October 5th, 2011

A rainy day......

Yesterday's clouds were a good indication of what we might expect today.

But nevertheless,  when I had trouble getting to sleep last night I consoled myself with plans to visit
 the hillside garden when Charles went singing this morning, gather up all the pots and collect the lovely loam we packed into them in the spring to make a bed for the day lilies that have been waiting restlessly in a big tub.


Instead, I cleaned the fridge.  A real necessity with turkey and pumpkin pies looming for Thanksgiving feasting.

Which brings me to the subject of gratitude!  Hear the words of Hafiz of Persia...

Even after all this time,

The sun never says to the earth,

"You owe me".

Look what happens with

A love like that.

It lights the whole sky.

Which pretty well says it all, doesn't it ?

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.  Kahlil Gibran

this beautiful photo by Giangiorgio Crisponi

 I have read somewhere that the new Testament teaches that religion is grace, but ethics is gratitude, and so for all these magnificent gifts the universe dispenses the ethical person will be mindful and find happiness in their appreciation for even the smallest of them,

 and awe at the greatest.

Well, today I am grateful that after lunch and a nice visit from Son #1 the rains went away and Charles and I took the truck and went up the hill to retrieve some  pots of flowers that were past their best shelf date but still had lots of re-usable soil.......

Another snippet I read today about gratitude.....

"We are told that people stay in love because of chemistry, or because they remain intrigued with each other, because of many kindnesses, because of luck. 

 But part of it has got to be forgiveness and gratefulness".  Ellen Goodman

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is the elegant L

The last time we visited L I brought with me Lang Lang, playing Leibestraum by Liszt.

He has come again with Beethoven's Appassionata (Sonato No. 23, Op. 57, First Movement), - one of my favourites and Lang Lang seems to play it with some discipline and at a fairly reasonable pace.

For more lovely L's visit here, at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

I wake this morning, and it is October.

Wild October, with its beautiful russets and transparent greens

the sunflowers, small suns against the laden apple trees

glowing grasses, delicate and sun blown

Mary Cassett 1880

the garden on the hill glowing with intense purples

And down here in town my hundred square feet of transplants that look like nothing more than sticks, thirsty for today's rain that gathers any lingering summer energies and deposits them around the newly planted roots of peony and delphinium and daisies and one lovely potted rose in the centre of it all - the Abraham Darby that was waiting for me at the garden nursery.............

I love October, - I wait in eager anticipation for vivid sunrises, fiery sunsets, scarlet rose hips, misty mornings and that wonderful feeling of quietness, - the hush of autumn as the earth prepares herself for sleep.

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd and plump the hazel shells

with a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

and still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er brimm'd their clammy cells.

John Keats

Ode to Autumn

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is K

and K stands for the Kootenays

Kootenay, which is the name used for the south east corner of British Columbia, comes from the Kootenay First Nation, a group of linguistically distinct Native people who occupied the eastern part of the Kootenays, and whose territory extends into northern Washington, Idaho and Montana.

The western portion of the Kootenay district was also occupied by Interior Salishan Natives,  related to the Coastal people, or by Thompson River-Shuswap Natives.

About 100 years ago prospectors came to the West Kootenays, attracted by its rich ore deposits, and mining and ghost towns haunt the area, silent relics of past treasures.

Ghost town of Slocan Mines

Geographically the Kootenays are spectacular.  Four parallel mountain ranges march successively across the southeastern B.C. landscape, - the Monashees, followed by the rugged Selkirks, and further east the Purcells, and then the Rockies.

Kootenay Lake , which is 65 miles long, runs in a north south direction, and the Kootenay river joins with the Columbia near Castlegar.

The part of the Crowsnest Highway east of Grand Forks is called the Skyway, and it is the highest elevation paved highway in Canada.  The stretch between Salmo and Creston, where avalanches are a fact of life, is infamous for dangerous driving conditions in the winter.

The Salmo Creston Pass

The Kootenays are a marvelous part of British Columbia.

There is skiing and hot springs, wildlife and parks. wonderful backroads

to travel and all those mysterious ghost towns

to investigate.

Here is a pictures of the caves at the Ainsworth Hot Springs

and below it a picture of the famous Cody Caves, which heat the springs at Ainsworth.

The Kootenays are a super place to spend some time if you are celebrating the letter K

and for more interesting K's visit here at ABC Wednesday.

September 26th, 2011

"A late summer garden has a tranquility found no other time of the year".   Wm. Longgood

Well, I am busy trying to beat the clock and the calendar.   Up early, once again filled with Monday morning zip!

Breakfast over and the bread machine busy making its own peculiar noises as it kneads the bread, I leave it to its own devices and am off up the hill.  The SUV is stuffed with odd pails and pots and plastic boxes.  Overhead dark clouds loom ominously (have you ever know dark clouds to loom any other way?), a west wind blows, and I am aware that this is going to be a fast trip if I am to beat the the storm home.

I make my way through the overgrown garden, coming first to the Oriental peony. which is surrounded by ranunculus running rampant through the iris.

 A delight to dig the peony, - the soil is moist and crumbly and I find about a dozen lovely brown tubers that look like small sweet potatoes.  I will be able to make a whole row of Oriental poppies, I think to myself.  With great enthusiasm.  Until I remember the scope of this new garden and my determination to keep it within bounds.  It is such a lovely plant, and has a history of being moved, - first from David's garden, then to the old lost garden, - from there up to the hillside and now it will flourish as a townie.

Not too far away is the red Bleeding heart, that looks like a real push-over with all its stems cut back in preparation for the move.  It comes out nicely, as does the bergamot....the wind comes up a little, but I ignore it and go to tackle the big peony plants, which I suspect may request more brawn than I have......

But I persevere and eventually I have two large clumps of peony tubers in my plastic pot. and I heave it into the back of the SUV.  I like that word 'heave' - I did literally heave it, as it was much too heavy to lift.

Now to find that beautiful rust and gold iris that I posted a couple of weeks ago.  I know which bed it is in, - but which particular tuber might it be????  I dig up the one I think it is, and two surrounding it, and hope that if I am wrong whoever cares for the garden next year will be generous.....

The clouds are lowering and looking rather mean, so I quickly dig up a small shrub we planted for our anniversary last year, - pop it into a pot, and just then I feel the first drops of rain.  Off down the hill, - I arrive just as Charles is disappearing into the garage and closing the door!!!!!  Nevertheless, I quickly unload and hope I waken with the same cheerful, energetic spirit tomorrow morning, so everything can get replanted!

"Spring flowers are long since gone.  Summer's bloom hangs limp on every terrace.  The gardener's feet drag a bit on the dusty path and the hinge in his back is full of creaks".   Louis Seymour Jones

Saturday night -

And I am remembering Monday morning and all the plans that buoyed me as I rose early, full of energy and enthusiasm.

Well, Monday was fine,  - I was up early and cut the side lawn, started the sprinkler on the raised bed and then went up to the garden on the hill and dug up a small yellow rose, a bit of the coral bell and a pretty daisy that I planted in the spring.  Brought them home,  planted and watered them, and was pleased with myself!

Tuesday morning Charles needed the SUV to go and sing with the senior's choir at a funeral, but undismayed, I planned an afternoon excursion to the garden for some peonies, but alas, it didn't materialize.

Wednesday was a repeat of Tuesday, except this time Charles needed the SUV to go to the Care Facility and sing with the senior's choir, - what a skylark he is becoming!!!

Thursday and Friday were taken up with preparing a short history of our ninety year old church to put into a brochure for an Anglican Regional District Car Rally, and today was the day we were inundated with 52 extra Anglicans, having fun, spreading good cheer, and hungry as bears.  They ate up every bit of the lunch we had prepared for them!!!!

At a very brief service before they were able to pounce on the food, Nick (our new minister) finished with a prayer, and I immediately recognized the concerted Amen that followed as Anglican, pure and simple.  No hesitation, they responded as one and my heart remembered my early days in the Anglican church and I felt at once poignant and comforted.

I have been reading lately about 'cellular memory' and the heart being a possible storage spot for memories - very interesting concept.  Surely the memories we gather in our childhood are the ones that catch us unawares and touch us most deeply.

I cherish the time we spent this week with our 'landlord kids' in whose house we are living.  They hung things for us, put in new doors, with our oldest son's help put Charles' lift into the garage and replaced the sunroom steps, - were a treasure to have around and have now gone back to their meadowland in the Cariboo.

Only one week left in September, - the month I had earmarked for settling plants into the new bed.  Will I make the deadline?  MUST I be so organized??????

an early morning sunrise

The landlord son...

I think we could exchange his beard for my hair, and vice versa - just turn them upside down!!!

The Skylark in his singing regalia, and off to the side a portrait of him when he was 17

ABC |Wednesday
September 21st, 2011

The letter of the week is J
J is for Jester, and we give you Danny Kay in the role!


Enjoy...

For more happy J's please visit here at ABC Wednesday.

September 19th, 2001

I am out cutting the little side lawn, enjoying the pearly fall crocus and the few delicate pink roses that have deigned to provide a small but exquisite autumn show.  The hand push mower makes a lovely whirring sound and there is the faintest aroma of freshly cut grass as I enjoy the blue sky and the summery clouds in the crisp, cool September air.

When I am finished I go to measure the length and width of the raised garden bed in which I plan to plant the peonies and delphinium, the scarlet bergamot and pristine phlox, a couple of iris, a few roses, some pearly everlasting, a bit of coral bell and probably some sage - stop, stop!  It is only 24 feet long and 3 and a half feet wide.  I must be content with small snippets...... but I will smother the composter in the far corner of the back garden with day lilies, some Stella d'Oro and the big red streaked ones that are so showy.

It is very hard for me to admit to myself that I am now eighty-six, and the day-long sessions I once enjoyed in the garden have shrunk to an hour or two in deference to aching muscles and failing energy, but for those shortened hours I am incredibly grateful, and I can always dream on a grand scale!

This afternoon I will go up to our house on the hill that stands, empty eyed, gazing over that lovely vista to the Cawston hills, and I will delight in the garden that continues with its business of creating beauty while it procreates, - making seeds, pushing the Chinese Underground Railway a little farther into the suburbs, swelling corms and bulbs and  rosehips.  I will gather the dried pods of the heritage sweet pea that will crackle and burst in my hands, scattering more progeny at its feet and bring home roses and the second flush of delphiniums to sweeten the house and reflect in the mirrors and our memories.

Life is good.....

Saturday, September 17th, 2011

1. The Witch's ball finally hangs in the dining room window

      and as the Witch gazes through its magical blueness

she begins to feel more and more

that it is time

 to park her broom

and take up permanent residence.

Time to shake away

the cobwebs of uncertainty

and unsettledness.

Turn to her knitting

and learn once again the intricacies of

the Long Tail Cast On

ABC Wednesday
September 13th, 2011

I is the letter for this week.

I is for Iris, and although it is not the least bit original I hope you might enjoy this picture of an Enchanting Iris from the June Garden.

Since Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her sacred flower is considered the symbol of communication and messages.  

Greek men would often plant an iris on the graves of their beloved women as a tribute to the goddess Iris, whose duty it was to take the souls of women to the Elysian fields.

For more interpretations of the letter I  click here to visit ABC Wednesday.

September 12th, 2011

I wait impatiently for the days to cool, for the garden to show signs of sleepiness as it gets ready for bed -  but summer lingers on.  By mid-morning it is too warm to be out in the garden, and by late afternoon, when there should be a cool September breeze to make happy hour on the verandah a welcome break it is still and heavy - no lightness in the air that speaks to one of September when the garden catches its breath and the delphinium and the roses send forth blooms that rival suimmer's show.

Usually, by this time in September the Aster displays tentative shaggy flowers, while all over the dark green bush buds promise a glorious tribute to fall later in the month, but this year both they and the 'mums are content  to graciously bide their time while summer flowers give us one last tender retrospect.

We wait for cool mornings, mild afternoons and early evenings to refresh the spirit that laboured under August's heat.

I go up the hill to the garden we left in mid summer and dig up bits of lavender, the Christmas rose and the purple hellebore that is just now coming into bloom.  I have replanted the astilbe and this week I will cut back the peonies, - the white ones and the pink ones and the brilliant red - and bring them to plant in the long raised bed in the back garden.  And then I will go to the nursery and hopefully find an Abraham Darby and a Prairie Princess and a white Winchester Cathedral to plant between the peonies and delphiniums.  And at the back, against the fence, we will plant the heritage sweetpeas and some sunflowers, and place the lady fountain somewhere amidst the shade with some forget-me-nots around her feet.

And then I will be able to get my knitting out, and finally feel at home and contented.

Thursday, September 8th, 2011

I go to the library.  It seems such a long time since I've been there, - the summer has not been conducive to long lazy spells with a book in my hand,and not much else on my mind but the enjoyment of a leisurely summer afternoon.

I come home with Wendell Berry's Essay, 'Life is a Miracle' and I can hardly wait to put everything aside and take it to bed with me......

Wendell Berry is a good antidote to Marvin Minsky.

He is of the opinion that "the most radical influence of reductive science has been the virtually universal adoption of the idea that the world, its creatures, and all the parts of its creatures are machines - that is, that there is no difference between creature and artifice, birth and manufacture, thought and computation.  Our language, wherever it is used, is now almost invariably conditioned by the assumption that fleshly bodies are machines full of mechanisms, fully compatible with the mechanisms of medicine, industry, and commerce, and that minds are computers fully compatible with electronic technology"

Berry contends that we must go beyond empirical knowledge to imaginative knowledge, - to knowing things "intimately, particularly, precisely, gratefully, reverently, and with affection."

There, that makes me feel much better, - I really didn't like the idea of being a machine and giving up my old traditional ideas and the faith which supposes that life is full of unpredictable mysteries.

This evening there was a pale moon rising as the sun turned the western sky a lovely apricot colour, and as I dug a nice moist spot for the lavender and astilbe plants I brought down from the garden-on-the-hill.

Of course  no matter how I aimed the camera there were still wires to remind me that the moon shines with equal elegance on town and country.

and the Cawston hills still glow with the setting sun.

ABC Wednesday

H is the letter for this sunny week

H is for Vilhelm Hammershoi.

Of an exhibition of this celebrated Danish painter's work

entitled, " The Poetry of Silence"

it is said

"Hammershoi\s most compelling works are his quiet, haunting interiors, their emptiness disturbed only occasionally by the presence of a solitary, graceful figure, often the artist's wife.

Painted within a small tonal range of implied greys, these sparsely-furnished rooms exude an almost hypnotic quietude and sense of melancholic introspection.

In addition to the interiors, the exhibition also includes Hammershoi's arresting portraits, landscapes and his evocative city views, notably the deserted streets of London on a misty winter morning.  The magical quietness of Hammershoi's work can be seen in the context of international Symbolist movements of the turn of the last century but the containment and originality of his art makes it unique."

Besides the quiet greys and blues Hammershoi occasionally used subdued yellows in his paintings.

Follow the open doors into the heart of Hammershoi's magical paintings, and click here for more wonderful interpretations of the letter H, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her helpers.

Living in Town

Here we are, behind the white picket fence, still hanging pictures, still shelving books, still opening boxes, still looking for the pink USB, the clock that hung in the breakfast nook, various bits and drills, things that got stowed away when we first arrived that we haven't seen since, and what we really search for is that sense of settlement that probably won't appear until the last picture is placed just so, and the book shelves have been sorted into some semblance of order and when we grow used to gazing across the street at the neighbour's pretty garden

rather than that lovely vast expanse of mountains and sky and the distant valley, stretching out into meadows and blue haze.  How lucky we are to have spent most of our married life in that environment.

And now, how lucky we are to have neighbours who come to visit and welcomed us with baking, and supply us with tomatoes and cucumbers and freshly picked carrots and beans out of their town gardens.

And how wonderful it is that Charles can get up and shower and dress and steer his cart up the road, around the corner, and arrive at the Senior's centre where they are always looking for a fourth for bridge and his social life has expanded just as wide as that lovely vast expanse of mountains and sky and distant valley.

We pick up the mail just around the corner and the library is a short stroll down the road.  A nice clear area of undeveloped parkland opens up to the benchland that rises behind us, and there are those mountains and bluffs and white clouds and  blue sky that we see now from a different direction, but they are as lovely as ever.

I look out my kitchen window into what seems like a deep forest of pine and fir, lightened by the sunlight on the leaves of nut trees and great long bamboo like shoots that slide their huge and glorious leaves through the fence into the side path that divides us.

Life doesn't always have compensations as fine and comforting as those we are enjoying in our ancient days, and so we are grateful for what each day brings, and maybe next time Charles makes a Grand Slam he will have been brave enough to have bid it!!!!

ABC Wednesday
August 31st, 2011

The letter this week is the auGust G

G is for Gratitude

Here is a litany of gratitude written by Anne Porter, poet, born in 1911

In Publishers Weekly David Shapiro observed that 'Porter writes what might best be called plainsong: short, unadorned works that, like gospel or folk music, cut directly to the ambiguous heart of things."

A List of Praises

by Anne Porter
"Give praise with psalms that tell the trees to sing, Give praise with Gospel choirs in storefront churches, Mad with the joy of the Sabbath, Give praise with the babble of infants, who wake with the sun, Give praise with children chanting their skip-rope rhymes, A poetry not in books, a vagrant mischievous poetry living wild on the Streets through generations of children. Give praise with the sound of the milk-train far away With its mutter of wheels and long-drawn-out sweet whistle As it speeds through the fields of sleep at three in the morning, Give praise with the immense and peaceful sigh Of the wind in the pinewoods, At night give praise with starry silences. Give praise with the skirling of seagulls And the rattle and flap of sails And gongs of buoys rocked by the sea-swell Out in the shipping-lanes beyond the harbor. Give praise with the humpback whales, Huge in the ocean they sing to one another. Give praise with the rasp and sizzle of crickets, katydids and cicadas, Give praise with hum of bees, Give praise with the little peepers who live near water. When they fill the marsh with a shimmer of bell-like cries We know that the winter is over. Give praise with mockingbirds, day's nightingales. Hour by hour they sing in the crepe myrtle And glossy tulip trees On quiet side streets in southern towns. Give praise with the rippling speech Of the eider-duck and her ducklings As they paddle their way downstream In the red-gold morning On Restiguche, their cold river, Salmon river, Wilderness river. Give praise with the whitethroat sparrow. Far, far from the cities, Far even from the towns, With piercing innocence He sings in the spruce-tree tops, Always four notes And four notes only. Give praise with water, With storms of rain and thunder And the small rains that sparkle as they dry, And the faint floating ocean roar That fills the seaside villages, And the clear brooks that travel down the mountains And with this poem, a leaf on the vast flood, And with the angels in that other country." I follow a friend on Facebook, and each day she lists five things she is grateful for. What a lovely habit, and one I think we should all cultivate. Visit here at ABC Wednesday for a wonderful variety  based on the letter G.

As August draws to a close a last entry in August Break....

Lush, ripe apricots lie on the roof of the neighbour's shed, dwarfed by a towering walnut tree.  

Sunlight dapples the leaves and I wait for the birds to discover this bounty.