A Walk Around the Neighborhood

Today was one of those picture perfect days, an apple  of a day, a day to celebrate being alive! Cool, clear blue skies, soft southerly winds, and best of all, a Sunday, so nothing to do but enjoy it.
We live in eastern Ontario -the Ottawa Valley, which is a little slice of heaven on the shores of the Ottawa River. I brought my camera along on this morning's walk so I could show you my neighbourhood...
First - the walk out the back door, towards the driveway...and right past the coming winter's warmth:

Yup. We heat with wood (and electric when we're lazy).  There's tons of it around, and it means you can open the doors on a cold day to cool

the house down, and not feel guilty.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself here,

Our driveway is beautiful.



There comes a day, every year when the trees just give up their gold.

And let it fall. Today was that day.

 

There's always a few hold outs... waiting to be the last leaf to fall.

The sidewalks in my neighbourhood are not paved with cement. 

They lure me, lead me and make me walk slowly. I do not wear a watch.

 I wander down the "sidewalk" and check out the block.

The view of the main drag, so to speak...

Like any urban area, we have to contend with litter:

So many of them! And the smell is evocative of childhood. Rich, earthy, ripe scents of yesterday and filled with promises for tomorrow.

Today, I found plants that weren't quite ready for winter...

Still blooming, defying the odds. How  like a daisy-cle.

The lane to our home is not paved with good intentions.

It's simply winding and welcomes me every time I'm on it.

The front yard is inviting too.

I sit and watch which way the wind blows,

while the leaves dance.

 

It's Just Another Day

24 hours. Nothing special planned. No where to go, no one to see, nothing that has to get done. A take it as it comes kind of day. And so I did.
Busloads of tourists come to our area every year to see the fall colours. The tour operators tag the tours with catchy names like "The Flaming Leaf" or "Autumn Rhapsody". We call them a sure sign that winter's on its way.



















As I was taking the shot of the leaves, I could hear a little chirping. Saw a quick flit out of the corner of my eye and swung the camera in that direction, hoping to capture the source of the commotion. Ah Ha! A little Yellow Rumped Warbler...so cute. Often called "Butter Bum" and you can see why.

















This is a shot of the Ottawa River from the bridge that links Ontario and Quebec. These rapids were used as a "Toll Gate" by the Algonquin back in the days when the fur trade and les voyageurs were combing this area, seeking pelts and prospecting for tall pines for masts for her majesty's ships back in England. The Algonquin wouldn't let them use the portages on either side of the rapids until they paid with tools, utensils, beads, or whatever the hot commodity was in favour that season.





















The sky on Tuesday evening, through the living room window. Raining in Greenwood. Funny thing about living on the river, in the Ottawa Valley. There are hills to the north and south of us (hence, valley) and the weather will often circle around us. It was the other side's turn to get wet.














This morning, the view from the window is completely different. Large flocks of Canada Geese rest in our bay overnight, lulling us to sleep with their chatter, and waking us up with the same...only more insistent and considerably louder.



















Just after I took the shot the geese from the window, the sun burst through the clouds...day break. And that's the past 24 hours at home in the Valley. Now on to the next.

Autumn...

It happens every year - that first glimpse of brilliant crimson that always manages to surprise me. There is so much emotion packed into that heartbreak red. Summer regrets, time passing, winter coming.
There are so many cliches about fall - and they are all true. It is a time of reflection, of gathering our rosebuds while we may, of discovering silver threads among the gold. Carpe diem.

Memorable Encounters -2

I never thought of myself as a birdwatcher, or one who even particularly cared about fowl things while I was growing up. But I have some very interesting memories of road trips with my Dad and his friends that now, in retrospect, surely contributed vastly to the growth in my interest in all things avian. On sunny Sundays in the fall, we kids would pile in to the back of the Ford station wagon, and Dad and a buddy would be in the front. Off we’d go, giving our Moms a break no doubt, while exploring the northern prairie parkland, and looking for hot puddle duck potholes that the men could go hunt the following morning. My Dad and his buddies were duck hunters. They weren’t too serious about it, they didn’t hunt because they needed to feed their families, but because they enjoyed the friendship and camaraderie that defined the hunt (along with the odd shot or two of whiskey no doubt). Landing a few ducks was a bonus that made it even more special to them.
One Sunday drive stands out above all others from those days. We crested a hill near Paradise Valley on a crisp autumn afternoon, and as we all got out of the “wagon” for a stretch a dark, flapping cloud appeared on the eastern horizon. Dad called me over to stand beside him to watch the birds fly over head…for a minute, then ten minutes, then half an hour, and then an hour, and then another! The prairie sky was alive with millions of ducks, flying, flapping, squawking, quacking ducks! Fall migration in the 1950’s, a sight I have never seen since and that I have never forgotten. The stuff of dreams.