Veteran's Week in Canada
November 5th to November 11th




In Remembrance


Here is a video in Remembrance of those who gave their lives in the First World War

The music is Sarah Brightman singing 'Pie Jesu'

Video "Battle of the Somme - Real Footage"


Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone

When they come I will stand my ground
Stand my ground I'll not be afraid

Thoughts of home take away my fear
Sweat and blood hide my veil of tears
Once a year say a prayer for me
Close your eyes and remember me
Never more shall I see the sun
For I fell to a Germans gun

Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Lay me down in the cold cold ground
Where before many more have gone
Where before many more have gone

Joseph Kilna MacKenzie

In Flanders Fields - Click here for the most popular videos

Skywatch Friday

November surprised us yesterday with a sunrise that was unexpectedly spectacular, and very brief.



Within five minutes it had faded to a delicate pink.



But in the west the moon was still high in the sky, a porcelain coin in the gradually brightening sky.



A pretty gift from a usually dour month, - given a little grudgingly perhaps....

For wonderful skies visit Skywatch Friday here.

ABC Wednesday

P is for Peony

A spectacular flowering plant, native to Asia, southern Europe and western North America but cherished wherever they can be grown.

The Peony is named after Pacon, a student of Aesculapius, the Greek god of medicine and healing. Aesculapius became jealous of his pupil, but Zeus saved Pacon from the wrath of Asclepius by turning him into the peony flower. (Wikipedia)

The photo above is called Candy Cane and is from a Peony Tree that is just starting to flourish and bloom in our new garden.

In our Old Lost Garden the Peony Tree was about twenty-five years old, and the blooms were magnificent for about a week, but then faded and the ground around the tree was covered with wine coloured petals.



This lovely Oriental Poppy below accompanied us to our new home and blooms along with some wild buttercups that were transplanted with it originally from #2 son's garden.



This is a delicate white peony with a pretty blush that is just establishing itself in the new garden.



Along with the plum blossom the Peony is a traditional floral symbol of Mongolia. It is known as the 'flower of riches and honour,' and is used symbolically in Chinese art.



How can one help but love a flower that is as appealing as this....



For more interesting P's visit ABC Wednesday here with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt

November, - to me it has always been the most poignant of months.

I am trying to change my perception, and to look upon it as a month of opportunity, comfort and a drawing in to the sweetness of home. A new season, new ventures, - a little knitting plan, perhaps a celebratory lunch out with friends; a little time each day at the piano and some new ragtime to learn. Oh, I can see the possibilities.

Here are some pictures to brighten up the melancholy month.....












There is a big pot of apples simmering on the stove, - the smell is absolutely delicious.

I am off to squish them into applesauce, - another bright spot in November!!!

All Saints' Day



As celebrated at Mount Olivet Methodist United Church with the processional hymn For All the Saints. Bishop William Walsham How's stirring words and Ralph Vaughn William's splendid tune, Sine Nomine.

One of my favourite Sundays in the Church commemorating and honouring all those faithful enduring and endearing ones who have gone before us.

This year I played it at home on the piano, faithfully.....

Skywatch Friday
October 30th, 2009



The trees were brilliant, - vibrant with color as we made our way from one valley to another.

But above the sky brooded, dark and dour. Mysterious mists drifted between the clefts of the hills and alongside the creeks.



The camera saw things that I didn't see as we sped along, blurring the glint of grasses and the cranberry reds along side the road.



Today it snowed!!

If you want to see beautiful skies after these doleful examples skip over to Skywatch, here, and feast your soul.

ABC Wednesday

O is for Ostrich



The Ostrich by Ogden Nash

The ostrich roams the great Sahara.
Its mouth is wide, its neck is narra.
It has such long and lofty legs,
I'm glad it sits to lay its eggs.



Photos courtesy of the Internet, - could not find anyone to acknowledge.

ABC Wednesday which is so kindly hosted by Denise Nesbitt has oodles of O's for you, so hop on over by clicking here.

I snip the last of the dried roses into an overflowing potpourri basket and wonder what I will do with these lovely reminders of summer. Will I make wreaths? Where will I find the vines for them if I manage to realize my aspirations (which doesn't happen too often lately)?

Still, - a glorious wreath of dried roses and lovely red hips with a bright velvet bow would be quite delectable and inviting....

Autumn is gathering the days in, - the time between dawn and dusk diminishes and with All Hallow's Eve upon us the excitement of Christmas hovers just around life's next corner.

These are busy days. I make applesauce with my new shiny colander, and yesterday a jar of beautiful amber apple juice to refresh breakfast, an apple cake chock-a-block with raisins and walnuts for a Celebration of Life reception and a batch of orange muffins (which are so easy you seem to be popping them into the oven seconds after the thought of making them occurred to you.

In the blender you whirl up one whole orange, cut into quarters, 1/2 cup of orange juice, 1/2 cup of raisins, 1 egg and 1/2 cup of oil.

You mix this gently with 1 and 1/2 cups of flour, 1 tsp baking soda, 1/2 tsp salt and 1/2 cup of sugar which you have combined in a bowl.

Into a 350F oven they go for about 20 or 25 minutes. A lovely light muffin for tea time.


It has been a fly away week. It was Thursday when we made the trip to Penticton for the Class of '42 luncheon. The scenery was glorious on the drive over, - we seemed to be encased in the glowing shades of autumn.



There is only a smidgin of the Class of 42 still living close by, - and indeed, only a very few more elsewhere.

For twenty years, after the fortieth anniversary, this class met annually for a happy weekend of friendship and remembrance, some coming 3,000 miles from the Eastern Maritimes.



Somewhere in the last ten years the reunions became an evening out as energy dwindled and the ability to travel diminished. Now we meet quarterly for lunch!

This is Charles's Class of '42 but they open their hearts to spouses and I have many dear friends amongst them.



The talk is comfortable - there is no vying for position as there might have been in early years. There are no illusions, - there is laughter and friendship and remembrances and occasionally now sorrow at the news of deaths or disabilities.

And so it goes, - the air is still this morning. The leaves are falling gently on their own volition. Within October's brightness and beauty and bustle I find interwoven a faint gossamer thread of melancholy.

Skywatch Friday
October 23rd, 2009



A dour day in the Similkameen, with skies to match.

All except for a few errant clouds, full of glee and giggles, gamboling along the horizon.

For more interesting skies click here and slide over to Skywatch Friday.

Here is a little re-tread - a posting from the first October I was blogging, in 2006.

The lovely line of golden pear trees has been removed by the farmer, and so it is now just a memory, but it seems that that is what this posting was about in great part - memories.

O suns and skies and clouds of June,

And flowers of June together,

Ye cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather.

October's poplars are flaming torches
lighting the way to winter.
- Nova Bair

In this case it is a Sunset Maple, but just below us is a straight line of pears, which reach like golden torches to the sky.

Many years ago, in the 1960’s and 70’s, we owned the orchard just across the highway from the land these trees stand on. At its eastern end was a block of magnificent old pear trees, and I remember one autumn in particular when the leaves on these trees turned golden, scarlet, subtle and luminous shades of green, soft yellows and glowing earth tones. What a gorgeous tapestry it was.

We pastured sheep amongst the trees on this property. The apple trees were old, - gnarled

Macintosh and red and striped Delicious. It was more like a park than an orchard. The sheep cropped the grass and lent a pastoral air to the land.

The sheep were a family enterprise, - everybody participated, right down to the littlest ones feeding the occasional orphan lambs with bottles. But the Shepherd and the Shepherd’s Border Collie, Candy, were the ones who had most rapport with the flock. Candy arrived in the Shepherd’s pocket one day, to the children’s delight. The Shepherd trained her well, and they made an extraordinary team.

At one time we had four hundred ewes, and lambing time was a mixture of pleasurable anticipation, as we picked out the ewes who were liable to lamb that night by observing them at feeding time, and intense maternity activity in the hours to follow. The Shepherd calmed the sheep, just by walking into the barn and speaking to them, and Candy kept vigil at the door.

The flock were not the most profitable venture, but we had some sheep all the time we were on the farm, and they were the part of farming that brought us the most satisfaction and delight. And sometimes frustration. I have a cameo of trying to herd a recalcitrant ewe back to where she belonged without the help of the dog, tears and rage vying for dominance..

Eventually we planted rutabagas as a ground crop, - seven miles of rutabagas, - up one row and down the next. It was a labour intensive operation, but it was also a time of free spirits and “hippies” who turned their backs on established lives and sought the wonders and adventures of the open road. A lot of them found their way to us, and in particular a University Art Professor who had chosen the alternate style of living, and seemed to be a mentor to all the young people who traveled with him. We learned a lot from these people, and grew especially fond of some of them. Some of our children were at a vulnerable age, and took to smoking the funny cigarettes that were so prevalent at the time and contributed so much to the way of life. It is hard to judge the ambivalent influence these children of the New Age had on our family, but they came back year after year and were a great help to us.

Our farm ran parallel to the highway, and it was not hard to judge the influence the topless turnip workers had on the community driving by!!!!

ABC Wednesday

N is for Nomads



a note of interest, - one in three of Iran's nomadic homes has a Cell phone.


Nomads

The desert-born may yearn for desert places,
The yellow drifting sand, possessive sun,
As seamen crave the wide untrammeled spaces
Between the continents to which they run.

But I was born where woods and waters mingle
A land of contrasts pleasant to the eye,
Where cultured fields and intervening dingle*
With wrinkled unkempt mountain ranges vie.

Yet desert-born and I alike will face
What Time must bring us in its tireless flight, -
Obscurity or glory or disgrace, -
The unexpected star, - the sudden night!

* an Irish term denoting a 'fort', such as were found in this country in early years.

This poem Nomads is by The Prospector, and that is all I can tell you about it, or the author, except that it is on the last page of a book of western poetry entitle 'Lonely Trails', covered in red leather, well thumbed, belonging to my husband, printed in Victoria, B.C. some time in the first half of the last century and containing other poems of local interest in this valley and the Okanagan.

Perhaps somebody out there knows the identity of The Prospector?

A trip to Grace Church

I murmured a soft goodnight to the man who was engrossed in a game of Free Cell.

He turned and said, "Will we go to church in Hedley in the morning?"

Hmmmm - will we go to church in Hedley in the morning? The service starts at 9 a.m.. I hesitate, but then rise early to get ready and be on time.

We breakfast to a beautiful sunrise and soon we are on the road.....



Grace Methodist Church in the old gold mining town of Hedley was built in 1902, which is a long time for a church to be around and functioning in the west.

I have posted pictures of the road to Hedley before, but not at this season of the year when the colours are glorious along the river.

 

Click on the mosaic to see the pictures more clearly.....

We followed the Similkameen up the valley; Charles, with one eye on the road and the other scanning for interesting photo ops. He pointed out Crater Mountain in the far distance, and the cleft in the mountains where the Ashnola river comes into the Similkameen. In the sunlight the trees seemed to have revived some of their clear, splendid colours after Jack Frost's disastrous visit.

As we approached Hedley to the left just off the road was a very tall pole with a platform on the top of it, cradling either an eagle's nest, or an osprey's. We concluded that it had been moved off a power pole for safety.

Down the hill and into the old town of Hedley, we circled around by ancient buildings and new improvements, pulling up to the church just before 9 a.m.

Only to find the service starts at 9.30. - but the pastor was there, - as I opened the door he was preparing for the service, and gave us such a hearty welcome we were happy to have the extra time to talk to him. An old friend, and lots of catching up to do. A wood fire burned cheerily in one corner of the church and a few of the pews held comfy looking pillows, which we were careful not to confiscate. One must be wary where one sits when visiting a church lest someone comes in and looks down their nose at you, because you are in 'their place'!

A different type of service from what we are used to, - lots of singing and good solid bible instruction. We did Colossians this morning. The pews were hard and upright, but the compassion and spirit in the church was comfortable, friendly and palpable.

They have an absolutely delicious organ, donated by a friend of the church, and the pastor's wife makes lovely music. My fingers itched to play it.....

We stayed for coffee, but not for an invitation to lunch, - keeping in mind the little dog at home and his needs for regular business trips.

I took a picture of the river from the same spot that Charles had photographed it in 1942 - it is in the collage. As we neared home we passed the covered red bridge, newly clad in bright red, but an ancient structure that has served the valley well for almost a hundred years.

Rolling down the main street we peered into a dozen fruit stands, - it is the time of the pumpkin. Look for them piled around the stands and lining the road.

A lovely Sunday morning. The service ended with the chorus of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. Just perfect!

I was busy making applesauce when the call came...

Well, not an actual call, - just an intuitive peek out the window that told me there was a definite need for a Go-fer outside.

We spent the morning gathering up hoses and blowing the last drops of water out of them with the air compressor.

We have a fairly comprehensive watering system that Charles has devised to keep labour to a minimum, but as a consequence some hoses don't ever get moved and the grass grows tangled over them, securing them firmly to the earth beneath them.

One of these stationary hoses travels along underneath the fence, behind the compost storage, and through the pumpkin vines. While I was moving the grass that entrapped
the hose what to my wondering eyes did appear? (Wondering eyes see things in the autumn as well as at Christmas when reindeer fly....)

Three large pumpkins that had grown at the end of vines that had wandered off into the orchard, well hidden under the grasses.



What a lovely surprise!

Added to the two I had already harvested that makes FIVE pumpkins....

And what will I do with fifty pounds of pumpkin????

Pumpkin muffins, pumpkin cake, pumpkin pies (oh, definitely) -

Can I get away with pumpkin soup?

I could make jack-0-lanterns but alas, we are not exactly in the country that the goblins frequent any more - off the beaten track, so to speak, even for witches and broomsticks.



It was a pleasant morning, - mild and calm. There was blue sky, and saddened colours in the trees and bushes. I could hear the walnuts clattering into the pail as Ruth-next-door picked them up off the ground where they had fallen from the denuded trees when Jack Frost decided to vacation here on the week-end.



Some blue sky, white clouds and a subdued maple.



Delicate grasses



A welcome to the coolness and shade in the orchard....



And the first tentative blooms in the Chrysanthemum bed...



Altogether a really pleasing day!

SkyWatch Friday
October 16th, 2009

Last year's fierce and fiery October Skies



And this year's morose and melancholy clouds that brood above us....



But we are only half way through the month, and there is still time for October's deep blue skies and splendid sunrises to bless us.

To see what the skies are doing around the world skip over to SkyWatch Friday by clicking on the sidebar label.

Energy, Enthusiasm, Generosity

All great virtues.

I have been browsing in a book that sits by my bedside, 'Being Generous - The Art of Right Living', and I thought I would like to post my thoughts on this very vibrant quality of life.

However I am weary tonight, and lacking in the spirit it would take to do this subject justice.

But all is not lost.

I keep Longfellow handy, and his poem 'A Psalm of Life' has been lanquishing on the dining room table, sending me signals as my enthusiasm has waned with the dastardly deed Jack Frost performed, three nights running.... stealing that beautiful few weeks we call Indian Summer, when the trees are brilliant with colour, and leaving in its place a landscape of saddened shades, as if they had all been dipped in an iron mordent. The scarlet maples. their leaves touched with frost, dry and ready to drop, are pale shades of their usual splendour.

And yet, how can I complain and not appreciate the melancholy earthy colours that transform the trees and bushes? And the sparkle of the ice in the orchards where the farmers had left their sprinklers on for protection.



But it was dispiriting, and I pick up the Psalm of Life and read it over, and will it to transfer its enthusiasm to my soul.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

and then the last verse, stirs the spirit and sparks the soul!

Let us then be up and doing,
with a heart for any fate'
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

ABC Wednesday

M is for Mandolin



A mandolin is a musical instrument in the lute family (plucked, or strummed). It is descended from the mandore, a soprano member of the lute family. It has a body with a teardrop-shaped soundboard, or one which is essentially oval in shape, with a soundhole, or soundholes, of varying shapes which are open and are not decorated with an intricately carved grille like the Baroque era mandolins.[from Wikipedia)

A great instrument for Blue Grass music...

Give a listen to 'Whiskey before Breakfast' and set your toes a-tapping....



For more great M's visit ABC Wednesday here. with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt.

Jack Frost
By C.E. Pike

Look out! Look out!
Jack Frost is about!|
He’s after our fingers and toes;
And all through the night,
The gay little sprite
Is working where nobody knows.

He’ll climb each tree,
So nimble is he,
His silvery powder he’ll shake.
To windows he’ll creep
And while we’re asleep
Such wonderful pictures he’ll make.

Across the grass
He’ll merrily pass,
And change all its greenness to white.
Then home he will go
And laugh ho, ho ho!
What fun I have had in the night.

The young sprite dropped in for a sleep-over last night, but he must have got restless and wandered outside with his icy wand, frolicking around the garden and the neighbour's sprinkler line.

The Weatherman has been forecasting his visit for the last few days, so he didn't arrive unexpectedly. A couple of days ago I gathered up the geraniums and potted them, and now they sit on the window sill in the big bathroom, preparing to brighten up November, which is the gloomiest of months.



I picked the roses and the green tomatoes and brought them in to safety.

Nevertheless the Frosty Fellow did a job on the tenderest of my annuals, the nasturtiums. They were a lovely big pot of round green leaves with bright oranges and reds and yellows peeping out between the greenery.



Now they have been completely devastated....



Around the corner and up the hill where the neighbour had her sprinklers running Jack left a frosty fairyland glistening in the morning sun. It stayed this way all day as I believe the rascal has just wandered off a little way to sleep in the sunshine and will be back tonight to see what other mischief he can stir up.



It is too soon. The Chrysanthemums have still not bloomed, there are apples to be picked and a lot of fall work to attend to. Hopefully this will be just a 'touch of Frost' and he will be on his way, back up the mountain where he is supposed to be painting leaves and doing other creative things that bring pleasure from afar..