last year would stay at that unnatural height. I make a note to move it to a spot in the back garden and let the Europa have its place beside the pathway.

And that Sea Holly that was such a modest and well behaved plant last year has spread its children around its feet and grown at least five feet high.

A garden is a lovesome thing, God Wot, - but it is also a humbling teacher, even as age is supposed to bring you Wisdom.

Never mind, even jungles are inspiring, - especially if the lions and tigers that lurk there are just a little tortoise shell cat and a dapper old dog. And an "older" lady with her hoe and snippers!

July in the Jungle (er, Garden)

Early in the morning, just after the sun came up, Caspar and I went out to test the morning air.

We skittered through the door, safely enclosing Callie the Cat indoors. This was her morning for no breakfast, no water, and a quick trip to the Veterinarian where she now sleeps away the afternoon after having had surgery this morning, of the most personal kind!

It was cool in the garden, - the flowers looked refreshed after yesterday's attention to watering. Still looks like a jungle out there, with the fertile growth that summer has brought. The sunflowers, just coming into bloom, are at least ten feet high, but they are dwarfed by the volunteer hollyhocks who somehow crept into the garden to delight my soul with memories.

The perennial sweet peas have outgrown their headboard climber and are reaching their pretty pink blossoms to the blue sky above.

The flax still adds tender blue flowers in the morning, but in the evening, when the nicotiana is at its most fragrant best they have closed up shop, back in the workroom preparing for tomorrow's greeting to the sun.















The new day lily, Strawberry Candy, which took up residence this spring, is occupying a highrise between the Stella D'Oro and a great clump of Shasta Daisies.

And the white Winchester Cathedral Rose is tentative about beginning a new flush of blooms.













Soon it was time to gather up the patient and leave for the trip over the pass to Osoyoos and the Veterinarian. After a few miles of plaintive meowing Callie seemed to accept the inevitable and settled down to enjoy the pleasant early morning trip. The air was fresh, the highway was deserted, and we arrived at the Clinic in good time to deliver Miss Callie to her Fate, ever to be a Miss - never to be a Missus.

On the way home we stopped to take a picture of the medicinal Spotted Lake.

After a time I gathered up my machete and my trusty clippers and went about my business of restoring the jungle to a garden again. The borage, with it's lovely blue flowers and bumblebees, was reduced to half its size. The delphinium are now cut right back, to give them room for a later blooming. Found some stakes to help the sea holly remain erect and on guard with it's spiky blue flowers and deadheaded zillions of white bloom on the Shastas.

Caspar was with me, searching up and down the garden path for his pal, Callie. He will have to wait until tomorrow morning when we make the trip again and bring home a somewhat subdued cat, - I'm sure!!!!

The Phone Rings...


And it is Husband, who is on his way home after picking up the paper.

I am bent over the bathtub, scrubbing out the animal carrier in preparation for Miss Callie's visit to the Vet on Monday.

Interesting cloud formation, - says Husband. Translated that means, it would be nice if you could find the camera, drop what you are doing and not only enjoy, but record.

A request like that seduces me every time. They WERE interesting clouds, like large puffy pillows, stacked together. In another interpretation they could almost be imagined as alien transportation!

But I am sure there is a scientific explanation, and perhaps I will google it later.



As I finished the picture taking project #3 Son was coming across the meadow with a clutch of small eggs in one hand, - a most welcome gift - and he had also been admiring the strange white cloud formations against the blue, blue July sky.

A hot one today, but as I put the eggs away, with greedy anticipation, the phone rang again. It was Husband once more, with an invitation to go driving where the breeze was cool.

We trundled down the road to Cawston, and around by Kobou Park, - a destination which always pleases us for any number of reasons.

At the time of the B.C. Centennial the committee which Husband chaired took upon themselves the task of creating a park by the river. This involved transforming a neglected wilderness and a lot of volunteer work. For many years the park was used as a playground for children, a picnic area, and for hundreds of ball games on the two diamonds that were built.

Eventually baseball became somewhat passe (passing through a phase of unpopularity, I guess). The ball diamonds lay neglected on hot summer evenings, and the nasty Insurance Requirements made use of the park almost impossible.

Until a new generation of young people saw the need for the park. With wonderful cooperation and eager enthusiasm, plus a lot of hard work, they have
created a beautiful new area of memorial trees, green grass, a playing field, and a fine playground with bright new equipment for the little ones.

Many of the original park builders, (many of them Veterans from the newly planted orchards on the benchland) are no longer with us, but some of those who are worked hard along with the young people, especially in planting and promoting the memorial trees and the pretty flower bed that bids welcome.













The memorial trees are for those who have left us, and have been remembered by their families.

One special memorial plaque is in memory of Andrea MacDonald, a young mother who died, and to all mothers whose love sustains their children.














Just a small park in a tiny village, but to Husband and me it means a lot that it has been restored so beautifully by a new generation of young parents and grandparents.

I am off now to deadhead the pot marigolds and the chamomile in the cool of the evening shade.

And I think of my sister, who today is with her family, celebrating her 77th birthday, on the 7th day of the 7th month of the 7th year of the century. Happy Birthday love. Good Fortune!

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not. Emerson


Husband and I have been traveling the last couple of days, - medical traveling, which seems to be the sum and substance of our adventures out of the valley these days (these months, these years!!!)

Nevertheless, whatever the reasons for going there are back roads to wander while getting there, and that makes everything worth while.

It was early afternoon when we left the Oliver Hospital. I have never been partial to baking heat as experienced in the South Okanagan on really, really hot days, so was relieved and delighted when Husband took the high road through the narrow pass out of Oliver and on to the White Lake plateau.

It was too hot to stop and take pictures, but we wended our way leisurely along the
empty road, lone travelers enjoying the country we traveled through. Below us, on the Oliver/Osoyoos highway the traffic was crowded and stressful, and the Valley steamed!

We passed the Fairview turnoff, and noted the site of the old Fairview Mining Townsite. Not having the right kind of vehicle to travel the road that leads through the hills to Cawston we continued along the narrow pass that emerges into Willowbrook country.
The Ponderosa pines give way to open ranchland and roads that lead off to the south and waken memories of old timers who pioneered the first ranches. And of times that we have picnicked or cross country skied in the area.

Husband remembers the places where he delivered hay in his trucking days, and the friend who had a butcher shop, and the one who grew potatoes and was married to the sister of the wife of a good buddy.

Across the valley is the White Lake Observatory and its myriad towers that send out signals and decipher that ones that are picked up from space, but we do not come close to it unless we turn right towards Penticton. However, the dry alkaline lakes that lend it their name are not too far off the road.

We have had a little trip down memory lane before we come to the bend in the road that takes us through Twin Lake country. We comment on size of the houses that now surround the lake, and compare the lakes with memories from years gone by.

Well, a little before our time.........




















As we descend into the valley that will take us home we pass the Twin Lakes Golf Club, of happy memory, and the emotions here are tinged with regret that golfing is not something we can do any more. We watch with envy the old timers who are out for Men's Night on a Thursday afternoon.


 The heat returns as we travel the valley bottom, and we are glad to get home to the two lucky animals who have spent the hours we have been away in the wonderfully cool atmosphere of an air conditioned house.

We collapse with a cool drink, and contemplate the return journey we must make on the morrow to return the monitors Husband is festooned with.

The Evening Light and the Similkameen Hills

It is Friday evening, the last breath of June. The day has been a little cooler, and tonight there are clouds in the sky which temper the light from the setting sun and enhance the shadows on the Hills.



I go outside and take two or three pictures, and then come back into the house.










The clouds move, and over to the east, across Daly Bluffs, a faint rainbow draws me outside again.


I follow the sun to the north, to where the lower bench of the hill is illuminated. The shadows of the clouds continue to move, and change the pattern on the hillside.

Truly a splendid sight.

















The showers move into the Cawston Basin, softening the vividness of the setting sun and casting a misty presence.








Full of a quiet and yet astounding beauty, - this Valley tugs at the heart and delights the senses.