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.

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.