Place

I am attached to the place I live; sometimes to the extent of forgetting it is not the whole world. 

I live among maple, birch and spruce, in the company of chickadees and jays, ducks and deer in an old residential area of Riverview, NB. Here, it is easy to forget that the river, the bay, the Acadian forest and mountains so close to me are not the whole world for everyone.

Last weekend, we went to Halifax, Nova Scotia and stayed in a hotel where the scenery was office towers and apartment buildings.  This photo is an elliptical-shaped building, The Martello; the penthouse is offered for $860,000. plus the monthly condo fees.  The other view was the snow covered uprising slope of The Citadel, topped with white masts; it looked like the whole hill might be ready to set sail.  Of course, there were trees and parks within the city, and as always, the gorgeous harbour.

It was unlike what I am used to, that’s all.  Not better or worse, simply different.  And that was good.  My poetry writing mind and my photo seeing mind were piqued and stimulated by those changes.  It was a challenge and gift to roam the city because it was not familiar. 

I realized that I am stuck in my love of the place I live.

It is helpful and nourishing to get away to unfamiliar surroundings, to get unstuck and be invited to walk streets shaded and squeezed by sky scrapers, to notice an abundance of seagulls, oak trees six stories tall, myriad bistros and cafes, all as inviting as our own, but different.

We drove out to Peggy’s Cove on Sunday.  The granite boulders and the ocean were strangely soothing.  The Cove has never disappointed; ice, like thin frosting offered the same visual warning to stay off as did the wet, black rocks in summer.  And like summer, people still walked out to the edges, despite the cautions.

I enjoyed the trip away.  It was good to be free of responsibilities, to do what I wanted, when I wanted.

But, coming home, I relearned something I’ve always known. The damp salt air, the stony beaches, the salt water marsh, the muddy Petitcodiac River, the deciduous and evergreen forests of Albert County, New Brunswick are where my roots stretch deep into the earth and hold me in place.

They are my home.

For Melissa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Melissa, because you always miss being home in autumn, here are coloured leaves just for you.  Love, Mum

Memories of Home

 

 

This afternoon, my mother and I went for a drive through the back roads of Albert County, revisiting old haunts and old memories.  One of the places we stopped was the house where we used to live in Stoney Creek.  It is a large farm style home with a cedar shingle woodshed. 

When I was a child, there were vast stretches of cleared fields and orchards of fruit trees carefully tended, vegetable gardens and a view all the way down the hilly acres to the Petitcodiac River.  It was a century old house, sturdy, comfortable, well cared for, a warm fire and a welcome shared with people we loved.  It was our home.

As we grew up, moved away, it was a challenge for my mother to keep it all by herself, so the homestead was sold.  The new owners wanted the woodlots, hundreds of acres of them and had a family member who wanted to live in the house.

Plans don't always go the way one expects.  Life interferes, forces changes.

Today the grapevine that used to curl a greeting at the back door has grown over the woodshed roof and down onto the ground, five feet into the driveway itself.  The cedars, the high-bush cranberries, the lilacs are untrimmed and wild, growing into flagpoles and well covers and porch walls.

Mum's crimson shrubs are overtaken by weeds and golden rod and tall pale grasses.  The apple orchard stands up to its shoulders in alders and weeds, is surrounded by deer paths.  The oaks are fighting for sky with choking vines.  Maples in oranges and reds are visible from the mid point up; the lower portions buried in whatever nature sends to reclaim the lawns and driveways and gardens when humans have left them unloved.

To visit our former home was a shock, made a lump in our throats, an ache in our chests.

Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to go back.  Perhaps we should have held the memories and not searched out the reality.  But we didn't.

Still, we know, everywhere we've been, all the life we've lived remains within us, deep inside, held in memory.  Part of living is moving on; is letting go when the time comes to shed one place for another.

Sometimes looking back is painful because we want someone else to see the beauty and value in a home or a yard or a garden we have lived in and loved.  But everyone makes their own choices.  We do.  We did.  The new owners have.

We must let go, simply let go.

Mum and I spent the rest of the afternoon travelling back roads, enjoying the colours of the autumn leaves, acknowledging everything changes. 

That lives and homes have their seasons too.

Chipmunk Chatter

This chipmunk lives in our rock wall and comes out to chatter and hunt for food, or sometimes just to sun.  He usually keeps a safe distance, but he popped out of a hole near the deck and didn't notice we were sitting there.  He is one of many who co-habit this property with us.  We were content to see him close enough to capture a good photo.

My House

My House

My house is going to be busy this week.  We are hosting relatives and enjoying their company.  I won't be posting again until the end of the week.

I hope you're enjoying time with someone you love, too.

Carol

What's in The Sink?

What’s in The Sink?

We love our cats, two Birman Cats and one Maine Coon Cat.  And they love us…so much so that they want to be wherever we are.  That’s not always convenient. 

They can’t come outside with us, because Birmans are scaredy cats and don’t run when they are frightened; they hunker down and make themselves small…not good, if something is chasing them.  The Maine Coon would chase something, even if...it was after him, but that’s not the point.  We don’t want them outside being exposed to ickiness that would require a visit to the Vet.  We don’t want them eating birds and bugs and other critters that are not good for them.  And, we love the birds too.  So the cats can’t go outside.

They can’t go to the basement, a dark and dusty place where all things off-season are stored, where cans of paint and oil lurk waiting to be spilled on furry coats, where harmful tools hang, lean and sit. 

Our cats are house cats.  They live within the confines of the main and the second floors.  They roam freely in those areas, their limited castle.

We find them in odd places.  They curl up and sleep by the back door, just inside the door so we can’t get in or out without moving them.  They climb the top of the cupboards and sleep in baskets that used to be market baskets, but are now cat baskets.  We find them on top of the dressers, under the comforters on the bed, inside any box or bag that’s been left unattended.  They’ll sleep in footwear belonging to guests or make themselves cozy in an open purse or suitcase.  They love to be near books, nestled in the bookcases or sleeping on top.  They're fond of trying to sleep on whatever I am reading, reaching paws around the edges to pull the book or paper down, to create a flat surface on which to rest.

They plant themselves on the chairs and couches in the living room, if we are there, or on either side of Gary on the sofa, if we are upstairs.  When I write or sit at the computer for long periods of time, they curl up on top of my feet on the floor, in order to be ready to go with me if I move.

It’s hard to be anywhere in the house without them piling on or coming near.  Yesterday when I had a shower, I forgot to shut the bathroom door tight.  When I finished my shower, Ollie was sitting on the edge of the sink watching.  As you can see, he hardly fits on the sink ledge.  And, the other two?  They were in the bathroom doorway, waiting to see what was happening next.

We love our cats.  And they love us.  That means togetherness, even in the bathroom.

And yes, I cleaned the sink, just like I’m constantly cleaning every place they can reach.  It’s a small price to pay for love and affection; though it would be great if there was less fur with all that love.

But then love isn’t always tidy and neat, is it?  It’s just love; love messy and wonderful…and often furry.


If you click on the words in red, you'll go to another site with additional information.  The photo is mine.

Wet Beauties

Wet Beauties

Just as the peonies come into bloom, the weather turns to rain.  When the flower heads are full, the additional weight of rainwater makes the heads droop or makes the stems bend and break.

Yesterday, I went out in the downpour to capture photos.  I was afraid that following the days of rain, there might be nothing left but damp petals scattered on the ground. 

The photos with the raindrops are just as fine, perhaps more interesting than usual.

Our peonies are over sixty years old.  They were planted when the house was built.  When we moved here, we discovered them hidden under maples at the corner of the yard.  We transplanted them to a warmer spot behind the garage a couple years ago.

After a slow start, these peonies are healthy and thriving.  They are lush wet beauties in the summer rain.  We are lucky to have found them, a long lived gift from the first owner of our home.

Thank you...for the gift of wet beauties.

All photos are mine.

Home Again

Home Again

We sat on our swing seat in the side yard and talked.  I’ve been away for a week, visiting family and a new grandchild.  My husband stayed at home, caught a cold and flu.  While I was laughing and enjoying my grandsons, daughter and son-in-law, he was home sneezing, coughing with headache and sore muscles.

He is getting better so we sat outside yesterday and soaked up sunshine, the breeze and each other’s company.  We breathed the warm air, heard birdsong and chipmunk chatter, noticed the smell of grass, the shades of green and rose on the apple tree leaves, watched towels flapping on the line, saw falcons soaring high in search of a meal and heard leaves turning inside-out warning of rain to come.

We sipped wine, rocked slowly and noted the calm and green of our yard.  We avoided discussing all the work that needed care, chatted only about what we had each done over the week we’d been apart.   We talked.  We caught up.

I shared stories of being away, of a neighbour using a leaf blower to clean his deck four times a day, of another sharing his bagpipe lessons with the whole block, of geese crossing the main road to get from the harbour to the duck pond, of walks with family and of the pleasure of grandchildren.   He shared stories of driving new Canadians to the Legislature in Fredericton, of driving students to Safe Grad, of taking my mother on errands, of mowing lawns, then of becoming ill and of spending days and nights sweating and coughing…energy-less.

I told him about two hundred-foot Black Oaks and waking to nothing but sky and leaves outside the windows.  He told me about staring at the ceiling waiting for the next coughing attack.

We both shared stories of sudden rainstorms on sunny days—rain plummeting, bouncing up again from the ground, and of wind-driven rain in slanting sheets, then as sudden, sunshine glittering in the drops, and the light, the light fresh-washed and glowing.

We talked about missing each other.  We talked about love and about how much we need each other.  We talked about how we are grateful for each other.

We snuggled on the swing seat in our side yard and talked, happy to be home together again.

Photos are mine.

Gargoyle Guards the Home

A gargoyle guards the entrance to this home

watches over the garden's blooms

supervises installation of walkway and steps

eyes the soon-to-be vegetable garden

and the side garden paths

waits for the burst of colour from this peony bud.

Gargoyle guards and watches it all.

Groundhogs, Free-Loaders and Friends

Groundhogs, Free-Loaders and Friends

We have tenants, sort of...   They share our property, but pay no rent.   Still we are landlords for chickadees and crows, robins and ring-neck pheasants, blue jays and mallards, starlings and a family of groundhogs.

We live on a hillside in Riverview, in a house built and planted with trees six decades ago.  The slope of the yard provides drainage, important for animals that burrow.   A honeysuckle bush, on a three hundred square-foot mound beside the house, provides shelter and shade for the groundhogs' burrows and tunnels.

We could clear out the underbrush but we let it be.  This side yard, this tangle of honeysuckle, snow berry bushes, barberry bushes, lilac hedges, birches and maples provides home for the groundhogs and nesting areas for the birds.

But, there is a problem.  These free-loaders control our lives.  We’ve considered planting vegetables near that side yard.  It’s the only spot that receives enough sunlight to grow a vegetable garden.  The groundhogs would be pleased.  They’re vegetarians.  A garden would be their salad bar.  Yes, there are possibilities.  We could capture and re-locate them or we could bury protective wire beneath the garden plot and build wire fences.   But that's no guarantee that we would protect our garden from the short, powerful limbs and thick, curved claws of groundhogs or from the resourcefulness of the birds; also looking for lunch.

We’ve discussed a vegetable garden but...no....  My husband says that groundhogs and birds have a right to live here, that they’ve lived in this yard longer than we have.  It's true.  We've lived here seven years, seven years today.  However, I suspect my husband's motives.  I think his generosity might be based on a desire to avoid work, avoid weeding.  Anyway, we’ll relinquish claim to the side yard, leave it to the tenants and continue to buy produce from the Farmers' Markets.

A groundhog sighting is rare.  They are shy and spend most of their hours in the burrows.   Last week, we spotted one waddling across the lawn searching for food; it didn’t see us.  When it did notice us, it scurried off to hide in the honeysuckle bush.   It was huge; bigger than average.   At over 30 inches long, including a 6 inch tail, it must have weighed 30-35 pounds or more.  Urban areas like ours provide few natural predators and plentiful vegetation...and porky groundhogs.

In the evenings, we know when the groundhogs are out and where they are.  Our three cats are like motion sensors.  They sit in the windows, alert and watchful.  Three heads turn in unison.  Meowing and chirping to each other, their eyes and bodies turn to follow the waddling of the groundhogs.

We enjoy our trees and shrubs because they encourage and protect wildlife.   Though the birds and the groundhogs pay no rent, they have changed from free-loaders to friends.  The chance to see nature up-close is payment enough.

I think we'll renew their lease.

Photo is mine.

Wedding in the Whirlwind

Melanie and Kelly love the wind and rain; get plenty of both where they live on the south shore of Nova Scotia.  Their first date was a walk out to the waves and wild water at High Head, so they wanted to get married at that same place.

The weather didn't cooperate...at all.  The wedding day dawned in the torrential down pour and gale force winds of a tropical storm passing over the Maritimes. 

Still, they were cheerful and determined to make the best of the situation.

A small wedding with only immediate family began at their home with photos and laughter and searches for the rubber boots and rain gear...

yes, they still intended to walk to High Head.  

Gary and I went on a scouting mission to check out the wedding site:

the waves were 50 feet high

and the pathway was largely under water. 

What to do?  The owner of the Bed and Breakfast where we were staying

offered her back deck

as an alternative wedding spot.  It was 30 feet from the water with

not quite so much danger of someone

getting washed away during the ceremony. 

We booted up and left for the wedding.

In this photo, you can see the effects of the wind

but the driving rain doesn't show very well.  

(I'll post more photos on that in another blog entry.)  

We came around the corner of the

Bed and Breakfast to face the water and the wind and the rain. 

Everyone was immediately soaked to the skin! 

But cheery and happy.

The Justice of the Peace (pink) had to have help hanging on to her papers,

so she could read out the marriage questions and vows.

Back at the house, everyone changed into dry clothes. The bride and groom stayed in their wet ones until after they had signed their papers and lit their candles. 

Note: wet hair and happiness!

These are a few of the photos from the wedding in a whirlwind.  I'll be posting more over the next few days and will share a story or two about the B&B, the location

in Nova Scotia as well as the wedding itself.

Melanie and Kelly love the wind and rain. 

They got married in a whirlwind of water and wind.

Congratulations and blessings to them both!

All photos are mine.  If you want more information about the Prospect Village Bed and Breakfast,

please click here  http://www.prospectvillagebb.ca/  or if you want more information about the owner, Rosalee Peppard, a talented singer and keeper of Maritime oral "herstory" click here  http://www.rosalee.ca/

Cleaning for Company

The sun is pouring in the windows, lighting this room and revealing all the places where I missed the dust while cleaning, getting ready for company.   I’m chuckling to myself over this, as I suppose floating dust motes and missed dusty spots will grab the least attention from anyone who is arriving soon.

They are solely interested in seeing each other.  When family members “from away” come home to visit, no one is appalled at whatever level of housekeeping I have or have not accomplished.

They’ll burst through the door, hug everyone and start chatting with each other,  delighted to spend time with one another, after having been so long apart.   The adults will gather in the kitchen, share laughter and wine, cheeses and fruits, and later a huge boisterous dinner. 

The children will tear off upstairs to investigate all the toys that await them in our den.  They’ll occupy themselves with games, trucks, cars, building blocks, dolls, playing grocery store and keeping house, stuffed bears and dinosaurs.  Not one will say, “Oh, but Grammy, you missed a bit of dusting here!”

So impractical to worry about cleaning!  I suppose I have to admit that I do it for myself, so I will feel better.  Silly!  The only person who cares is me.  But part of me believes that caring is shown in preparedness and tidiness.

Each person here will spend the time visiting, eating, laughing, sharing stories of “Remember when?” or “Guess what?” or just enjoying being home again.  No one will say, “My goodness, what a sparkling house this is!”

When they leave (after staying…always it seems, too short a time), I’ll tidy again.  There’ll be finger prints and spills, sticky places and cat hair, crumbs and crunchy spots, laundry and dishes to wash.

What will I be doing?  Cleaning.  So yes, is it silly to do it beforehand…so it seems!

This is a wisdom that I have to re-learn many times!

I remember a comedian (I can’t recall which one) saying that she never cleaned before company came; she just wiped off her kitchen counters and sprayed some furniture polish into the air and a squirt behind each ear.  Everyone always thought her house was fresh and spick and span.  Their sense of smell fooled their eyes.

 I wonder where my furniture polish is.

Phases of Autumn

Phases of Autumn

In the past two weeks, I’ve experienced three different phases of autumn.

Here in Riverview, leaves have been changing for weeks.  Trees are brilliant with fiery colours, the harvest moon hangs heavy and low in the evening sky, gardens are dying, preparing for rest.

North of here, in Quebec, the season is farther along.  Many trees are bare.  White birch stands stark against the remaining foliage, much of it blown off and crunchy, lying colourful on the bed of earth.

South of here, on Long Island New York, autumn has hardly begun.  This dogwood tree is one of the first to change into its delicate rosy hue.  Everything else is still verdant and lush.

Travelling this time of the year provides glorious scenery and awe-inspiring vistas.  It reminds me: everywhere landscapes, life-styles, priorities and perspectives are as varied as the stages of autumn.  Different from what I call home.  Different from what I know.  It is good to be stretched and to acclimatize to other ways of being and living.  And it’s good to be home again!

Crow in the Birdbath

Crow in the Birdbath

A crow family has made our tall trees their new home.  These are my photos from yesterday.

If you enjoy crows, go to Gwen Buchanan's blog (click here) to read more and see her gorgeous art, some of it centered around her love of crows.

See also my blog of June 26, 2011 for crow information.

Are you intrigued by crows?

After this crow finished bathing, it gracefully flew up to the canopy on our swing seat and wiped its face and beak on the fabric. 

So tidy and fascinating!

Photos are mine.

This House of Ours

This Home of Ours

Today is an anniversary.  We’ve lived in our house for six years.

This is a good place to be, cozy and comfortable, a wee house with a generous, treed yard.

When we bought it six years ago, the house hadn’t been updated nor looked after for a long time.  No yard care, no tree trimming, no painting, no cleaning, no maintenance outside or in.  Quite a challenging mess!

We’ve made progress.  Cleaning and repair are simple, mostly hard work.  The “must-do-it-list” still dominates the “want-to-do-it-list”.  Slowly we create changes, improving the appearance and feel of the house — our continuous project.

Each time we re-enter, we are content to be home again.  This house is a humble, relaxed place, a fireside retreat with comfy familiar furniture and cozy welcoming colours.  It is full with music, sunlight, sumptuous baking smells and three playful cats.   It is home, our home, a home we’ve made together with time and love.

My mother has a cross-stitch hanging, handmade by my grandmother, framed in her bedroom.  It says:

Having someplace to go is home.

Having someone to love is family.

Having both is a blessing.

Six years of blessing in this house, this home.