Just Skimming the Surface

I am not a religious person.

Not in the organized  I go to church every Sunday and pay my tithe and listen to the preacher/father/reverend tell me what's right and what's wrong while it  has waged wars, shed blood, burned women and children, harboured pederasts, and committed countless other shameful acts - all in the name of God .

Nope. Not for me.

But I am a spiritual person.

And when I need to connect with myself, my thoughts, my life,

I simply go outside.

And there I find peace. And harmony.

And a sense of wonder.

While garden nymphs gather rosebuds and  look for beauty beneath the bushes,

a miracle is beginning  to dawn along the shores of Cape May, New Jersey

.

It's a warm September morning. The air is soft, the seas are calming,

and the flock is ready.

Like all good sheep Black Skimmers, they face away from the windy waters

and do not go gladly into any storm.

There is usually a bit of strutting and jockeying for position, especially by the young'uns, but things get arranged as they should.

'Course, like in any congregation, there's always one who just needs a little more

time to say what he (or she) thinks needs to be said,

before settling in for the sermon.

and finally, it's time to just stop. And let waves of peace roll on over you.

Or not. For every flock must have a dissident.

Oddly enough, the little Sanderling wandered hither and yon,

amidst the flock, pecking and picking at the water's edge.

And not one feather was ruffled!  Well well. Well.

But you know, really?

These are flights of fancy, and I'm just winging it here.

But -  at the end of my hour on the beach, I've touched something incredible.

I feel that the sum of the parts is greater than the whole.

And I wonder if this little Black Backed Gull is playing charades?

See Pee?  Be Pee?

Oh flock, I don't know!

Here endeth the lesson.

Coming or Going?

Is he working his way out of the berry? His little feet gripping the branch and pulling steadfastly away? Or is he nibbling his way in, pushing with intent to devour?

It's not always clear in nature. And it's not always clear in life.

Are the berries better when they're plump, filled with juice, and ripe with promise? Or when they suddenly burst from their tight skins, forming tiny perfect florets that will last all winter, reminding us of autumn's promise.

Bitter. Sweet.

Both.

Bully for the Fall Fairs

It's fall. Leaves are changing colour, geese are gathering on the river's edge,

and the fall fairs have begun. A chance for local farmers and their families  to gather  and gloat about the things they've grown this year...

Hmmm. Nice, uh, hooves.

The competitive spirit isn't the men's domain alone though. The women can be downright proud of their efforts too. Whether it's flower gardening...

or the gentler arts  of winter like quilting, tole painting, and decoupaging...

The front foyer decorative display category is always interesting too...

Bonny Burton nailed 1st place for her Washboard Bunny with the Baby in a Box.

After all that competition, it's good to go shoot a few rounds

 and blow off some steam. 

The neon snakes and pink plush pigs are sure to make you feel like a winner.

And the rides are fun too.

No age limits here, it's fun for all...

And just when you think you've seen  everything you hear the distant sounds of the bagpipes and it's time to greet the newly crowned princess...

Rural real Ontario.

Corny? Yes.

Home? That too.

For Willie

This is the sunset that painted the island gold the day you died.

Saturday.

Because we had to make an informed, tough, heart breaking decision.

Whatever animal attacked you on Friday night did so

with intention to fatally maim.

And succeeded.

The Vet said she had never seen anything like it.

Neither had I when I opened the door at 1:00 am and saw your bloody tears streaming from your right eye.

That was the only injury. But it was enough.

Through the eyelid  (I never knew that cats have 3 of them for extra protection) through the cornea, through the entire eyeball. And beyond...almost into the brain cavity. Most likely there...so that there could be no guarantees. Antibiotics might stave off infection. Then again, they might not.

And most definitely, your eye would have to be removed. And your eyelid stitched shut for at least a week. And you would be in terrible pain.

And no guarantees that you would survive this.

My heart aches.

We chose to follow the Vet's recommendation...and so you are not here.

You are in the wind...and I heard you cry today when it thundered.

And so I cried too.

You were just learning how to be a cat with human friends

that you chose to live with. And we were learning together.

I feel like we betrayed you, and I'm so sorry.

But not sorry for having met you.

It wasn't long...and it wasn't enough. 

Willie.

The Misty DEW Line

The highest  populated point in Ontario (1640 ft. above sea level) is home to the village of Foymount, about an hour's drive from our home at 500 feet above sea level. Back in the 40's and 50's when it was feared that the Russians were coming, the Russians were coming, Foymount became the southern most post of the Distant Early Warning line, and the Royal Canadian Air Force built  many buildings and installed listening devices, including people to listen to them. They were all set to fire off a warning if a nuclear missile ever flew over.  Alas, the Russians never came, the Russians never came. So the site was closed in the 70's, and now it's a Sunday driving destination for the locals, who come to find specials at the (soon to close) Sierra Design factory that used to make rugged outdoor clothing in the former DEW line  HQ. And to see whatever else they can see on dreary, drippy days like yesterday.

Hard to believe my fancy schmancy ski jacket was born in there. Even these two kestrals find it difficult to believe

...As the lights are now off, and nobody's home.

Finding no bargains, we headed down the road...

 and through the mist to discover the quiet sentinels keeping watch.

With their backs to the road, they gaze over the meadow, holding a silent vigil, while waiting for their next meal.

If a tree falls in the forest, will vultures  hear it? What if a bomb drops?

Reed or Weed...Trash or Treasure

We have the absolute best, bar none, neighbours in the entire western world. No contest! They are kind, gentle, funny and friendly in assorted degrees. We get along great, and John and I consider ourselves blessed to count them as important people in our lives. When we go away, they watch the house and care for the cats. We share our garden with them. And we have dinner parties, and gatherings, and we laugh a lot together.

All except for one thing... and that is MY insistance that the beach grass remain undisturbed in front of our place. They respect that, they do, but it bugs them. They prefer an ocean style shorefront (where rapid wave action prevents grasses from establishing on the shoreline).

But what actually exists is a river's edge,where the plants establish themselves to prevent erosion of the shoreline, provide fish and amphibian habitat, and food for migrating birds. Not rocket science, but definitely botany and the laws of natural selection being imposed.

They  ( the two husbands) respect my wish not to have them "rake" our beach with their ATV's by dragging a bedspring type contraption behind them. And they cringe when I ask them how they're enjoying my grassy garden.
It's confusing ...they're here - riverside -  because they proclaim to love nature- the fish, the birds, bugs, and butterflies.

They just don't seem to make the connection between all of the things they like about the waterfront, and the impact that clearing it has. No fish. No birds. No bugs. No butterflies. Just a bunch of crows and vultures!  (seriously, they wouldn't be here either if there was just sand)

Drives me crazy really. And if either of the two hubby's ever read this, know that I love you both...but I don't love what you're doing to the shoreline.
There. Said it. (But you already knew all this).
It's very difficult to try and find the fine, thin line between good neighbours, boundaries, philosophies, and friendship.
Caw  caw!

I am not a Muse.

I have looked for you in the fields
In the sand

And in the garden.

And you pay me no attention.

I have called across the waves

Down the road

And out the back door.

You do not come when you are called.

You linger on the tips of the flower petals

You sit on the cat’s whiskers

And you dance on the table.

You do not do as you are told.

You startle with the spicy pesto

You bubble in the glass of wine

And you tangle with the raspberries.
You are not a refined taste.



You are hiding in the morning mist

You whisper in the soft breezes

And you hover with the hummingbird.

You do not land.

So I will do this without you.

It's Looking Up

This is my busiest week of the year, and today we're  putting the final touches on the site for the annual summer music festival. It's a crazy, hectic, detail day looking for what could possibly go wrong, what have we missed ,

what was forgotten, and what should we do if and in case.

In the midst of it all, I looked up and saw the silver lining.

Tonight's going to be a good night.

Filled with energy and expectations riding high...just like this little guy must have felt when he watched

and then copied his friend the Hummingbird...

There are no hard and fast rules. Whatever works, works.

Just take time to notice.

for more world views, visit http://skyley.blogspot.com/

When Hairy Met Sullen

I woke up in a bad mood this morning. It was an inauspicious start to the day. Cats hungry. Raucous crows outside fighting over whatever it is crows fight about. Everything? Whatever, I was feeling cranky too.

Being the middle of a long weekend, the need to do something a little out of the ordinary was niggling me at the edges. My inner athlete was saying, “Hey, get off your ass and do something! Today’s a good day for a bike ride.” So a bike ride it was. We live beside the PPJ Cycloparc, a bike path that extends from the Quebec border on the Ottawa River, and meanders along the river’s edge for about 82 km towards Ottawa. Well, I had no intention whatsoever of going that far, but a little 5 km spin would be just about right, take 20 minutes and leave me feeling slightly superior to my John, who was standing around, drinking coffee, with a hose in his other hand watering the garden in a better mood. Off I went.

Back 20 minutes later, John says, “I know what we can do today...we can go see the new trail they built up to Oiseau Rock. Oiseau Rock towers over the river near Deep River, and is a sacred site for the Algonquin. It’s got native pictographs that are historically significant and years of local graffiti that isn’t. While interested in seeing the site from the top down (as opposed to being in a boat and looking up, which is how I’ve always seen it before) there is a major problem with this suggestion. I hate hills and I hate climbing. Downhill skiing? Good. Cross country? Bad. Flat? Perfect. Up? No.

But, I thought, maybe I could give it a go, just to be a good sport. So grumbling flitting gaily around the house I begrudgingly cheerfully gathered water bottles, bathing suits, bags of nuts, and some fruit. The drive -about 20 km from here - heads straight up into the hills (up in a truck is ok) on a poorly maintained gravel road, with lots of sharp turns and loose boulders waiting to attack. Approach signage is minimal, as in one small 8” x 11” plastic sign featuring a pictograph. And if you happen to be blinking at the time, well so sad, you’re lost. Which we were within minutes. However, John does have a great sense of direction (compared to me, who is directionally challenged) and we ultimately found the parking lot at the edge of the trail. There was a sign there explaining the significance of the site, and how the natives revered it. What it clearly did not say was how long the trail is to the top of Oiseau Rock. 4 km. One way. And the very first 100 m was pretty much straight up. Hill. My inner athlete thought “absolutely no effing way Great!” And off we went. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. For 2 hours. Did I mention that it was 26 C? (83F). No? Well it was. But, and here the truth be told, it’s a beautiful trail, through some virgin forest, green and verdant and filled with birdsong.

FINALLY we got to a sign that said: Oiseau Rock 2 km. Parking Lot 2 km. Had it been Grand Central Station I would have sat down and wept. And still we walked. We passed three other groups...all returning from the lookout...all quite cheerful and quite sweaty. They mumbled encouraging words as they passed. John cheerfully smiled and said hello. I didn’t.

And then it happened. A bend in the trail, and a small white sign depicting Scenic View. Don’t Fall off the Cliff.

We had arrived at the top and could see the beach far, far below us. The boats looked like tiny toys, the people tiny ants.

The view of the Ottawa Valley, spectacular. Half way down the rock was the lake people climb up to swim in, and we decided we weren’t going to climb down to swim in, then back up to the top of the mountain again. That was asking too much. Way too much.

But we had done it! And so we had a celebratory drink of water and a plum. I won’t bore you with the details of the return hike. It was brutal and I almost expired with heat exhaustion challenging. With the air conditioning on full, we made it back home to the beach, and into the kayaks in record time. Paddling out to the swimming hole I realized I was feeling better...fit and full and content.

Diving into the cool water, it was a great way to end the day – and to celebrate 16 years together! An anniversary to remember.

( And next time we wash our hair in the river, I’ll remember to bring conditioner too)

What is a Community in Bloom?

For the past several weeks, I have been consumed with Communties in Bloom, an international competitive civic beautification program that fosters civic pride and ultimately allows participants to cite tangible examples of improved quality of life within their villages, towns and  cities. This week the judges arrived to assess our efforts. One of the critical elements that is provided is a Community Profile Book that outlines all of the municipality's accomplishments in 8 different categories. This is used to help compare apples to apples as the judges travel North America and Europe, evaluating the entries. My job is to write that book, and this year it occurred to me that defining a community in bloom is not a simple thing...it's much, much more than hanging baskets of flowers....

This is the foreword to the book:

 Eleven years ago, when Pembroke first enrolled in the Communities in Bloom program, the thinking was relatively straight forward: being a community in bloom meant that we would take better care of our surroundings, and encourage others to do so as well. It would look nicer, and therefore, likely be nicer. And that is exactly what happened.

That first year, driving into Pembroke on the day the judges were to arrive, I remember feeling awed at the changes I saw! Clean streets, beautiful flower beds, everything looked so nice and welcoming and there was an almost palpable feeling of hope and optimism for the future. Those feelings haven’t changed in the past decade – but some years you feel it more than others.

The past two years in particular have been interesting because there was a lot of negative economic news throughout North America and the world as the most far reaching recession in decades hit homes in the cities, towns and villages of Canada. Finally, this spring the business news picked up, jobs were created, and the world heaved a sigh of relief. Here in Pembroke, we emerged relatively unscathed, as our economy is not dependent on a single industry. Still though, families were stressed, and tough times were had.

They’ve been had before in this town, which started as a rough and ready frontier camp, with a scattering of tree prospectors staking claims to the tall stands of timber 180 years ago. There’s a boom, bust and echo story here that gets retold about every 20 years…but one thing that never changes is the spirit of the people who live in Pembroke.

The people of Pembroke are proud, stubborn, and relentlessly helpful when help is needed. They pitch in, pick up and pat their neighbours back the moment they hear someone’s hurting. It’s an awesome thing to observe. And that’s what a community in bloom is.

It’s a collective of people who respond to each other. There when the going gets tough, and there to celebrate after the job is done. A community in bloom is not just “that flower thing”, it is the communal spirit that plants the seeds of good will, and that regenerates and nurtures itself throughout time. In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse…that’s the spirit!
And that’s what makes Pembroke an incredible Community in Bloom. ...


What's YOUR definition of Community?

Pining Away

 It's been so hot lately here in the beautiful Ottawa Valley, that it saps the thoughts right out of me, and they dribble away meekly hoping for a cool breeze to revive them. Writing is a chore it seems, better suited for cooler weather!
So instead, I thought I'd share some photos I took a few weeks ago at Les Chutes Coulonge, a waterfall park not far from here that's an example of the creative re-use of primary resource material. The log drive used to take place on many rivers in this part of Canada.

It's the reason the region was first settled 180 years ago as tree prospectors came looking for tall white pines to make masts for her Majesty's fleet of ships back in jolly old England.

Today, the park has a  trendy zip line through the tree canopy and across the falls. Where nature used to be harnessed to drive the timbers to market, now it's tourists who are harnessed, screeching their way across the canyon, as the timbers quietly watch.

for more scenes from around the world, go to http://www.skyley.blogpost.com/

The Tom Sawyer Approach to Renovations

Haggle, bicker, nag and bribe...none of these traditional  methods of getting something done around here was being particularly effective this past month. The screened side porch was in dire need of paint and a polish, and  most definitely new screens. The bugs didn't have to bash  and bruise their tiny probisci to come for dinner. Uh uh. They just made a bee line for one of several holes that had appeared over the past decade.

Something had to be done, and early one Saturday morning in mid-June, after a fortifying cuppa coffee, I did it. While my prince lay resting his weary bones, I tore a strip of screen off one panel,  and then another...and that was that. Gaping holes in the porch wall where now anything ...bugs, bees, bears, and anyone...could amble in and join us for breakfast. The gauntlet had been dropped and the project was on!

I was pretty sure that this would be a quick little job, as they so often are...so set about emptying the porch of all furniture, washing the floor, and preparing a list of stuff that we needed to finish the job by supper time: floor paint, brushes, rollers, screening, paint for uprights, and beer.

When  John arose, we were off to the races, or at least to Home Hardware for the necessary supplies...and back home, ready to go by oh, about 2:00 pm. First the floor...a quick fresh coat of butter yellow so it looks like the  sun is always shining...I barely got started, when John began telling me to go parallel to the wall.

"Hmm, "  I wondered to myself, "which of the three walls might he be meaning?" So I picked the left wall and began the long w-shaped roller strokes.
"No, No", he promptly said, as he sipped his coffee, " not that wall, the other one."

So I switched directions, and chose the other one. Oops! Wrong again!  And two wrongs made me realize that Tom Sawyer was absolutely right! During the course of painting his fence he  had "discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it — namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to obtain."  That (a perfectly painted floor) seemed to be happening right at my finger tips! So I handed the roller to my friendly critic and suggested he give it try to show me how, while I 'd go in and  see about rustling up some late lunch.

Perfectly painted porch floor was glistening as we sat down to a quick bite to eat half an hour later. And on we bungled. First removing the rest of the screening, then getting ready to paint all the battons, and naturally discovering a host of little "problems" that had cropped up over the intervening years...like wood rot and 2 x 4's that would need to be replaced. Ah well. As my dad always said, (and yours too, I  bet) " If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing right." So we worked 'til the light left us, and said okay, tomorrow we'll get at it bright and squirrely. Which we did actually. I awoke at dawn to the sounds of cat meeting squirrel on the deck, as squirrel was interrupted trying to have a little breakfast of sunflower seed I'd inadvertly left in the porch overnght. No fur flew, but it was time for day 2.

Problem with day 2 was the weather...I mean who wants to paint in the pouring rain? So we waited 'til it cleared up, then slowly got assembled, and started the tedious task of putting the porch back together again. My brother and his lovely wife were arriving the next day , so it would be really nice to have this wee project done!

But, alas...it wasn't. It was partially done, as in some of the posts were painted, some of the screen was up, some wasn't down yet, none of the battons were back up...and then arrived the brother. And the second Tom Sawyer truth along with him."Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do, and play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do."

Well, my brother did not consider fixing the porch work at all! And neither did my sister in law! Holy get the job done right! They were totally into making this porch a master piece. Battons? Ha!! Battons, molding, mitre cuts, measuring for gawd sakes! These two saw a project, knew John and I were pretty much incompetent DIYers, and they just took over! The Taj Mahal Porch is something we never envisioned, and had we emphatically stated that it wasn't necessary to go to all this trouble. "You're on holidays you two! Relax!We don't need to do this while you're here " was met with deaf ears, and Tom Sawyer noted that, "To promise not to do a thing is the surest way in the world to make a body want to go and do that very thing."

What can I say! Total time to finish the job? Seven days! But the final result looks great, my brother got to practice his finishing carpentry skills, my sister-in-law had something to do besides listen to the men natter about men stuff, and my prince got to watch a job well done, er, done well!
And me? Well, I got exactly what I wanted too!